Memory always exists

For all of my life, I never heard a low-mood word from my mom. She'd been doing hard both housewife duty and father's career assistant. He was a carpenter. She did housework, moved here and there, in and outside the home in the daytime. "Now what will I buy for the carpenter work?", "Which tools, equipment,..?", or "Have a break for lunch, 'daddy' (sweet expression in Vietnam to call their spouse)." - these were some of the typical conversations between mom and dad during a whole day. When the night started to fall down, she got busy with her children's schoolwork.

Years passed by. Dishes kept being washed. Four children still were young, just sat in one place and watched their mother doing all. Unconsciously a voice uttered "I'm bored".

We'd been a family for 54 years in that year.

My father watched traffic-relevant channels on television more often. "She crossed the red light. No wonder why the truck driver hit her.", or "That is his fault. He drove the wrong line. Bad truck driver.", and so on. I could hear those comments almost every day. I became rather annoyed with such negative daily news which became mostly a serious problem in Vietnam. But furthermore, deep inside his words, I could feel his pain for my mother's death whose cause was of a traffic accident caused by a truck driver.