Please help me to correct my grammar errors and tell me how to improve it.
"Are you okay, mom ?". That question when I queried, my mother always replied "yes". However, I perceived it was just an essential lie from a mother to her child from the moment my eyes witnessed her applying a wig on her glabrous head. My reminiscence of my childhood during third grade year was obsessive images of my mother suddenly fainting, writhing and dripping tears of agony. It has been 9 years since it occurred, but still seems not long enough to make me forget that my mom had a history of the breast cancer. In mind of a 8 years-old kid, cancer was simply defined as death to me. Being too young to comprehend how severity my mom's illness was, according to the conversation of adults, I inferred to losing my mom in the near future.
Since day my mom left home and moved to the hospital for the treatment, there were months of sadness, struggles, and tears. Living with a sudden absence of mother was tough enough to a 8 years-old kid who was accustomed with having my mom by side nurtured her, yet I performed the duty of raising myself. Three times a day, I went to my grandma's house for meals. From taking bath, dressing, eating to completing homework, I had to undertake all individually without any help. To give my father a helping hand, I arranged my free time to clean up the house and do laundry. However, helps of his little daughter just brought him more troubles.
300 kilometers apart, my mom only came home once a month and in one short day. Counting every single day to the reunion day inadvertently became my habit. To me, her return literally meant that she still had been alive. Every time when we talked through the phone, I never forgot to ask " mom, when will you be home ?". However, if I was known that my innocent question brought her to tears, I would never mention it. I feared the night time because it embraced me with lonely and abandoned emotion, but I also admired it because it was the time I could cry as much as I wanted without fear of being detected because missing mom.
When it came the operation day of her, my father lied to me that he went to the hospital to pick mom up. While I was so happy and exhilarated that the day I had been waiting for finally came, through his eyes evinced a deep anxiety and sorrow of a husband and a father. I wasn't informed that the probability of chance was only 50/50, simply one or another. As godsend the surgery was successful and my mother finally was discharged. Her return reassured me that her health was completely cured, though once a month she was required to return to the hospital for the chemotherapy which its side of effect caused her hair-loss and health-corroding.
The fear of losing my mother taught me to be strong person. Her sudden absence inadvertently had led me to an independent life. Thinking of her struggles against cancer had never allowed myself to surrender any challenges, for they were nothing compared to what she had overcome. Ever since I declared to myself a reality that: while people live their life for themselves, my mother lives her life for her children, I have repeated to myself that I will go to the college and be successful in order to offer my mom a good life. For only one reason, I will live my life for her in return. In flashback, when I asked her what was her motivation to fight over cancer, she answered:" you're my motivation, I reminded myself I had to overcome this adversity whenever I thought of you. Of course I fear death, but what I fear the most is how you'll live without me."
"Are you okay, mom ?". That question when I queried, my mother always replied "yes". However, I perceived it was just an essential lie from a mother to her child from the moment my eyes witnessed her applying a wig on her glabrous head. My reminiscence of my childhood during third grade year was obsessive images of my mother suddenly fainting, writhing and dripping tears of agony. It has been 9 years since it occurred, but still seems not long enough to make me forget that my mom had a history of the breast cancer. In mind of a 8 years-old kid, cancer was simply defined as death to me. Being too young to comprehend how severity my mom's illness was, according to the conversation of adults, I inferred to losing my mom in the near future.
Since day my mom left home and moved to the hospital for the treatment, there were months of sadness, struggles, and tears. Living with a sudden absence of mother was tough enough to a 8 years-old kid who was accustomed with having my mom by side nurtured her, yet I performed the duty of raising myself. Three times a day, I went to my grandma's house for meals. From taking bath, dressing, eating to completing homework, I had to undertake all individually without any help. To give my father a helping hand, I arranged my free time to clean up the house and do laundry. However, helps of his little daughter just brought him more troubles.
300 kilometers apart, my mom only came home once a month and in one short day. Counting every single day to the reunion day inadvertently became my habit. To me, her return literally meant that she still had been alive. Every time when we talked through the phone, I never forgot to ask " mom, when will you be home ?". However, if I was known that my innocent question brought her to tears, I would never mention it. I feared the night time because it embraced me with lonely and abandoned emotion, but I also admired it because it was the time I could cry as much as I wanted without fear of being detected because missing mom.
When it came the operation day of her, my father lied to me that he went to the hospital to pick mom up. While I was so happy and exhilarated that the day I had been waiting for finally came, through his eyes evinced a deep anxiety and sorrow of a husband and a father. I wasn't informed that the probability of chance was only 50/50, simply one or another. As godsend the surgery was successful and my mother finally was discharged. Her return reassured me that her health was completely cured, though once a month she was required to return to the hospital for the chemotherapy which its side of effect caused her hair-loss and health-corroding.
The fear of losing my mother taught me to be strong person. Her sudden absence inadvertently had led me to an independent life. Thinking of her struggles against cancer had never allowed myself to surrender any challenges, for they were nothing compared to what she had overcome. Ever since I declared to myself a reality that: while people live their life for themselves, my mother lives her life for her children, I have repeated to myself that I will go to the college and be successful in order to offer my mom a good life. For only one reason, I will live my life for her in return. In flashback, when I asked her what was her motivation to fight over cancer, she answered:" you're my motivation, I reminded myself I had to overcome this adversity whenever I thought of you. Of course I fear death, but what I fear the most is how you'll live without me."
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