Mhmmhmmhmm my mother hums as she sews up my dress. I watched her with a sharpened gaze, her hand moving back and forth as she pulled the needle through the cloth. I loved how delicately she did this, while when I try to copy her I'm frantic and my work rugged. I guess I didn't have the patience and calmness to do this kind of work.

"All done!" She announces as she cuts the thread and shakes out the dress in front of her. "Now be more careful," she tells me as I pull the dress back on.

I only ever had two dresses as a child, both lovingly made by my mother, and both lovingly used by me. My mother also made clothes for my brother, but he never needed them to be sewn up, as he didn't play as rough as me. Sometimes I'd feel bad that I didn't treat the clothes she made me as good as my brother does, but then mom would smile at me and pat my head, telling me that it's all alright.

Mother was strong in her heart. When I was a child I hadn't known any of the troubles my mom went through, or the troubles she had even when I was right there next to her.

Mom's parents died when mother was still not an adult, so she got married off to some man she hadn't met before. She couldn't complain, though, she didn't have much money or land, so she could've died if she hadn't married. I believe mom was grateful to the man for taking her as she was, but I also believe that she had never loved him.

When Mama told me about him she tried to speak as if they were happy together and never had any troubles, but I could tell there was more, something she wanted to hide deep within her heart. I didn't want to make her dig it up, so I never did ask about him more. He died before Mama had any children, though, leaving her alone again.

After he passed away, Mama went to the city to learn to read and write. I'm not sure what she was thinking at that time, but I think she wanted to be more dependent on herself rather than others. While she was learning, I was told by someone who knew her that in her spare time she would write stories for the children who lived near her and she would read to them and teach them how to read the stories too.

This was when she met my Papa, who was a young traveler who sold and bought books wherever he went. He had been to the city before, so he knew the children who lived near Mama well, and they told him about mama's stories and how she would always give them new ones.

After he met her, he got a job at an old bookstore, and he would always bring Mama new books and stories to practice her reading. But soon after, the old man who owned the bookstore died from a disease the doctors in the city didn't know about. Since the old man didn't have family or an able friend, the bookstore was left in papa's care.

Mama finished her lessons on reading and writing, so she said she planned on going home. But, Papa then asked Mama to run the bookstore with him, and so they did. I imagine it was a fun and lively bookstore, one filled with lots of laughter.

Then, that's when Mama started writing books of her own. They were short stories at first, but then they slowly became longer, and people loved her stories. Not long after Mama started getting famous, Papa finally asked Mama to marry him, and so they did, then not long after they had me. Whenever someone would tell me of this time, a smile would always appear on their face, and their eyes would reflect a long forgotten dream from the past.

After my mama got pregnant with my brother, a war broke out between our country and the country south of us. Papa got called up first to go to war, so he went, leaving me, Mama, and brother. Brother was born while Papa was gone, so I helped Mama all I could, being only five and all.

Two years after my brother was born, the war ended. We waited for a long time for Papa to come home, but he never did. Instead, we got some papers telling us he was taken from us. We were told he died during the final battle, protecting children from the other country.

I was angry that Papa was gone because of those children, but when Mama read the news, she smiled and laughed, whispering something under her breath.

We held a funeral that summer, the day was bright and sunny, and it felt wrong that the world was so joyful while I was filled with sorrow. My mama saw how I felt though and hugged me. She told me that Papa died protecting someone, and there's no better way to die. She also said that Papa would've wanted me to be happy just like the daises and dandelions that day.