At 17, I craved freedom, but my mother’s concern suffocated me. One day, after I came home late, she punished me by hiding my car. Furious, I broke into her storage unit to retrieve it, only to find boxes labeled with my future milestones—18th birthday, graduation, wedding—each one containing gifts and letters she had prepared. It hit me: she was sick and preparing for a time when she wouldn’t be there to witness these moments.
The guilt overwhelmed me. I’d been so blind to her love and fear. I apologized, and we spent the last few months together, cherishing every moment. When she passed away, I found a letter for my 18th birthday, her words comforting me even in her absence.
Now, with her boxes of memories, I hold onto what she taught me—love never ends, even after death. I urge you to hug your mother now, cherish her love, and never take it for granted. Because one day, like me, you might wish for just one more moment.