My Earliest Memory

My age was 3 years and 2 monts old. I didn't know at that time what was happened. When I was in Elementary School, finally I knew it from the stories which my aunts, uncle, father and my grandmother told me. It was when my mother was dying at a hospital and when she passed away.

I still remember very well when my father was arm in arm with me when both of us were walking passed the hospital alleys. That was it. Maybe if we recorded it in the video, it just needed several seconds.

Then it continued with other path at the different time and day. I woke up and looked around strangely. Everybody looked sad and crying. There were so many people in the house, at my grandmother's house (I lived there). They also looked so busy and didn't care of me. I tried to find an answer but I could not get it because there were so many people in the house were crying, even most of them I didn't know well. Not long after that, I remember between my father and my grandmother were trying to grab me and my little brother with the opposite purpose to somewhere place. I didn't understand at that time what they meant with the words those my father said to my grandmother and the others, "They (I and my little brother) need to see her for the last time." Who is "her"? I didn't know. My grandmother said, "No!" and tried to bring us to a neighborhood's house, at the right of our house and kept us there for some hours. Of course I still could not ask at that time, or with the other words, I still could not speak clearly. I just saw their eyes were wet. They hugged and kissed us without saying anything but I could see that they were in sorrow. That was it.

Finally, when I grew up and I was as an Elementary School student (4-5 years later), I knew what had happened at that time. From their stories, I could figure out, when I and my father were walking passed the hospital alleys, it explained we were visiting my mother who I heard from them she had bleeding because of miscarriage from her third pregnancy. Doctor could not save her life and she passed away when my age was 3 years and 2 months old, and my little brother was 7 months old. We were still too much young to be left by her who had been called by HIM so soon.

The next story explained that my father wanted to bring us to see her body for the last time but as the Javanese culture might not permit the little children to see the death body. That was why my grandmother, other family members and neighborhoods didn't permit him to bring us there.

Although I don't remember at all in seeing my mother's face or how she looked like, I thank to God who has given me an invaluable memory. It was a miracle to me for 3 years and 2 months old child could remember the small parts of those memories. They won't be ever happened twice again. I just can see her photographs from our old family album and I promise to myself, when I come back to visit my country in Indonesia, I would bring some of her photographs to I keep.

When I am writing this, I am imagining how happy I am if she is still life now. I never feel the real love of my mother but I can reflect it through the love I give to my little daughter who is 4 years old now. Beside I give her "my love" as her mother, I also feel "the love of my mother is life within me". This can help me to avoid the sadness or sorriness by not feeling "The real Mother's love" at all.