A bouquet dedicated to my mother

It was March 8. I needed to choose a gift. The girl was not only the most beautiful in the university but also in the city. I had been thinking of many gifts for her for quite some time. However, I was not satisfied. Finally, after several days without lunch, I bought the most beautiful, large bouquet from the flower shop, paying for it with the pain in my stomach. The image of her smiling and mysterious face, which appeared before my eyes every day, was far more powerful than my hunger.

The beauty of the chosen flower seemed to enchant everyone around. Everyone's attention was on that bouquet.

When the evening came, I returned home and hid the bouquet in the garage, thinking it was a safe place. At home, my mother insisted that I stay, informing me that guests would be arriving soon, but I firmly said I had to leave. As the meeting time approached, I was very anxious. Back then, my mother would put sedge and pepper in my pockets. Although they had a unique fragrance, that day I emptied my pockets and sprayed the latest trendy perfume instead.

Then I entered the garage to get the flower meant for the most beautiful girl in the world. As I was slowly exiting the house through the garage, my mother called out to me. When I turned around, she was holding my jacket. With longing, she glanced at me and said, "Put on your jacket, it's raining." To avoid embarrassing me, she deliberately turned her gaze away from the bouquet. I told her I wouldn't wear the jacket and hurriedly continued on my way. My mother kept looking after me. I could clearly sense those lingering glances without turning back.

I was rushing, as if the grace of existence, after months and sleepless nights of writing letters, was finally waiting for me — the beautiful one. She was the daughter of the wealthiest family in the city, while I came from a simple middle-class family. This difference was not yet noticeable under the shadow of "blind love," but soon the lies woven to reach her would surely surface. To hide this for now, I would show myself as extravagant, presenting her with my most magnificent moments.

Finally, I was at the meeting place. The appointed time was passing, but there was no sign of the beautiful one. On the contrary, her phone was off. The rain was pouring heavily. An hour passed, I waited. Two hours. I waited until midnight. Finally, losing hope, I threw the bouquet in frustration and returned home. My mother was waiting for me, wide awake. That night, I got soaked in the rain, caught a cold, and developed a fever. My poor mother stayed up all night watching over me.

I was in a terrible state. That night, with feelings of regret and helplessness, I scolded myself. Upon reflection, I realized I had never given my mother flowers on March 8. Looking into my mother's loving eyes, I vowed that next year, on the holiday and thereafter, I would definitely present the most beautiful bouquet to my dear mother.

Time does not stand still. In an instant, March 8 came again. I bought the most extravagant, largest, and most beautiful bouquet from the flower shop. It was raining again. I had put on the beautiful jacket that my mother wanted me to wear, but my pockets were empty, and no matter how much I wished, the pleasant scent of sedge and pepper did not come.

On the way, I could not present these flowers adorned with the inscription "To my dear mother," which many admired... I placed them at her grave with a thousand sorrows...

The moral of the story: Do not think, mothers are eternal, a mother is forever. It is necessary to understand and it is difficult. Perhaps the last, today's encounter.

Source: Xabar.uz