A woman sat beside her child’s bed. Her child lay there, pale-faced, eyes closed, breathing slowly. Occasionally, a deep breath would escape, sounding like a sigh. The room was quiet, broken only by the occasional crackle of wood in the stove.
The mother clutched her child’s hand tightly. It felt cold, not warm as usual. She hadn’t slept for three days and nights, her eyes red and swollen, her head heavy, yet she dared not close her eyes.
She whispered, “I won’t let you go. I won’t let go of you. God won’t take you away from me.”
Just then, someone knocked on the door. It opened, and an old man walked in.He was dressed in thick, oversized, worn-out clothes, like a blanket from a stable. Outside, it was winter, the wind howling, and snow falling steadily. His face was frozen purple.
After entering, the old man was still shivering. The mother quickly took a small pot from the stove, poured some beer, and handed it to him. She said, “Warm yourself up. It’s too cold outside.”
The old man took the beer, drank a few sips, then sat down beside the cradle, rocking it gently. Mother sat down too, her eyes fixed on the child.
Death Arrives
The old man looked at the child and nodded softly. Mother asked him, “Do you think I can keep him?” The old man nodded again, but this time the gesture was strange—as if saying “yes,” yet also saying “no.”
Exhausted, the mother closed her eyes and drifted off. But after only a few seconds, she jolted awake, her body trembling.
She looked—the child was gone. The old man was gone too. The old clock in the corner had stopped, its pendulum fallen to the floor with a thud.
She rushed out of the room, standing in the snow and shouting, “My child! Where are you? Come back!”
Snow fell heavily, the wind cutting like knives across her face. Then she saw a woman in black sitting in the snow.
The woman said, “That old man was Death. He’s already taken your child away. He runs faster than the wind. What he takes, he never gives back.”
The mother cried out, “Which way did he go? Tell me, I’ll go find him!”
The dark-clad woman replied, “I can tell you, but first you must sing a song you sang to your child. I heard you sing once—you sang while weeping. Your voice was beautiful.”
The mother began to sing immediately. She sang many songs, weeping as she sang. Tears streamed down her face, falling onto the snow and instantly freezing into tiny ice beads.
Finally, the woman in black said, “Go toward the dark pine forest on the right. I saw Death pass through there.”
The Warm Embrace of Thorns
The mother ran into the forest. The path was slippery, the snow deep. As she walked, she came to a fork in the road, unsure which way to go.
By the roadside stood a cluster of withered thorns—bare of leaves and flowers, only branches heavy with ice.
She asked, “Did you see Death carrying my child?”
The thorns replied, “I saw. But I won’t tell you the way unless you hold me close and warm me. I’m nearly frozen to death.”
The mother immediately embraced the thorns to her chest, holding them close. The thorns pierced her skin, blood flowing and dripping onto the snow.
But she did not let go. Her heart was warm, her body still radiating heat. Strangely, the thorns began to sprout green leaves, then bloomed with tiny white flowers—blooming in the dead of winter.
Thorn said, “Thank you. Now I can tell you: you should take the path on the left.”
Trading Tears for a Path
She kept running until she reached a large lake. There were no boats on the lake, and the ice wasn’t thick enough to walk across. The water was too deep to wade through.
She knelt down and began drinking the lake water, hoping to drain it dry so she could walk across. But she knew this was impossible. She was so desperate to save her child that she had lost all reason.
The lake spoke: “I can carry you across, but you must give me something in return. I love pearls most of all. Your eyes are the brightest pearls I have ever seen. If you can cry them out and place them in the lake, I will let you pass.”
The mother said, “I would give anything to save my child.”
She began to cry. Her sobs grew louder and louder, tears falling like rain into the lake. Finally, her eyes fell from her face, transforming into two sparkling pearls that sank to the bottom.
The lake instantly grew calm, like a giant hand cradling her, gently carrying her to the other shore.
5. White Hair for a Clue
On the opposite shore stood a colossal house, broad as a mountain, yet resembling a labyrinth built of wood. The mother could not see it, for she had no eyes.
She asked, “Where is Death? Where is my child?”
An old woman tending the graves emerged and said, “Death has not come yet. Who are you? How did you find this place?”
“I am the child’s mother,” she said. “God helped me reach this far. Now please help me. I must find my child.”
The old woman replied, “Many trees and flowers grow here, each representing a human life. Your child’s life is among them. But you must find it yourself. If I tell you what to do next, what will you give me?”
The mother replied, “I have nothing left. But I would walk to the ends of the earth for you.”
The old woman said, “I don’t need you to go that far. But I do like your black hair. If you’re willing to give it to me, I’ll give you my white hair. Though white hair isn’t pretty, it’s better than no hair at all.”
The mother said, “All right, I’ll give you my black hair.”
She cut off her long black hair and handed it to the old woman. The old woman gave her a lock of white hair.
The Garden of Life
Together they entered a vast greenhouse. It was filled with all manner of plants: flowers, trees, vines, and aquatic grasses. Some blooms were in full splendor, others withered and yellowed. Water snakes slithered over dead leaves, crabs clamped onto plant roots.
The old woman said, “Every plant represents a living person. Some are in China, some in the far north, some in other countries. The big trees represent those with long lives, the small flowers represent children. Look at those in the little pots—they’re growing so crowded they’re about to burst the pots. Those are people who live with hardship.”
Mother bent among the flowers, pressing her ear to each tiny plant to listen to their heartbeats. She listened long and hard until she finally heard a familiar sound—it was her child’s!
“I found it!” she cried, reaching for a small blue flower. This flower hung its head, looking weak.
The old woman said, “Don’t touch it! When Death comes, he’ll want to pull it out. You must stop him! You can say, ‘If you take this flower, I’ll destroy them all!’ These flowers belong to God. He can’t just take them.”
7. Conversation with Death
A sudden gust of wind blew in, chilling the room. The mother felt it, but couldn’t see.
Death arrived. He said, “How did you get here before me? How did you find this place?”
The mother replied, “Because I am a mother.”
Death approached the blue flower, reaching to pluck it. The mother immediately lunged forward, clutching the flower tightly with both hands, afraid it might be harmed.
Death blew a breath onto her hands. The breath was colder than the winter wind. Her hands instantly lost their strength and fell limp.
“You cannot defeat me,” Death said.
“But God can,” the mother replied.
Death said, “I only follow God’s command. I am His gardener. I move these flowers to another world—a more beautiful place. But what it is like, I cannot tell you.”
The mother cried, “Please give me back my child!”
She suddenly grabbed two beautiful flowers beside her and shouted, “If you don’t give me back my child, I’ll pull out every single flower!”
Death said, “No! You have suffered enough, but you cannot make other mothers suffer as you have!”
Hearing this, the mother immediately let go. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think of the other children who have mothers too.”
Fates in the Well
Death said, “These are your eyes.” He produced two sparkling pearls. “I retrieved them from the lake. Now I return them to you.”
The mother placed the eyes back in their sockets, and the world brightened once more. Death directed her gaze toward a well beside them.
“Those two flowers you sought to uproot represent the destinies of your children. Look into the well, and you shall see their futures.”
She lowered her gaze into the well.
The child of the first flower: A life of happiness. Loved by family, blessed with health, surrounded by friends, living each day with laughter.
The child of the second flower: A life of suffering. Sickly from childhood, born into poverty, bullied by others, growing up alone, with no one to care for them in old age.
The mother trembled all over. She pleaded, “Which one is my child? Please tell me!”
Death replied, “I cannot say. But you may know—one of them is your child. What you just saw is your child’s future.”
The mother screamed. Kneeling on the ground, she cried out:
“Please! Whichever one it is, take him away!If he’s destined for hardship, he should never have been born! If he can find happiness, then take him now—let him go straight to that beautiful place! Spare him the pain of this world! Forgive me for wanting to destroy another life just now. Forgive all my selfish pleas!”
The Final Release
She bowed her head, silent. She prayed to the heavens:
“God, Your decisions are always right. I shouldn’t have asked You to change fate. Please don’t listen to me, don’t act according to my wishes. I’m just a grieving mother who doesn’t understand what’s truly best.”
Death watched her silently. Then he picked up the little blue flower and flew into the distant darkness.
The mother stood where she was, not chasing after him. She knew some paths must be walked alone; some farewells must be learned to accept.
The Truth Behind the Story
This tale isn’t about “a mother defeating Death,” but about how a mother transitions from “refusing to let go” to “learning to let go.”
To save her child, she was willing to sacrifice everything: warmth, tears, her eyes, her hair. She walked through thorns, drained lakes dry, threatened Death, and even contemplated destroying another life.
But in the end, she understood: Love is not about possession, but about setting free. She would rather her child go to a place she didn’t know than have him suffer in this world.
Death isn’t the villain; it merely enforces a greater rule. Just as seasons change and leaves fall, death is part of life.
True courage isn’t clinging desperately; it’s saying, “I’m willing to let go,” in the moment of deepest pain.
What Lessons Does This Story Teach Us?
- A mother’s love is the strongest force, yet it has its limits. A mother would sacrifice everything for her child, but some things even love cannot change.
- Pain makes us grow. She started out only wanting to save her child, but in the end, she learned to respect the natural order of life.
- Everyone’s destiny is different. Some find happiness, others endure suffering. We cannot wish misfortune upon others’ children just to ensure our own are blessed.
- Sometimes, letting go is the deepest form of love. She stopped chasing him because she knew the place he was going might be better than this world.
- Faith isn’t for demanding miracles, but for accepting reality. Her final prayer wasn’t “Save him,” but “Please don’t hear my prayer.”
So this story tells us:
When the one you love most is leaving, the best farewell isn’t clinging desperately, but whispering softly: ‘Go, and I bless you.’
