(Would you believe it, this is the very same story I wrote for my SPM 2002 English Paper 2 exam! Check out the appalling lack of subtlety in the sentence structures.)

"Is that really you? Where have you been all these years?"
Before me stood a frail old grey-haired woman who looked well into her sixties. "Yes! It's really me! Your son! Ed!" I tried to inject some enthusiasm into my voice, but came across sounding pretty dumb.
Oh no, now tears were starting to release themselves from her eyes and stream down her face! Was it something I said?
"Oh, Ed," she wept. "You've no idea how worried sick I've been of you...every morning I wake up in hope that you'd be right by my side, but it always remained sheer wishful thinking."
Suddenly a deep sense of guilt wrenched itself into my heart. Here I was, spending the past twelve years of my life journeying round the world while my poor mother sat at home worrying herself to death.
"I'm sorry, Mom." That was all I could manage.
She, however, needed no words. With the most motherly look you could imagine, she just leaned over and planted a soft kiss on my cheek. Oh, my! My heart turned into mush and I couldn't help smiling broadly in return. What had I been missing all this while? Maternal love never felt so great before.
Mom led me in and I could see everything in the house had totally changed. Oh, silly me, of course! My parents had moved two years after my travels. How did I know that, you ask? Well, after I left we still wrote to each other regularly for quite a while. That was before things started to get "exciting" and I sort of forgot to keep in touch with them. But in one of her last letters, Mom did mention that they were shifting to a new house and even gave me the address.
Being the so-called "busy man" I was, I just conveniently stashed the letter away only to discover it again recently. In fact, that was what made me remember about hom eand make the decision to pack my bags and return.
But one thing was for sure, Mom did change a lot. Physically, I mean. Wrinkles lined her once smooth face, and I could see her eyes which used to sparkle ever so brightly were worn out by years of crying. It was almost as though I was looking at an entirely different person.
"You're staying for dinner, I suppose?"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Mom." And I meant it. How could I have been such a fool? How could I have so totally immersed myself in running round the globe for twelve years while there was such a lovely home waiting for me? I must have been truly young and reckless.

After dinner, the two of us sat by the fireplace, her knitting and me just content to watch her. Funny, I never knew she enjoyed knitting. But then again, it had been over a decade since I last saw her.
"So...how's the house? Much bigger than our old one, isn't it?" I tried to start a conversation with my dear old mother.
She looked up, puzzled. "Old house? What old house?"
"The place we used to live at...Downing Falls, remember?"
"Ed, this IS our old house!"
I opened up my mouth to speak but then closed it again, finally understanding what she was hinting at. In case you don't get it, this was her way of reminding me that I hadn't been home for twelve years.
Then I remembered something. "Hey, where's Dad? I haven't seen him since coming back."
"Dad? He's...um, away." Mom gave a hesitant answer and quickly returned to her knitwork. I suspected something wrong, but then having known them for the better part of my life decided that the two must have had some petty argument which resulted in Dad spending the night at a friend's place. He should be back by tomorrow noon.
Click, click, click, went her needles until they stopped suddenly. "It's been so long, Ed...where exactly did you go?"
I perked up. "I thought you were never going to ask, Mom! Hmm...where exactly do I begin? Let's see...I think it began with the Pyramids in Egypt..."
And so the night slowly passed by, with me sharing my countless experiences abroad and she filling me in on twelve years' worth of happenings back home. I showed her my tattered photo album packed with photos of me at almost every location in the world, special events painstakingly kept throughout the years.
We laughed. We cried. We even reminiscenced about our younger days together, but Mom's failing memory made it a little hard. Many times I would bring up some unforgettable childhood memory and she would just stare into space blankly, no idea what I was talking about. Then she'd whisper, "I''m sorry."
Of course, I didn't mind the slightest bit. How could I? I was finally home listening to my Mom blabbering away and enjoying it, not in some dingy motel wondering about the next day's journey. It really filled me with joy, seeing her smile at last upon being reunited with her long-lost son. Though she at times sounded displeased with me not contacting her for years, I knew deep down it was her happiest night in years. It had to be mine too (okay, maybe second to that night I chanced upon that ancient Indian bracelet).
That very night as I lay myself to sleep after hours of talking, I made a silent promise to myself that my days of Indiana Jones-style escapades were over for good. I was truly home now where I belonged, and I wasn't leaving.

"Ding dong!" That noise jolted me from sleep. Still in a semi-conscious state, I pulled my blanket over my head.
"Ding dong!" I wrapped the blanket tighter around my ears to keep that sound, whatever it was, out.
"Coming, coming!" It was the unmistakable sound of Mom rushing downstairs. Now I understood, it was the doorbell and Mom was going to answer it.
"Oh, it's you, Harriet!" came her voice again. "You won't believe what happened yesterday! You simply won't!"
"Really? What happened, Mrs. Fannie?" This time it was the sweet voice of a young woman who couldn't be more than twenty-five. Strange, why did she address my mother as Mrs. Fannie? Her name was Mrs. Morrison and as far as I knew that wasn't her maiden name either. Maybe I heard wrongly.
"Ed came back! After all these years!"
Smiling to myself, I expected that young lady to sound just as delirious as Mom but was taken by her answer.
"No, Mrs. Fannie, it must have been a dream. Your son is dead."
Suddenly I felt very much more awake. Who was this young lady, and why did she say I was dead (over my dead body!)? Also, what was all that "Mrs. Fannie" stuff about? I might have been gone for over a decade, but I sure as anything hadn't forgotten my mother's name and I sure as anything WASN'T DEAD!
The more I thought about it, the more disturbed I was. At last, I couldn't help getting out of the bed to see what was going on downstairs.
"No! We sat down and chatted with each other the whole night, I tell you!"
"Calm down, Mrs. Fannie. There's no need to shout. Come, let's have a cup of tea together."
"He's alive," Mom was already close to tears. "Ed is alive."
I arrived at the scene of a distraught Mom being comforted by this rather plump young woman with short black hair.
"Look, Harriet!" Mom was practically screaming and jumping, pointing a finger at me. "There she is! See, didn't I tell you?"
The woman looked shocked. "W-who are you?"
"Listen here," I said in a rather stern voice. "My name is Edwin Morrison, Mrs. MORRISON'S son, and I don't like you causing such a commotion early in the morning, what with calling my mother funny names and saying I'm dead..."
"Wait, wait, she stopped me in mid-sentence. "I'm Harriet Gayle, Mrs. Fannie's neighbour. What did you say your name was again?"
"Edwin Morrison. And stop calling my mother 'Mrs.Fannie'!"
"But, Ed," Mom stared at me a little wide-eyed. "Why won't you let Harriet call me Mrs. Fannie? That is my name, after all."
"No, Mom!" Now I was really starting to get exasperated. "Your name is Morrison! When did it ever become Fannie?"
"Mrs. Morrison...Morrison...now where have I heard that name before?" Harriet closed her eyes, obviously in deep thought. "Oh, I know! She's the woman who lives across the street!"
"HUH??" Things were certainly becoming very confusing. "Then who is this?" I pointed to 'Mom'.
"Mrs. Fannie's son Edward died many years ago while serving the army. Her husband followed soon after...a heart attack, I think. Ever since then, she's been a little not right here." Harriet pointed to her head. "Every morning I come over and do some household chores for her. Often I try to persuade her to stay with me so that I can take care of her full time, but Mrs. Fannie always refuses, saying she's afraid her son might come back. Sigh...I wish that she would just accept that Edward is gone."
Uh-oh...the pieces of the puzzle started falling into place. "This Mrs. Morrison you spoke of...where does she live?"
"Across the street, Number 23."
Bingo. This house was Number 22. Quickly I rushed back upstairs, dug out the letter in which Mom stated their new address, and went through it carefully. Bingo again. After examining it, I noticed that the "Number 22" written there was actually a faded "Number 23". Therefore, I must have ended up in the wrong house with a woman who was also waiting for her son's return, who was also called Ed in short! Talk about coincidential.
Rather red-faced, I trudged back slowly downstairs. By now, 'Mom' was a lot calmer, sitting down doing her knitting.
"Er...Harriet?" I called her over and explained everything. About how I ended up at Number 22 instead of Number 23 thanks to the faded letter, how I didn't know because I had never seen our new house before, how Mrs. Fannie herself also mistook me, Edwin, for her son Edward. It all made sense now...Mrs. Fannie saying that this was her old home, Dad's absence, her sudden interest in knitting and seeming to forget my childhood stories. I never even knew that her name wasn't the same because I kept calling her 'Mom'!
Of course, I had to go back to my real home. But how, oh how, was I going to bid farewell to this sweet old lady? It would break her heart to see me leave once more. I knew it would.
"Don't tell her that you're leaving," Harriet read my thoughts. "If she thinks you're Edward, why not let her keep thinking so? She wouldn't know anyway, not in that condition of hers."
Quite true. After all, I just couldn't bear saying, "Goodbye, Mrs. Fannie.".
"Mom?" I tapped her shoulder.
"Yes, Ed?"
"I'm going out for a while. Wait for me for dinner, okay?"
"Of course, dear. You better not be late tonight...it's your favourite!"
I smiled and kissed her cheek before exiting. "Take good care of her please, Harriet."

"Is that really you? Where have you been all these years?"
This time, my REAL mother stood before me. Oh sure, there was grey hair and wrinkles and all, but I'd recognise that face anywhere!
"Yes! It's really me! Your son! Ed!"
Blah, blah, blah, blah...

Just to let you know, Mrs. Fannie is now staying with me, Mom and Dad (she thinks they're my relatives). We have dinner together every night; she loves me as her own son, and I love her as the woman who was my Mom for a night.

...as told by mOkKiEs at 6:23 AM