Mother, you helped me pack for my trip before I went to bed, just like when I was little. The next morning snow was on the ground. We decided to walk down to the station. Waiting for the train to arrive, you seemed very quiet and I couldn’t look at your face. “Do you have everything?” you asked me again and again.

Mother, you helped me carry my luggage while walking towards the platform. Your curved back made you really short. When the sun started to rise, I had to hide my tears and not move my lips so much. I had to walk in front of you. The train was towards me, I had to hug you quickly and got on the train. “You take care of yourself,” you said to me again and again.

Mother, you stood there and kept waving your hand until the train left the station. My tears drenched my face; I couldn’t read your lips. When the train started to speed up, I ran quickly toward the back to find you. But all I saw was just your shadow. “Mother, I’m sorry for my stubbornness,” I had to scream in my heart again and again.

Mother, you won’t be able to help me pack again, just like it used to be.

Before the sun goes down, I will call you to hear your voice. New England winters are a little hard for me but I’m starting to like snow. Mother, I want to hold your hand and say good-bye again and again.

Setsuko Bradley is married with one child. “I come to school to improve my English grammar. I came to the US from Japan over 20 years ago. My favorite saying: Just do it!” She is an ABE student at the Clinton Adult Learning Center.