I’ve loved my mother’s desk since I was a child. I was just tall enough to see above the top of it as my mother sat reading books. Standing by her chair, I thought that reading must be the most wonderful thing in the world.
A few years later, during her final illness, “The desk is for you,” she said to me. I cleaned the desk carefully and found some papers and a photo of my family.
I knew she loved me; she showed it in action. But as a young girl, I wanted heart-to-heart talks between mother and daughter. They never happened. She was never angry. And a gulf opened between us. I was “too emotional”. But she didn’t say how she felt.
As years passed, I had my own family. I loved my daughter and thanked my mother for our happy family.
Now her desk told that she was pleased that I like reading very much. Mother, you always chose the act that speaks louder than words.
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