I’m a mother of three. One day, I went to the market and came home with both hands full—dried squid for my eldest son, spinach for my daughter, and braised short ribs and stir-fried anchovies for my youngest. I spent three hours standing in the kitchen, carefully preparing each dish. But I didn’t feel tired at all. Just thinking about my children enjoying the meal filled me with pure happiness.
Mom must have been like this too. Is this what it means for love to fl ow downward?
As an only daughter, I grew up without ever getting my hands wet from housework. After I got married, Mom always worried about me. She would make generous batches of kimchi, seasoned vegetables, soybean paste, and chili paste—always more than enough. Even now, though I’m over fifty, she still fusses over me, making sure I have everything I need.
“Do you have any kimchi left at home? I made some braised mackerel—take it with you,” she asks.
I reply, “Mom, I can cook now. You should eat it.”
No matter how much I protest, she keeps searching the house, trying to find just one more thing for me to take.
It was only after I became a mother myself that I truly understood how deep and warm her love is. Even a single side dish takes so much work—shopping for ingredients, trimming, boiling, seasoning, and mixing—and every step is done with care. Her devotion and sacrifice nourished our family, keeping us healthy and happy.
Now, I’m becoming a mother like her—one whose hands and heart are full of love. The love I once took for granted, I can finally feel deeply as a mother myself: a love beyond words, one that nourishes, sacrifices, and sustains.