When I was in elementary school, my father died, and my mom raised her son and three daughters alone. My mom used to go to Jagalchi Market early in the morning and buy a box of fish to sell it in a retail store in the neighborhood; she worked so hard and there was no business that she did not try.
My mom always came in late at night, so my two older sisters took care of me and my little brother. Since my brother always ran little errands for my sisters, I had nothing to do as a third, so I just played without feeling the difficulties of life.
One day, my mom called me and asked me to massage her aching legs. I just pretended to give her a massage. She wanted me to do a little more, but I went into my room with a frown.
A few days later, my mom called me again and asked me to massage her legs. I showed irritation at her, saying I couldn’t because I was tired, and I went into my room. Since then, she never asked me to massage her legs. Instead, she alone massaged her legs with an empty bottle or bumped her legs on the floor to loosen knotted muscles.
Now I am old like my mom was, and my legs get often swollen. I cannot sleep well at night if I stand for a long time during the day. When my legs get swollen, I ask my husband or children to massage my legs. One day, my junior high school son massaged my legs wholeheartedly. Suddenly I broke into tears. My heart ached at the thought that my mom must have gone through such pain and lived a harder life than mine. I was so sorry to Mom for not having massaged her legs enough even once.
Not long ago, I touched the legs of my mom who had undergone a knee surgery, and I brought up the old story. My mom did not even remember it. How good it would’ve been if I had massaged my mom’s swollen legs even with my small hands back then. My mom says she forgot, but I cannot forget. Even though I was young back then, it is a heartbreaking and embarrassing memory.