My Father’s Love Story 1
My father was three years older than my mother. In the early 1980s, they were colleagues at the same workplace. My mother had long, jet-black hair and fair skin, which captivated my father. He seized every opportunity to get close to her, and finally, they sparked a romance that led to a happy marriage.
My father lost his mother at the age of twelve. My grandfather raised five children on his own, and life was very hard. My father endured many hardships and suffered greatly. They lived in a small single-story house, and despite their poverty, my mother was drawn to my father as a person. Eventually, with a modest dowry, my father won the heart of my mother.
With their combined efforts, they saved enough money within two years of marriage to build a new two-story house. My mother was delighted. Although it was exhausting, following my father brought her happiness, especially when I, their precious daughter, was born. Despite the simplicity of their life, my father cherished my mother.
Every year on my mother’s birthday, my father would always cook a bowl of noodles with a poached egg for her. Though it was a simple dish, it symbolized his love for her.
Although there were occasional minor conflicts in life, my parents always understood and supported each other. They went through hard times together and were looking forward to a happy old age. However, fate dealt a cruel blow when my father was diagnosed with advanced esophageal cancer at the age of 56.
The surgery posed a great risk, and the doctors said he might only have ten months left, advising us to take good care of him at home. My mother was devastated upon hearing this, tears streaming down her face as she insisted, “We can’t just go home, we must treat him, no matter the cost.”
When she entered the hospital room, she hid her sorrow and told my father with a forced smile that everything would be fine, that the doctor said surgery was unnecessary, and that he only had a small cyst that could be treated with radiotherapy.
During more than two years of treatment, my mother was always by my father’s side. Every time he went in for radiotherapy, even though it only took a few minutes, my mother anxiously waited outside, feeling like an eternity had passed. She never left his side, caring for him diligently.
When I saw my mother feeding my father with a spoon, I realized how enviable their love was. My mother stayed with my father at his bedside every day, chatting and massaging him to ease his pain. Whenever I had the chance to relieve my mother so she could rest at home, she would rush back to cook something delicious for my father and return to the hospital to feed him. Only when my father managed to eat a bit could I see a slight smile on my mother’s face.
Despite over two years of treatment, my father eventually left us. At the moment of his passing, my mother held his hand tightly, unwilling to let go. As I embraced my mother and we wept together, I comforted her, saying, “Let go, let him leave in peace.”
At that moment, my mother broke down, losing her emotional anchor. Though my father is no longer with us, he will always live in our hearts. My mother will forever cherish his memory deep within her soul.
Thank you for reading! ” Sitestorys “
