A Mother’s Death and Their Remorse
Language: en
The eighth year since I was diagnosed with autism, Mom was packed into a red suitcase. She didn't come out for a long, long time. I didn't cry or make a fuss, because Mom had given me a mission. She'd carved words onto my back, telling me to find an old man named Mr. Harrison, saying he was my maternal grandpa. I asked blankly: "What if I can't find him?" At just that one sentence, Mom's eyes reddened. She fell silent for a moment, mumbling unconsciously. "You're right, what if I can't find him...?" After she spoke, even her shoulders began to tremble. Doctor Auntie said that Mom…