Being a mom is wonderful and difficult at the same time. A sense of anxiety for their child does not pass even with the onset of maturity.
We in the Website
have been touched by the text of the Russian writer Narine Abgaryan (Narine Abgaryan) about how I feel mom when "subscriber is unavailable".
Calls from school.
— Mom, I'm done. Going home.
To go home 30 minutes. Is an hour and a half. Call.
In the background noise, the Mat, screaming.
— Where are you?
— Soon I will wait.
And throws up.
Back to you. The subscriber is unavailable.
Mom, as you need time to wind me up when a lump in the throat and hold the bloody thing?
Me — exactly 10 seconds. Maybe a little more.
Then the imagination begins to draw wild: got into a fight. Attacked. Robbed. Happened something terrible. Something irreparable.
Dress. Run. Where? On a bus route. To climb the nearby entrances. Call the homeroom teacher. No, first to the police. No, a friend of the family, the investigator from Petrovka. To ping on the phone. Interestingly, it is possible to track the phone if it is disabled?
Looking for the approaches to the entrance. Entrances two, running from one room to another. Parallel to gaining again. And again. The subscriber is unavailable.
It takes another 20 minutes of intense expectation.
Pull jeans. Shirt. Take passport. Keys. Rushing around the apartment in search of the phone. Rummage through everything. Phone as the water sank. Rip off of the bed coverlet. Something prevents you to rummage in their underwear. Ah, it's a phone. Oh, you all this time kept it in his hand.Pulls off the coat hanger. Not to cry. Only not to cry. My God, I am screamed at him for the fact that the bed is not tucked in. What you see in that bed!
WHAT YOU SEE IN THAT BED, YOU FOOL! Never, never, never blame him. Son, son.
Strum the intercom.
French foreign Legion welcomes you!
— Where have you been?
— Mom, open the door, there are people waiting, — passes of the French foreign Legion.
Shake it off coat. I go to open the revolving door.
I'll kill you! — promise to myself with grim determination.
Getting out of the Elevator. Dvuhmetrovoy tower. The heavy backpack. The jacket pockets suspiciously bulging.
— Where have you been? — exhale the dragon.
— Mom, I decided for more on the history to stay.
— And to warn could not?
Well, all happened very spontaneously. Here and not yet. And when woke up — bell has already rung.
And text messages to throw? So I wasn't worried.
— Mom, you know that the lessons are not phones to use!
— I then called, and there is someone for swearing!
— Drunks at the bus stop that is not divided, here and shouted at each other. I wanted to tell you, but the phone was dead.
You stand, gasping for air.
— This is for you
— pulls out his ice cream. And smiles wide, wide.
The smile he mine. And my father.
Three years ago money was very tight, went for a walk with friends, took 100 rubles. Came back with chocolate. Don't know how he managed to save. But I always come with chocolate. Handed it to me on the doorstep.
— Mommy, this is for you.
This is me, yeah. Me, me, me.
It is for life. All my blessed, illumined by the happiness of motherhood life.Learning to be still, do not cheat yourself.
Author Narine Abgaryan See also
Mom, you just live for a long time
Thank you, mom! I love you!