I was heading to my writing group with a book to read on the journey. Because it was an old book I didn’t want to “dog-ear” the pages, I searched in my pockets for something to use as a bookmark. I placed a ten pound note between the pages.
Sitting on the bus I took the book out and was about to read but a young woman behind me who was speaking on her cellphone drew my attention. She was talking to her brother. She wanted to know where he was, why he wasn’t where he was supposed to be, why he had lied to their mother again and whether he knew that their mum had broken down in tears that morning because of him.
She kept it quiet but she didn’t pull any punches with him. She let him know exactly what she thought of him but I could tell there was love under all the disappointment. She tried so hard to get this young man to come to see his mother, but I got the impression she was fighting a losing battle.
When she left the bus, I got off behind her and drew out the note in the book. “Excuse me,” I said. “Do me a favor, would you? Take this money and buy your mum a box of chocolates or a bunch of flowers. And tell her a strange man said that being a mother is the hardest but most important job in the world.”
Then I turned around and walked on, wondering if in some way I was saying a thank-you to my own mum. But I hoped I had raised a smile on the face of a mother suffering for her child.
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