Gazing out the window
The moon gradually climbs up
The night stars glow
The birds are tweeting in their nest
And I must seek one for myself.
The moon, like an orchid flower
Hanging between earth and heaven
With silent delight
F l o a t s  and smiles on the black curtain
Of the night.

Squirming into my grandma's
Skinny and wizened arms
Ready to have a
Bedtime story like every day.

Although this time,
My grandma's charisma is much
Different today.
I can hear our breathing rhythm
Blend together like a
Flute solo.
Suddenly, I see droplets of tears
S
      L
            I
                 D
                      I
                            N
                                  G
Down her cheeks
I ask her, "Grandma, why are you crying?"
And she deliberately replies,
"I feel like I cannot
live with you any longer
to tell you more stories."

Two bold streams start
F
   L
         O
             W
                  I
                     N
                          G
From the ridges of my eyes.
And then I ask with a melancholy tone,
"How can I live without you and your stories?"
She then smiles and explains in a
Tender and delightful voice,
Your question makes me remember
Of my mother who
Protected and
Cared for me.

Then she begins her story,
But this story seems to deliver
A very rich moral.

"My mother teaches me
How to walk,
And she teaches me
How to talk.
She gives a roof over my head,
And always makes sure I was fed.

She teaches me lessons and values
Of being a marvelous person,
The meanings of life and all about mercy.
What a
Wonderful,
Beautiful,
Thoughtful,
And intelligent
Mother I have,
And she makes me truly glad.

She always listens to what I say
Even if I'm having a bad day.
Whenever I've had issues
She has always been my tissues.

She always hugs me tight
And loves me with all her might.
She was always there for me
When I need someone.

I'm very thankful to have a
Mother like her,
With her kindness and
all that,
She does.

But then one morning,
The house is odd and plain
Nobody is cooking
Delicious meals
In the small kitchen.

I run to her room to check if she's
Alright.
I push the door
Inch by inch
I Worry that she will be
Awaken by me.
She is lying quietly
On her bed
Staring at the ceiling.

I walk softly to her
Trying to be less disturbing
I pick up her skinny hand
Which is limp
I hold on as
She silently
Whispered her
Last
Goodbye.

The last breath as I watch her die
Her skin turns paler each
S
E
C
O
N
D
Her eyes carefully close shut.

I stroke her hair and wipe her eyes
Wanting so much for them to open and see that
I am alone there in the world
Along with the agony growing inside of
Of my soul

One last time
I kiss her face
And hold her hand
To touch my cheek
I want to shake her
To tell her that it's time
For breakfast.

I watch her familiar belongings
Around me,
Shed their tears
And utter their words of sorrow
I know that we are dying inside.

I hear the familiar belongings
Surrounding me,
Sobbing
for the sudden departure
To a different world where
They can never meet my mom again."

My grandma pauses
For a second to catch up
With her breath,
The moisture of tears
Wets her face.
She takes a large breath
And continues on
with her anguishing story.

"That night, when I am
Crying and weeping
On my bed
Wanting to see my mother
Arrive from her world.
Suddenly, an angel jingles down,
Flying above me,
Holds my hand,
She wipes away my tears
And whispers in her echoing voice.
Our time on earth is brief,
There are lessons to be learned,
Each precious day God gives us
Another page is turned.
Every chapter full of memories,
Times of joy and tears,
Triumphs and defeats,
Through every passing year.

With gentle words of wisdom,
She leads me to my way,
D
O
W
N the paths of courage
If ever I do stray.

After waking up the next morning
I think to myself,
Angels come in many forms,
But for me, it is my mother,
With love, I cannot say in words
There'll never be another.

I turn the page in my heart
Every day,
Like trying to say
That, my mom, is still
Watching me from above.
Everything she taught me as
I stroll down memory lane.
As I am looking over
My novels of memory
I notice that
They are not well organized,
Because my mother is not there
To guide me like my past.

Even though my novels are untidy,
I still manage to be positive and
Continue to write my diary.

Later on, I realize,
That God calls my mother
To his heavenly home,
Although it may be hard,
we all must understand.
Heaven is a place where elders
Who use to supervise our actions,
Now challenge us by letting us
Overcome ourselves.
And another chapter begins
Full of grace and glory.

Thank you, angel, for giving me
The most priceless of all treasures,
I pray that I can someday be everything
My mother hopes I would,
That she’s smiling down from heaven
Knowing she did well."

By the time my grandma
Finishes her story,
I am deeply enjoying
In her story world.
Besides the oil lamp
Which was blown out
By the cold night breeze.
My grandma begins to write
A reflection in her soul,
To her mother,
In heaven,
Watching.