It was a chilly evening during the dark days of December as the sunny atmosphere of the afternoon slowly turned into skies of grey. As a flurry of snow slowly began falling onto the ground, a woman looked out the window with a look of despair. That woman was my mother. Holding her belly and plopped on a hospital bed, she had been in labor for exactly six hours and counting. As the clock slowly ticked by, the pain became worse and worse as she slowly tried to bear the aches throbbing through her entire body. The doctor came in and with a firm look in his eyes told my mother that she was going to have a C-section rather than the planned course of action. Scared and intimidated, my mother began to pray, praying for the worst to be over, to see the light at the end of the tunnel. She was so shaken by the thought of going under surgery that she held tight to my dad’s hand. Gripping profusely with sweat and tears, she told him, “I’ve worked on a farm since the age of 15, I’ve left my family back in China for a better life, I’ve faced constant discrimination as a new immigrant in this strange new world of America, but nothing has prepared me for this.” Hoping to comfort her, my dad whispered with gentleness in her ear,” We’ve come so far to provide this baby a new life, we’ve faced so much struggle. This is the last hurdle. You’ve played all these roles from daughter to wife to a worker, but this, this is what you want.” Kissing her on the forehead, he nodded to the doctor as my mother was slowly pushed into the emergency room. Once inside the brightly lit room, she was put under medication and everything became a blur. Opening her eyes once again as if nothing happened, she heard a small cry, a tiny whimpering bawl. Jolting up, she saw the familiar face of the doctor as he handed her a small baby boy. Looking into his closed eyes, she realized that she was given the most important role of all. A mother.