The older we get, it seems, the more we tend to forget about our foundation. . . love. I am 20 years old, and though I am fairly old by my standards, the rest of the world (a.k.a my mother), seems to think of me as a baby. Together, we’ve suffered through many crises and shared many laughs and tears and anger. One thing that I have yet to share with her are the words “I love you.” They’ve probably come out of my mouth once or twice and every so often when my child self would make cards out of construction paper, and even sometimes when I write about her. Other than this, I don’t think I have ever told her directly, upfront and randomly “I love you.” Those are three words she constantly throws at my siblings and I and are words that she does not let us forget.

A mother should love her children right? Right. It doesn’t matter how many mothers and children with love for each in the world exist, because combined they could not match my mother’s; a selfless, sacrificial, beautiful being. While I have always been aware of this, an event happened recently that spelled out “love” in bright bold letters and waved it in my face.

Last weekend was the first weekend since August that I was entirely free. My mother, an ever attached being, asked me to spend the weekend home. I left that Friday evening since I had work at 6PM and the train did not come until almost an hour later. Since she was still at work, I did not tell her that I was about to take the train. I figured she would call me eventually because she always does. Now, to get home, I have to two trains, one from my college to either Secaucus Station or New York Penn Station (mostly New York since the train barely stops at Secaucus) and then another one from that train station to Trenton Transit Center. From there, depending on the time, I usually take the bus, the light rail or a taxi home. In total, it rounds up to be around three hours of just sitting, and waiting and switching.

A few stops in on the first train, and I realize I did not have any internet connection. My phone sometimes does that since it can’t connect to WiFi and I never have enough data to spare. However, I am still able to make and receive calls and text messages. Little did I know that I, in fact, did not have that service either. My phone was not disconnected but for some odd reason, I basically had a phone that was useless. I did not realize this until I was on the second train. Even then I thought that everything would be fine.

Everything was not fine.

Nothing happened to me, but unfortunately the victim was my mother. Once I arrived to Trenton Transit Center, my phone service was back on, I could make calls and receive messages and boy did I receive them! I had around 20 missed calls from my mother, sisters, and stepfather. I also had many messages from my sisters’ boyfriend and friends through various social media. Most of them read “Are you okay?”, “Where are you?” and things of that nature. I immediately call my mother but she does not pick up. Then I call one of my sisters. Immediately she asked if I was okay and where was I. I informed her of the situation and location and tell her everything's okay. To my surprise she says:

“Hurry home, mom is crying”.

At first I thought she was joking, I said “okay”, hung up, took a taxi, and went home. The first person I said hi to was my dog, gosh how had I missed him! I then went to my mother’s room and see her, sitting at the corner of the bed with her face on her hands. I greet her, and I can see her red cheeks and puffy eyes, the tears still streaming from her face. With a light heart, I ask her “Why are you crying?” She doesn’t reply then, she instead takes my hands into hers and says, “I thought something bad had happened to you.” It was then I understood.

Her love was endless.

Her voice of desperation turned into one of anger and she scolded me for not answering my phone; even after countless explanations of why I didn’t.

This right here is what true love is. This is pure white angelic love. Nothing will ever compare to a mother’s love, certainly not to mine. I will be lying if I said this didn’t touch me in any way, because it did. At the time, I could say anything to her, just kind of try and comfort her and tell her I was always the safest person in the world.

I do not know why I didn’t tell her “I love you”. I didn’t think of it then. Does that mean I am a bad daughter?

Perhaps someday I will. Perhaps one day, my voice will carry the meaning and beauty of those three words and make my mother happy. Perhaps one day, something will happen that will truly never make me forget that my mother loves me.