Child POV

I am usually fond of holidays. But there is one holiday in the year that I really don’t like: Mother’s Day. My friends complain about having to write cards and buy presents. It’s too expensive they say. But I wish I had someone to give a card to. I wish I had someone to buy a present for. I wish I had someone to hug and say, “Happy Mother’s Day!”

I remember once in in second grade, I saved up all year to buy a sweater for Patty, my step mom. I wrapped it up and tied it with a ribbon. But the next day I saw her use it as a rag. “How dare you buy me a present? Do you think that I am really your mother? How dare you use our money to buy such a disgusting piece of trash!” she told me.

Since then I frequently imagined what it would have been like to have a mother. I imagined her to be smart and elegant. One day she would come to me, wearing a pink, cashmere sweater. Her hair would be up in a bun and she would be holding a basket full of cookies. She was supposed to have pink cheeks and warm eyes. She would take me to the movies and buy me pretty clothes. She would brush my hair at night and read to me at bed. I imagined her to be a beautiful, graceful woman.

But among these fantasies were also unanswerable questions. Would my real mom have let me buy a puppy? Would she have packed me lunch with carrot sticks and cookies? What does she look like? Is she still alive? If so why doesn’t she come get me?

Every time Patty hit me, I longed for my mom. Every time she humiliated me in front of my friends, and every time she called me dumb, I thought of her. But really, when I thought of my real mom the most was on my birthday.

And on my thirteenth birthday I was thinking of her while riding my pink home. Then a woman who was new to this village and lost called for me.

I turned around and offered her my help. She said in a timid voice, “I am looking for Emily, my daughter.”

For a second, I couldn’t believe it. Could this be my mother? So I asked her again, “You mean Emily Swift?”

After a little pause, she said, “ Yes! Do you know her? She is my daughter, I am here to see her.”

My eyes filled with tears and I heard myself say, “Yes. She is right here.”

MOM POV

I remember it was a snowy day. I was lying in the hospital and while some would say that it is a memorable experience, I thought that I had never been in so much pain.


I became someone new the moment Emily first laid her black eyes on me. She had that baby smell, so sweet and warm. Everything about her was so small and minute. I could not imagine anything more beautiful. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to tell her that I was her mother.

But it didn’t seem real. Everything felt as if it was a dream, a fragile, bubble-like dream. It felt as if the whole thing would pop and disappear if I spoke to loudly. It seemed impossible that something so pure and delicate could come from someone like me.
Then it hit me. I realized that I could ruin this child. I realized that she would lose her beauty and purity if she stayed with me. This is when I decided to send her to her father. Her father was rich and could support her. I thought that he would provide her with things I wasn’t able to have: education, fine company, and integrity.

So I gave the one thing I could give to Emily, her name and sent her away.

And since then 13 years has passed. And today was her birthday. I was wandering around the town, looking for the house. I just wanted to see her once. I was different now. I had a job, a house. I had stability. I was not the minimum wage, factory worker I once was.

I sighted a girl who looked about her age so I called for her. And this girl, she climbed down her pink bicycle and turned around.

Then instantly, I could recognize her. The shining, jewel-like eyes that had once mesmerized me now stared at me. She looked like him. She had his nose and his lips. But I didn’t have the courage to directly tell her that I was her mother.

So in a shaking voice I asked her, “I’m looking for Emily, my daughter.”

Immediately, I could see a look of confusion sweep her face. She asked, “You mean Emily Swift?”

I didn’t know what to say. I thought, “Should I run away? What if she doesn’t like me?” But instead, I said, “ Yes! Do you know her? She is my daughter, I am here to see her.”

I was sure that I had done something wrong. “I shouldn’t have said it.” I thought.

But Emily teared up and said nodding vigorously, “Yes, She is right here.”