Not my friend

While driving to work today, a portion of the radio show I listen to addressed the relationship between a mother and daughter. And most callers discussing this topic stated their mom is their friend. In some cases, their best friend. Of course, I then reflected on what my relationship was with my mother and how I'll never know what it is like to be friends with my mother as an adult. Who knows . . . would we even be friends now? And then thinking of these things, a twinge of bitterness rolls through my heart.

As I've mentioned before in previous posts, my mother and I weren't the best of friends. We didn't really even get along. Ok, put us in a room, alone, for more than 60 seconds, and likely a fight would erupt. No joke. I now know that we are just too similar for our own good. And that probably would have gotten in the way of a truly functional friendship. But I feel robbed of the opportunity to have a failed friendship with my mother. And though I'll never know what it could have been like to be friends with my mother as an adult, I must thank her for not being my friend when I was a child and growing up.

When I taught elementary school, I often noticed parents (mothers, especially) being more of a friend to their child than a parent. This was evident in their communication and interactions. Inside I marveled and was mortified because my students, their children, behaved in ways that would have been totally unacceptable in my house growing up. I noticed my students would have a general flippant attitude towards adults. And then the real evidence of my students lack of respect for their parent, their friend, would be when parents (especially mothers) would express to me how their child would insist on something being completed or done because of me, their teacher. Parents would come to me and say how they couldn't understand why their child was so "bad" at home, but always heard glowing reports from me regarding behavior. How to balance the fun and being the adult is something I learned from my mother by example.

As I look back, I see that my mother mastered the art of teaching me that all adults are to be respected and heeded and that most of all, even though we may have fun together, at the end of the day . . . she's the mom. And that's what I did in my classroom - I had fun, great fun, with my students but I always made sure that at the forefront of everything was the simple fact that I was the teacher . . . I was the adult. And , for whatever reason, for however I managed to strike the balance, there were very few times in which my students needed reminding of their behavior and communication. And it made for many incredibly fun days as a teacher.

Now, I am no longer a teacher and look forward to the day when I am a mother. And I look forward to passing on to my child(ren) the values, respect, sense of fun, etc. that my mother instilled in me.

So no, there will never be a day when I am able to giggle like a school girl with my mother or go on a shopping spree with her. But, there will be many a days when her lessons are always manifested in the way I conduct myself with others. And that is because my mother was a mother, not a friend. And I'm quite alright with that.

Our turn

Thanksgiving.
Christmas.
New Years.
The holidays . . . they’re back.

Thanksgiving had its rocky moments, but all in all – it was a good holiday spent with family. And the family that I have inherited through my other half is truly a comforting family to have and to be with on the holidays.

Christmas is fast approaching and there is so much to be done. But what I’m most happy about is that my other half and I will be starting a first that will hopefully turn into a tradition for our family. His parents and grandmother will be sharing Christmas Day with us in our home. We are in the final “oh sh*t this has to be done” stage to have our home prepared and ready for our first hosted Christmas. Hopefully as each Christmas passes there will less of this panicked feeling in making sure our home is ready for the holidays, Christmas especially.

When we last saw my aunt, we were talking about holiday traditions. In my extended family, all the kids/cousins go to my aunt’s house for Thanksgiving and then there is the traditional kick the kids out of the house movie after dinner. Though I haven’t spent Thanksgiving with my extended family in a few years, I hear the movie tradition is still alive. My aunt explained that Thanksgiving is the only holiday in which she requires all of her kids to be home, and by extension extended family tries to be there as well. As this is how we all spent Thanksgiving when we were younger. Together. One big happy family. So, we told her that we were hoping to start a tradition of my other half’s parents, and hopefully his sister’s family (though she is married with her own set of in laws, etc.) some day, being in our home for Christmas Day. My aunt smiled and said that we, as the younger generation, should be taking the responsibility of holidays as well as starting our own traditions for when we have children. Or at least to keep the younger generation together. And I know this is definitely something I know my mother would want to see happen in my own family.

So, now, as matriarch of my own family, the Christmas decorations are starting to be put up so there are signs of Christmas in our home. Our front door is gift-wrapped and covered with bows, our windows have Christmas decorations on them. Soon, Christmas cards will be purchased, filled in and mailed and presents will be purchased and hidden. As I approach this Christmas with some different energy and perspective, there still remains a piece of me that is melancholy and disconnected. But seeing family, no matter whose family, often helps to fill the void. And hopefully one day, the void will no longer be present because I will have come full circle in knowing that no matter the day, the holiday, I am blessed everyday with a strong-willed mother as my guardian angel. And really, that is the best gift. Ever.

What a Beautiful Day

Yesterday marked nine years since my mother's passing. And for the first time, the day was like none other. It marked a slight change - my other half and I were with my family. We went to my aunt's house (my mom's youngest sister) on Saturday - some of my cousins were there and my uncle (my mom's youngest brother) and his family joined in on the dinner fun as well. The evening was just fun-filled with family and love. A big, huge bubble of safeness and comfort. We closed out the night with two games of Scrabble - my aunt, my other half and me. Now, just so you know, my mother was the reigning queen of Scrabble - no one could beat her. She may have been overthrown once or twice. Apparently, I am channeling my mother in that arena.

Sunday, we woke up to great conversation with my aunt and uncle, then off to church where my cousin and his family met us along with my uncle. Then we spent the rest of the time before coming home, with my aunt. And I couldn't think of a better place to have been. It was great to just relax and take in the day and see my other half interact with my family. It was great to be in a place where I feel so safe and comforted . . . surrounded by love. And to be able to be with family and be able to talk about my mother - that's what I needed. Everyone knew what yesterday. But no words needed to be said. At least not many. There were simple looks, hugs of acknolwedgement and words of encouragement and love. And for what my aunt said to me, I'll be forever grateful - that it is okay to move on and that my mother is watching over us. She would be happy with how far I have come in life and the man that I am blessed to be with.

It was difficult to leave. Being with my aunt feels like home. But I know we'll be back there soon enough. There was a shred of sadness when my other half and I back to our home. It was at the end of the night after we'd had our Sunday dinner together and the house was full of our favorite aromas - Sunday sauce (well, bolognese sauce this Sunday). I just needed to allow myself the emotion, which is difficult sometimes.

I miss my mom everyday. After spending the time this anniversary with my aunt, I see the flipside in that those who have gone before us aren't really gone, they are with us. I understand those words, but admittedly, I'm not quite there yet. But, I guess it is okay to keep moving forward. I know it's what she would have wanted.

Tellin it like it is. I think.

Anger. It has such power over the person who is consumed with this emotion. It can take hold and remain for a short period of time or it can linger in a person for years at a time. If we're not careful, it may evolve into a way of life, seep into our mannerisms . . . Since my mother's passing, I have had to deal with this particular emotion in many ways. I've directed it at undeserved people, I've internalized it for days/weeks/months, I've been undeserved receiver.

As the nine year mark approaches, I decided to confront the anger issue head on with regard to my father. This has been an incredibly difficult year in which he has had to adjust to many changes. And, along the way, his decision has been to strike out in anger towards me (and sometimes my other half) at times of his choosing. My father has a tendency of not hearing me, literally, or he chooses to ignore the words that I choose so carefully to say, especially with respect to the matter of my mother. So, I turned to the only other medium I could and wrote (well, typed) him an email expressing how I felt.

My bottom line message to my father was that his choosing to treat me with anger as he chooses is just unacceptable, that he does not act in accordance with the words that he says, that he knowingly sets people up for his manipulation, that he cannot make choices and then lash out in anger towards others because of the choices he makes. That he consistently states that we are family and should act as such, however he is incredibly guilty of not acting like he is part of a family.

It may not have been the most love-oozing letter to my father, but it was not intended that way. It was intended to express to him that I will not be his fall guy, so to speak, anymore for his anger. That I will not allow him to ignore questions, withhold information then act in anger accusing me that I do not care about his well-being. That I will not accept responsibility for his decisions that he later wants to be upset about. That it is his choice to not join my other half, myself and my other half's family for Thanksgiving, despite numerous invitations, and he lost his right to be angry thinking that no one wants to spend Thanksgiving with him.

This all came out in an effort to elicit particular important information regarding an upcoming event with respect to my father. Despite repeated requests for further details, including my long email this morning, he still refuses to divulge specific details. Rather I get the vaguest of information. Why I did this I have no idea. Oh yeah, it is so that he recognizes that I will not accept his behavior. And to have it in black and white that he was asked about certain things numerous times. It seems like that should be unnecessary, but it is given that he has an interesting way of recollecting things in which he is consistently right, even though he completely twists, inserts, omits, etc. words.

Don't get me wrong, I love my father. He's my father. And I understand that a part of him insists on remaining angry because my mother is no longer with us. There are days, sometimes continuous days, in which I am flat out angry. There are days when I direct that anger towards underserving folks. As much as I can, I try to keep myself in check and explain my disposition and apologize. My father . . . he is unable to do this. I understand he is my father. But, as a human being and as a daughter, I am entitled to some respect and consideration.

So, I told it how I see it. How I feel. And . . . as usual . . . I felt about this small because (1) my father again ignored my request for detailed information and (2) said nothing else with respect to my thought out letter.

Honestly, I don't know why I'm surprised or the slightest disappointed.

Lost.

That is simply how I feel.

It succinctly describes where I am.

My family, what's left of my family seems lost, unable to come together and be a family. My brother and his wife (and my soon to be niece) in another country. My father across the country. One unable to travel for the upcoming holiday season. The other unwilling to travel for the upcoming holiday season.

The last one remaining in the place where my mother passed. Disconnected from those who also deeply mourn the loss.

It is a difficult place - lost. Indescribable in words. Generally not shared. But causes waves around those I love the most.

All I can say is, I'm sorry. It'll pass. I'll work through it. But, for now, I'm sorry.

Polar Opposites

A grounding, centering weekend describes this past weekend. It was a family filled weekend. And being with everyone reminded me just how important family has become to me in spite of the fact that I think my own immediate family has forgotten how to be a cohesive one.

Let me explain . . . my other half’s family and my mother’s side of the family give you the warm fuzzies and loved feeling. Then, there’s my father who seems to be incapable of being anywhere close to warm fuzzy or even sincere at times. It’s unbelievable to me that I am a product of my mother and father when I cannot even understand the things my father does or says of late.

This weekend was the second visit we had with my aunt and uncle. The drive was slow, the weather was horrible and we were late. But that didn’t change the demeanor in her house once we arrived. My aunt, uncle, my cousin along with his wife and two daughters welcomed us in with open arms (and hungry stomachs). We chatted away the night over good food and dessert (it was my cousin’s b-day) and enjoyed just being with family. I couldn’t have asked for anything more.

And this is where I realized I am home when I’m with them. At various points during dinner, my aunt (my mother’s youngest sister) and I talked about the wedding. And she said to me that one of her gifts to me was to take me to get my qi pao (traditional Chinese dress). She knew that my cousin had offered for me to wear hers as the “something borrowed”, but my aunt wanted otherwise saying to me that since my mother isn’t here, she wants to take care of that aspect of the wedding attire. Then, she told me that she would host my bridal shower for me in NY (which is great because most of the families live in NY). And right then is when I lost it, I am crying at the dinner table because I really did not expect my family to rally around. Though I’m not sure why given that it is a wedding and my mother is not here.

The next day, I realized that my aunt and uncle are the ones who define my family. They are the ones who you can see I learned everything from (how could it not be? I mean, my aunt and mother were sisters). All signs lead to them when you want to have that “home” feeling. They are good people with such incredibly positive energy. There is no way you would ever doubt their words. Then, there’s my father. And, in fact, we spoke of my father while at breakfast with them on Sunday because of everything that has been happening (I don’t even know how to explain his conduct of late). While we were talking I felt relief because in their own way, both indirect and direct, they were letting my other half to not take anything personally and that really, the problem lies in my father and no one else. And through other means, the bottom line that was shared with us was to make sure that we take care of ourselves and not really worry too much about.

After leaving my aunt’s, with a heavy heart, I realized that I come from two totally different worlds now. And I identify and feel more comfortable with my mother’s side of the family than I do with my own father. On one hand, there is warmth, love and positivity. On the other hand, there is anguish, anger and manipulation. I am filled with such happiness when I am with my aunt, cousins, etc. And when I’m with my father, I’m filled with trepidation, frustration and I cry. A lot.

Some days I wonder just how will this all resolve itself because I cannot continue to have such toxicity when it comes to my father.

Confusion Ensues

It's no secret that November 22 will mark yet another year since my mother passed away. And each year, I am met with such unpredictability as to how my mood will swing in addition to how it will affect those in my family.

This year, I am a little more melancholy and missing my mother even more than before. However, I can see why given that I'm preparing for my wedding in June, my brother and his wife are expecting a baby girl in January . . . a lot of family things going on, things that my mother should be witnessing but isn't.

What leaves me at a loss for words and feeling even more confused and melancholy is the way my father reacted when my other half and I invited him to stay for Thanksgiving. He says that he'd rather stay where he is and not travel. He argues that he doesn't like having to clear a potential visit with us before making arrangements (clearly not thinking about the fact that both my other half and I work and have other things going on that a visit from anyone would require discussion in advance). He takes statements I've made and either blows them out of proportion or twists them around to sound like something he can be upset about. Then he proceeds to manipulate me by saying whatever he chooses to say to elicit guilt and unrest on my end. And as much as I say it doesn't bother me, I won't let him get to me . . . it does bother me, he does get to me. My brother says cut our father some slack . . . he's old and doesn't think straight or clearly at times. I agree with his statement, however I know just how much my father crosses the line and disrespects my boundaries. Basically, he acts as though it is completely inappropriate for me to have any boundaries. At. All. What leaves me more melancholy is the fact that my father will not put his own discomfort or imagined grudge aside for Thanksgiving. In the years following my mother's death, my father and I have always been together on Thanksgiving. I feel abandoned, cast aside.

Just when I feel like the three of us are moving ahead, it's as though we move farther apart. It's as though we no longer know how to function as a family without my mother. It's just anger and many unspoken words.

Where Does the Time Go?

Nine years. It will be nine years this November 22 since my mother's death. And I can't believe just how surreal, difficult and painful it can still be.

So many things have happened since that time . . . my brother moved to Shanghai, I went to law school, my brother got married, my father moved to California, I graduated from law school and am now practicing, my brother and his wife are expecting a baby girl in January and my other half and I are having our church wedding in June. To me, though, each of these things don't feel entirely right because of a missing presence.

There's always this double-edged feeling that comes with my happiness and enjoyment at certain moments. I'm thrilled to be planning the wedding . . . but I am a little sad because I never thought that my mother wouldn't be there to help. I'm excited to become a mother . . . but I won't have the benefit of my mother's help. It's not that I haven't developed relationships with my other half's mother and other women . . . but some days it just isn't the same, doesn't feel right and some days I'm just downright bitter. I think about all the people in my life who I would have loved my mother to meet . . . most importantly, my other half. But, she's not here.

I know there will be those who say that she knows, she sees all. And while I believe that as well, it doesn't take away from the reality of the situation - she isn't here. There is no physical presence. And it has been ten years of this. And the fact of the matter is simple - I miss her. I want her here.

Clearly I'm just rambling here, thoughts just being tossed out of my head. Some days it is like that. I try and say something so coherently, but it just doesn't work out that way. I mean, in what other ways can I say something as simple and true as I miss my mother?

Ok . . . maybe I'm still a little angry. But that's for another day.

Just the tip of the iceberg . . .

Last weekend, my other half and I were just chatting away when stories of our travels came up. While we were talking, I lowered my head in some sort of reverie as I started to remember trips that I took with my mother. There are so many remarkable trips we took together both within and outside the country.

The first time I recall travelling alone with my mother was to go to Taiwan with her to see my grandmother. I think I was about seven or eight at the time. Now, being the serious "daddy's little girl" that I was at the time (and probably still am to some degree), leaving for a month just wasn't high on my list of things to do. But, my mother being ever so wily and smart was definitely in tune with her daughter that summer. Truth be told, my mother bribed me. She bribed me with the ultimate bribe, at the time for a seven year old girl. My mother promised me that if I went with her, I could get my ears pierced while we were in Taiwan. This is significant because there was an age requirement imposed by my parents (ok, my mother) in order for me to get my ears pierced. So, you can see how easy it was for me to be convinced to go to Taiwan.

The unfortunate thing is that this trip wasn't just full of fun and excitement. In fact, I think what happened early on in the trip remained and evolved into a deep-rooted issue. Our journey to Taiwan would be long and involved plane changes, etc. In fact, one of our layovers was overnight (yay! I loved staying in hotels as a child. Wait, I still love hotel visits!). I remember my mother putting me on a bus. No, I did not know at the time that this was a shuttle to go to the hotel. She said that she would be right back. Well, she didn't come back quick enough for I saw the doors to the bus close and we were pulling away from the doors that my mother was supposed to exit. I think I was too frightened and unsure of what was going on at the time that I didn't know what to do - yell, cry, scream for my mother. I just sat there looking back and started to cry . . . silently. When we got to I now know was the hotel, I was in shellshock, crying, hysterical not knowing why I was there without my mother. Why my mother left me . . . all by myself. I didn't know why she wasn't with me, why she didn't want to be with me. Yes, these were all things I remember thinking while strangers were talking to me asking me if I was lost, where was my mommy or daddy . . . Yeah, like I could speak coherently through the violent sobs coming from my seven year old body.

Rest assured, my mother showed up and held me so close and tight and said sorry over and over and over. But I know that a small part of me never recovered from that sense of abandonment. From that feeling that my mother didn't want me. Clearly the part of my mother not wanting me is untrue and just a reaction from me as a child. But the feeling . . . I still sometimes struggle with that as an adult. That those around me will one day just vanish. Disappear. Now, it wouldn't be so bad if it was just an incident that happened with my mother. But, as it would turn out when I was nine years old, there would be a life-altering event as a result of my father, that would leave me with abandonment issues.

Now, I've wrestled those demons, for the most part, and have overcome those fears. But, there are still small moments when I feel as though the rug will be pulled out from under me. I try and keep those in check and realize that those who love me would never intentionally do such a thing. Just don't inadvertently let me lose track of you in a huge crowd. That is unless you want to see a grown woman have a panic attack.

And rest assured, that was just an isolated incident in my travels with my mother. Most of our trips together were fun and shopping filled. More to come.

What's in a name

Ma.
Mommy.
Momma.
Mom.
Mother.

So many ways in which we address our mother. Clearly, I have not used any of those titles since September 11, 2000.

Earlier in my present relationship, the choices were pretty simple as to how I would address my other half's parents - Mr and Mrs or first names. I still hesitated with that because his parents and I never really had a conversation about how I would address them. I'll never know whether it just didn't bother them or they didn't find the need to bring it up in conversation, but I don't recall ever hearing about the fact that I didn't call them anything. In fact, it was my other half who would tease me every now and then about the fact that I wasn't really calling them anything.

So now, for just shy of six months, I've been struggling with how to address my other half's folks. My other half has brought it up more than once, his mother has jokingly brought it up ("You have to call me something!?") and his father and I have talked about it twice. I told my other half that I just don't know what I feel comfortable with. I laughed when his mother made her passing comment/joke. And with his father, I expressed a little about how I wasn't sure what to call them, and he said to just use what felt comfortable - first names, Mom/Dad, whatever.

It's understandable, to everyone, as to why I have difficulty with the use of a maternal address. I saw it as a betrayal to my mother to address someone else with a maternal address because she isn't here to give her opinion or thoughts. And, really, I just didn't know how to reconcile that in my mind. Also, I have never seen my mother address anyone other than her own mother with a maternal address. Then again, I never saw her interact with my father's stepmother. Ever.

I struggled with the paternal address, because, well, my father is still alive. I don't want to hurt his feelings or insult him by using a father-like term for someone else. So, you see . . . I was in quite a predicament.

But, then I thought about it and had a breakthrough this past weekend - Mom and Pop. When my mother was alive, I usually called her Ma. And Pop works because I've never addressed my father directly or indirectly as Pop. So, these two addresses are, in fact, unique to my other half's parents and for me as well. It doesn't insult my own parents and after trying it out this weekend, it feels natural. Pop definitely felt comfortable and lo and behold, when I used Mom, I wasn't struck by lightning or something overly-exaggerated that I thought would happen. And to see the reaction from both of them . . . I knew I made the right decision.

I am grateful and appreciative that my other half, his mother and father handled and approached the predicament I was in with humor, compassion and patience. And, to be honest, I don't think my mother would feel betrayed by my decision or the slightest bit dismayed. In fact, I know she would be smiling knowing how deliberate I was with my decision with regard to my other half's parents . . . a decision that may have been taken lighter were I not my mother's daughter.

UPDATE to "Hold my hand"

I received the results of my mammogram. Thankfully, there are no signs of cancer. Huge sighs of relief were exhaled. Honestly, this is one area in which I want to be nothing like my mother. I don't want cancer. I don't want to have an abbreviated life. I don't want to suffer as I saw her suffer. I hate to sound selfish . . . but, I want that part of my life to be the polar opposite of my mother's.

Another Like Mother, Like Daughter

For as long as I can remember, my mother wore glasses. She tried the contacts thing when I first got contacts (as did my brother), but she didn't last long. Apparently she couldn't get past the "sticking her finger in her eye" thing. I remember I would giggle watching her try with all her might to put her contact lenses in. So, she pretty much stuck with glasses. I can't tell you how many pairs she had . . . one for when she did her hair and make up, one for when she was driving, one for when she was driving and it was sunny, one for when she was working. There were glasses everywhere. And, my mother looked so much better with her glasses than she did without her glasses.

Since I was around twelve years old, I've worn contact lenses. Since that time, I've probably owned two pairs of glasses, of which I've worn less than a handful of times and NOT likely worn in public. Every waking (and sleeping) moment, I had my contacts in my eyes. I couldn't imagine wearing glasses professionally as my mother did, let alone socially, as my mother did. I didn't think it really suited me.

Now, guess who has glasses? Yes, that would be me. Fancy shmancy new glasses. And, actually, I LOVE them. I picked them up yesterday and was like a kid in a candy shop. I kid you not. First, let me say, this is the first time I have ever been excited about a pair of glasses. EVER. Second, these are the coolest glasses I've ever had. Why, you may be wondering . . . Well, let's see, I went all out for these glasses which means they have transition lenses, ultra-thin lenses (well, as thin as you can get with my prescription, but still incredibly thin!), scratch-resistant lenses (that came with a certificate of authenticity?!) and anti-glare coverage. Wow - that was quite a mouthful. And honestly, my eyes are soooo happy that I don't have my contacts in right now. In fact, I haven't had my contacts in since yesterday afternoon. I can't tell you the last time I did that!

So, yes I am wearing my glasses professionally and socially. Hmmm . . . sounds like my mother. But, my glasses are a little hipper than hers. I guess in some ways, it's not such a bad thing to be like my mom, huh?

PS. The contacts are NOT retired!

Hold my hand?

Today was a monumental day. As I've mentioned before, there is a history of breast cancer on my mother's side of the family: my mother and her two sisters. My mother had a tumor removed, the middle sister had chemotherapy and radiation and the youngest had a lumpectomy. Upon hearing this and the fact that I had not had a screening yet . . . my doctor immediately wrote me a prescription to have a mammogram. It seems that the age for routine mammograms to begin is forty. HOWEVER, having a family history of breast cancer bumps up that inital mammogram from forty to thirty-five. I'm thirty six. Yeah, my doctor wanted a mammogram sooner rather than later.

Admittedly, this is something that I have put off for quite some time because I just didn't want to address the matter. My mother died of cancer . . . lung cancer that everyone suspects originated with the tumor in her breast. My two aunts have had to deal with cancer, though (thank heavens) they are still alive. I was so affected by this appointment that last night I was sobbing in bed saying I didn't want to have cancer. That I was just so nervous. My other half was so sweet that he even offered to come along. I said no because I knew this was, again, one of those things that I had to do on my own.

When I got to the medical center, the emotions started. Or at least they tried. I could barely speak above a whisper when I was registering. And the entire time I was on the radiation floor, I was on the verge of crying. I guess the tech sensed just how nervous I was and she was incredibly patient and nice while I was going through the procedure. But all I could think of was my mother doing the very same thing that I was doing. And then learning that she had breast cancer. I don't want to be her. I don't want what happened to her to happen to me. Truth be told, I feel awful for saying that. I feel guilty for even thinking that.

Now that the day has passed and I've had a little time to think, I am relieved that I finally overcame my fear and went to have this done. Ok, so I had a lot of help from my other half to get there . . . but I did it. We are both relieved. At least we'll know where things stand for me, in that respect. Nothing worse than an unpleasant surprise that could have been prevented. While I feel relieved, though, I realize it's just another one of those things for me that I wish my mother had been here to guide me through this one. It makes me miss her even more.

But I really do want to

This past weekend, my other half and I went to his cousin's wedding. It was wonderful to see his family and participate in such a wonderful event. At the reception, though, for about ten minutes, the family blues were written all over my face. For a split second, all I wanted to do was drive to my aunt's house and just cry. I thank my other half as he sensed it immediately and we went outside so I could compose myself. Then, he again posed to me that if I don't think I can look at our upcoming event with happiness and joy, then we do not need to have some big event. Part of me wanted to be upset at him because, really, I only got emotional for a brief period of time. But, the other, more rational part of me, said nothing of that nature because he's really only trying to protect me and have us do what would make me happy.

I know that I have brought this up before, but . . . the truth of the matter is that I truly do want to have a wedding where our families can get together and celebrate. It won't be some over the top affair, but something nice for everyone. And, quite honestly, I don't think my mother would want me to not do something like not have a wedding because of my moments of sadness and missing her. She was never one for letting her emotions run her in that manner. I know this, among many other big events in my life to come, is just another lesson for me to learn from. Another lesson to draw from the strength she has passed on to me to continue putting one foot in front of the other. Another opportunity to do her proud.

In the end, I think I will regret the things I don't do because of the thought of going through those times without my mother. I mean, seriously . . . am I not going to have kids because my mother isn't here? I think not. Am I not going to take a promotion at work (which happened recently) because she isn't here to rejoice with me? Nah. So, why wouldn't I have a wedding? It's something I so want to do. Yes, I get sad. A little emotional. But it doesn't mean that I can't do the wedding and do it well. I'm sure I'll be a tad emotional on that day. I'm sure her presence by many will be missed. I think to do it is more a statement of moving forward than not. In fact, I'd probably hear her yelling at me from above if I chose not to do it simply because I miss her and, well, because I want my mommy to be here through the planning process and on the day of. What daughter wouldn't want her mother on her wedding day?

The truth of the matter is that she isn't here and I have to continually remember to accept that fact. And then recognize that there are strong, good women in my life. In her absence, I am starting to learn, if I allow it, there are others who are willing to guide, advise and support me as I continue to move forward.

Will the real you, please stand up

There have been days when I realize I have nothing substantial to add to this blog. Then there are the days when all I can think of is writing for this blog. But I seem to have trouble finding the in-between.

Nevertheless . . . my father was in town for a short visit. He arrived late Saturday night and left yesterday. It was not a good visit, at least in my eyes. In fact, it was a horrible visit. So why am I writing about it here? Well, reflecting on his trip, and even while he was here, I realized just how much he has changed since my mother died.

I understand that his wife of a sigificant period of time, the mother of his children is gone. I realize that he is and eighty-two year old man who is still angry at the world and still has not moved forward. He has become more ornery, irrational and unreasonable. Worst of all, though, while he asserts himself to be infallable, he does so at the expense of everyone else around who loves and cares about him. It seems he has mastered the art of manipulating people into just the position of "damned if you do, damned if don't" so he has something fight. He yells and looks like he's just about to explode so you just end up agreeing him to placate him. He laughs when others are upset or in tears. He's like a child, but more unmanageable.

Seeing all of this makes me realize that no matter how hard I try to be the glue to keep this family together, I can't. Seeing all of this as a married woman, I understand more and more why it is that my father could be the very reason why my brother doesn't come to visit more often, and when he does come to visit, he and his wife stay for an extremely short period of time. Seeing all of this makes me realize that I really have to do what it takes to protect my family, my future children from this volatility. Seeing all this makes me realize that my father is, in a sense, completely lost without my mother.

My mother was the one who kept my father in line. She was the one who made sure he was socially appropriate. That he was kind to those around them (even though she could be quite the pushy one herself). She was the one who made sure that they enjoyed life and what they had not only themselves but with family and those around them. And now, I see that my father doesn't trust anyone. Including me. He conducts himself as though everyone is trying to take advantage of him. Thus, he has an incredible control issue that rears its ugly head every single opportunity that my father gets.

At least with my mother . . . what you saw is what you got. My mother was one incredibly tough boss and mother. And when things didn't go as she dictated, you heard about it. But, when things went as she dictated, you heard about it and then some. You KNEW it was a job well done. My mother was true to her word - good or bad. On the other hand, I see more and more that my father is NOT his word. In varying situations, I witnessed that he cannot be trusted to be true to an agreement - verbal or written. And his attitude is, well, it's going to be this way now and if you don't like it then go F yourself. Ok, so he doesn't say "go F yourself", but you get the point.

My father has always stressed over and over again to my brother and I that we can really only count on each other. Um - untrue. How can I count on my father when he cannot keep his word. And even worse, how can I count on him when I know he is lying. To my face. Each time I think things will be different, it is quite the opposite and I'm left even more and more disappointed. With my mother, you knew when she said something, she was going to do it. Yes, when she grounded me for four months (yes, four months) after I got my first "C" ever on a report card . . . I was grounded for four months. No joke.

This visit with my father left me realizing that things have changed so much since my mother died. He's a different man. Sometimes for the better, but of late, not so much for the better. My mother isn't here to rein him in and keep us functioning as a family. These are shoes that try as I may, I cannot fill. I have my own family to keep together and protect. And hopefully, someday soon, that family will expand. I cannot have such volatility around my family.

I'm at a loss. I think I finally see that when my mother died, she clearly took the father I knew with her. And that is a new adjustment.

Ta da!

So, this past weekend was Mother's Day. And, well, I think I pulled it off with more grace than I have since my mother passed away.

I spent the first part of the day running around going to the market to make sure there was food in the house for this upcoming week. While I was at the market, there were quite a few mother/daughter combinations as the Race for the Cure walk had just ended. And rather than look at them with resentment and bitterness, seeing them made me smile. I can't exactly explain the reason . . . all I know is that it filled me with joy to see these women embracing each other and their families. I hope that one day I'll know what it is like to embrace the mother-child relationship.

The next part of my day was spent with my other half's family. And, let me just say that it was not chock full of me being angry at the world. Yay! There was a little bit of weirdness and difficulty for me. And I think I was only overcome with emotion twice . . . which I was able to quickly nip in the bud. I also credit the other half for comforting me, but not making a huge deal about the fact that it's Mother's Day and I'm vulnerable to moments of weakness. It wasn't a day full of "are you ok?" or other questions to remind me that I stood in that house motherless.

The last part of my day was spent talking with my other half about how I felt throughout the day. And, yes, there were some tears shed for a period of time - not too long. But, long enough. It was different this time, though. The tears weren't angry tears. They weren't bitter tears. Rather, they were just tears of missing my mother. That's it. I've come to such a peaceful place in my life that I miss my mother so incredibly because I think she would be so happy and proud. She would see that I have finally put the pieces together and the picture is quite beautiful and fulfilling. It's these moments of growth and accomplishment that leave me in that place of just missing my mother and having her here to share in my growth.

It only took me just shy of ten years to get to this point. But, the rewards and happiness that I feel when I think of my mother, I can say was well worth the wait.

I miss her, though. Incredibly.

At sea

Ever have a period of time where it feels like nothing is clicking? One’s up, the other’s down. One’s angry, the other’s happy. One feels slighted, the other feels just as slighted. One tries to make peace, the other ignores. One feels an inequity, the other doesn’t see it. One tries to explain, the other doesn’t hear it or understand. I guess it’s all about perception and it feels like the perception meter can be so out of whack sometimes there’s so much difficulty in finding the equilibrium. And truly, it just leaves me in a place where I’m just tired. Tired of trying to find the equilibrium, tired of trying to be heard, tired of listening without getting upset . . .just tired of everything. It’s not that I want to just toss my hands up and just be away from everyone and everything, but just tired of feeling like everything is MY misperception. It’s not fun feeling stepped on, not fun feeling like what I say doesn’t make sense, not fun feeling as though anyone can behave completely opposite of his or her own expectation of me and expect that I’ll just stand by and say or feel nothing.

It’s truly one of those times when I wish I could just wrap myself in my mother’s arms and have her hold me close. This is a time when I want nothing more than her guidance to help me muddle through. It’s a time when it couldn’t be more obvious to me that I lack that mother-daughter relationship. And not that it was always perfect, because it wasn’t. But when it really mattered, there were times when my mother could listen with an open-mind and help or guide. Or at least posit questions for me to ponder. At a bare minimum, I just want her here.

And this is what sucks about her being dead (can’t tell you how long it took me to type THAT word). I don’t have access to the mother-adult daughter relationship. There was no chance to develop that dynamic and be able to learn from that next stage. It leaves me feeling more at a loss, leaves me feeling more at sea with being a motherless daughter.

Always wear clean underwear

Last night I started reading a book called Things I Want My Daughters to Know by Elizabeth Noble. It's basically about a mother who writes a letter to each 0f her four daughters upon realizing she is running out of time. As I was reading the book, I wondered, if my mother had written me a letter of things she wanted me to know . . . what would she have told me. Would she had given me tips on being married? On being a mother? Maybe tips on how to plan a wedding? I don’t know. Would my mother have reminisced about the past? Would she have shared knowledge with me that she would have found helpful to me as an adult?

Whatever she would or would not have written, I think that I would have liked one last thing from her. Something that was just between me and her. Something that she took time to do that was from her to me. When I was born, or shortly thereafter, my father started a journal for each of his children. When we packed up the family house and he made his way to California, he gave me a small journal. I realized it was his writings over the years. Though he wrote it was from both he and my mother, it was clear who took the time to write entries. I think I saw one entry out of all of them that my mother wrote. But, in the journal, my father wrote of my learning how to talk, walk, count, etc. He described what a pain I was to eat a meal with because I was so slow and picky. I learned a few things about my childhood that, well, are still true today. However, I also know that there are just some things that a father cannot tell or explain to his daughter. There are things that only a mother can tell, share or explain with her daughter. And now, I don’t have that. Ok, so I didn’t exactly take advantage of that when my mother was alive . . . but I guess that is the benefit of hindsight, right?

Seriously, though . . . there are so many unanswered questions for me . . . so many things that my mother won’t be around to help me with. Now, some of those things, sure, I can figure them out on my own. But it definitely would have been nice to have her experience to draw from. But then there are things I think about like what will it be like when I am pregnant? What did being a wife mean to her? What did being a mother mean to her? If there were things she could change or improve, what would they be? What lessons would she want to pass on to me?

There is a reason why there are those who came before us . . . it’s so we can learn from them so that we can at least avoid those mistakes. But most importantly, I know that our parents may also serve as our guides – not just for what we want, but also as what we don’t want, in some cases. Sure there are people in our lives we can draw knowledge and advice from, but it’s not the same. There is no replacement. There is no substitute.

I know for me, I could probably sit down and write a letter to my future child and come up with a few things that I would want him or her to know. I’ve already begun creating a recipe book so that my future child(ren) will have a piece of their mother always. I have jewelry that my mother passed on to me that I want to pass on to my children. And I know that I will do the same as my father, and keep a journal for my children. I want to leave traces of me behind for my children.

So, I can’t help but wonder . . . what things did my mother want me to know?

Home Sweet Home

For having not been with my aunt and uncle for quite a while and a lot of water under the bridge . . . the visit with them this weekend was unbelievable. So much so that I really didn't want to leave. The anticipation of this visit was a bit nerve-wracking . . . in addition to not having seen them in a while, it would also be the first time for my other half to meet some of my extended family. It would not have gone smoother. Upon arrival, my aunt and OH (teehee, "Other Half") started chatting away like old friends. It gave me this warm fuzzy feeling inside. There was the familiar encouragement to OH to keep eating, my cousin's daughters were incredibly cute relaying stories to me about how their father (my cousin) is a "yes man" and Yeh-Yeh (Chinese for father's father) lets them do just about anything (imagine a 70+ year old man with a load of hair product in his hair, eyeshadow, lipstick, rouge . . . the whole works). My aunt talking to my OH to get as good a feel for him as she could. There was never that lull in conversation, there were explanations to my OH for Chinese that was used and there was just fun. 

For not having my mother around, my aunt is the next closest person I have to my mother. So similar in so many ways . . . for her to have a positive reaction to my OH was extremely important. And to begin re-establishing frequent visits is so very important. My aunt, as sweet as she is, is a straight-shooter and when I heard the continunal comments to visit more or even come and stay on the weekend and do what we want during the day and crash at the house is when I knew that OH was part of the family. Not that he wouldn't be part of the family . . . but to have that level of acceptance and openness really made me feel good about my own family. In a situation where I knew there could be room for disappointment, there was absolutely none.

However, this is the one area where my mother and my aunt differed. I recall far too many times where I went to see my mother full of excitement and happiness about something or someone only for her to completely squash that feeling in about T-2 seconds. No joke. But this was different. And I think my aunt knew exactly what I was thinking and feeling. Since my mother's passing, there have been family events where my aunt has seen the meltdown or heard of the meltdown. That I just couldn't see past the fact that my mother wasn't there. And when my aunt flat out told me that she is proud of me and that I found a good man . . . I know that it wasn't just her talking to me, but it was her and my mother. 

I know this time is different. I know that my mother would absolutely have loved my OH. Of course she would have found her own things to nitpick about to me . . . but I know she would have welcomed my OH into the family as warmly and openly as my aunt did this weekend. So, though my mother may not be around anymore, she is in so many ways. For my aunt is a true testament to that. I could see, feel and hear it all. 

While growing up, my mother used "family is family" as an explanation to just about any question I had that was in regard to family matters. At the time, I think I thought she was just being unreasonable . . . why couldn't I just meet up with you all later? Family is family, she would say. Why do I have to go to Taiwan instead of ______? Family is family, she would say. Endless questions from me, the same response from her. And now I understand that sometimes, most times, that is all the explanation that is required. My OH is my family, thus he is their family as well. And for all the little familial acts I saw . . . family is family.

Lincoln Logs

When I went to start today's entry, my thoughts for writing centered around Easter and seeing my aunt (my mother's youngest sister) this weekend. It's been quite a while since I've seen my aunt and this is the first trip to see my aunt that I initiated in some time. I tend to get mixed feelings sometimes when I'm around my mother's side of the family because of my own sadness. So, while I was geared up to write about the upcoming trip, I saw this portion of a post headline: "What stage of the grief and loss process are you . . ." I didn't seen what came underneath. This is the actual post. But, before I saw what came underneath, I clicked on the headline because I, of course, wanted to know what the post was about. Well, turns out it really had nothing to do with grief and loss in terms of death. What it did do was give me a refresher on what the stages of grief and loss are and to think about where I am today. Or at least on most days.

I recall the days when I was early on and struggling through the different stages of grief. And I truly thought I would never make it through. However, reflecting on the past year, the writing that I've been doing and different feelings and experiences I've been having - I'd say that I successfully have moved into the upswing of things. There are different stages of grief, depending upon which model you subscribe to - could be this one or that one; I'm sure there are others. What's important though is that I know where I am in the grand scheme of things and, at the risk of sounding egotistical, I'm pretty proud of my progress and growth. I am at the point where I have accepted my mother's death, though I may not always have ease with saying she's "dead". (Ugh, that kinda made me cringe). And I'm at the point where I'm reorganizing/restructuring my life and moving forward. Believe me, there was a time when I didn't think anything like this would be possible.

So here I am, eight and a half years later, just getting around to acceptance and really moving on with my life. But, quite frankly, it is what it is and I'm here. Better late than never, right? The important thing for me to remember is that I did it in the time that was necessary to feel comfortable with moving forward. I couldn't force a feeling or progress no matter how hard I tried or wanted to. Plus, what's the point in that? I'm only denying myself the actual process. As the old adage goes, "Rome wasn't built in a day." Now, I'm not equating myself with Rome, but no one should deny themselves however long the process takes them to move through the stages of grief. I had an old friend who would tell me that enough time had passed and I need to get over it and move on. Umm, really? Who is to say what enough time is . . . and how do you tell someone whose mother died to get over it? But I digress.

The progress and where I am is allowing me to do so many more things than I have done since my mother passed. Yes, I recognize that eight and a half years is a long time. But, given that my mother was alive for almost 27 years of my life, eight and a half years is a drop in the bucket. Anyhoo . . . so yeah, I'm off to see my aunt this weekend for Easter. I absolutely cannot wait. I am looking forward to spending time with her and my uncle.

Things in my life are starting to fall into place. I believed they would once I could find a way to co-exist with the fact that my mother is no longer with me. And I fully believe that my life is falling into place in a way that would make her so very proud to say that I'm her daughter.

So, this Easter it is all about family for me and my other half. We are starting with my family and then seeing his family. For me, though, this is an important step with the reconstructing process and moving forward. I guess it's also just another form of trailblazing for me . . . and I don't think I mind so much.

Trailblazing

A couple of weeks ago, I made dessert to take to my other half's parents' house for Sunday dinner. I love to bake, so really, this was something I enjoyed doing. Generally, if cooking of any variety is involved, I look forward to getting started. While we were eating dessert, I was asked if baking was something I learned from my mother. I guess it would only seem natural that it was something I picked up while growing up because my mother baked. But, this couldn't be farther from the case. In fact, I don't think there was ever a time my mother ever a baked a thing. Nothing for those school bake sales, nothing to bring to home we visited for dinner or some other occasion. This question then led me to think what activities or things did I learn from my mother.

Growing up there were few things around the house that my mother for which my mother took responsibility. When shopping of any variety was involved, my mother was the one who took the reins. Other than that, though, I don't recall her being involved. Every so often she would drive my brother or I to our piano lessons or some other weekend commitment. For meals, my mother would periodically make breakfast or dinner. And nevermind the cleaning . . . she took no part in that at all. There would be some nights where we would spend an hour or so playing Chinese Checkers or cards together and as I got older we would throw Scrabble into the mix for our interactions. But there were no evenings of helping my mother make dinner or dessert. There were few moments where I learned how to do things specifically from my mother.

Now, there were plenty of incredibly fun shopping sprees, in addition to phenomenal meals out just my mother and I. There was also travel that were just my mother and I. But spending time together like that and sharing experiences, to me, is different than spending time together for me to learn an intangible skill from my mother. Do I feel like I missed out on something? Well, sometimes I do. I would see her cook sometimes, when she was expecting company, but she did not take the time to show me what she was doing or even ask for me to come have a look. The times when I would want to hang out and watch, she would just shoo me away to continue with setting the table for our guests or tidy up the house.

With my mother no longer here and my father not getting any younger, I came to realize that I don't know all those family recipes for making homemade dumplings or other dishes that we had while I was growing up. As an adult, and moreso recently, I've had to figure these things out for myself. Clearly I can't ask my mother. And my father is extremely vague about what goes into the dishes that he makes or used to make. So, between Chinese cookbooks and trial and error, I've come to figure out how to recreate dishes I had while growing up.

When I feel as though I've struck gold with a recipe (with my additional twists or add-ons), I make sure to write it all down on a recipe card and file it away in my recipe book. If I should be so fortunate to have children, I want to be able to pass down the family recipes and cooking secrets to my children. To me it just seems like something that can bind the generations together as time passes. I look forward to the day when my child wants to hang out in the kitchen while I cook and participate in the act of cooking. I look forward to the day when I will be able to start passing on my love for cooking to my children, in addition to all the other things I learned from my mother. It saddens me only a little bit because in some cases, I'll not be able to say these are things I learned from your grandmother. The happiness, though, is that I've found something where I am able to forge my own path for my children.

Reconnecting

Ever since my mother passed away, I have not been as connected to family as I once was. Granted there have been many events that have taken place in which I created self-imposed disconnect, but it became even more evident what I was doing when my mother passed away. When family gatherings came up, I conveniently had other plans. It wasn't because I didn't want to see my aunts, uncles and cousins. It couldn't be more the opposite than that. For me, I was at a point in my life where being amongst my family made it even more obvious to me that I was there without my mother. It made me feel empty, jealous and lonely.

Now, I feel differently about seeing my family. Being with my other half's family has helped me come to a place where I want to see my family more. I have so enjoyed spending time with his mother and father, with his sister, her husband and nephew and with some of his extended family. Being with them reminds me of what family gatherings once were in my family.

This Easter will be the first time I have made a plan to see my aunt and uncle. And I couldn't be more excited about that! I have been at other family events since my mother's passing and quite honestly, I had an anxiety attack (or something that resembled one) each and every time. It got so bad for me that I went back to just begging off invitations to see family for one reason or another. Now, as I feel more settled in my own life and with my own feelings, I fully believe that I am ready to spend the time with my family that I have missed. Easter cannot come soon enough.

It's taken some time . . . but as the old saying goes, better late than never.

Grass roots

I guess you could say it was a partial explanation I received. A few years ago when I was completing some paperwork, I guess you could say it was the first time that it actually “hit” me that I was not born in the United States. My passport states I was born in China. I have the certificate demonstrating that I am, indeed, a naturalized citizen. Hmmm . . . then, I seem to recall asking my father if he knew that I wasn’t born in the United States. Um, dumb. Seriously, like my father wouldn’t know where I was born. I crack myself up. 

Anyway, so I finally remember to ask my father the other day about the circumstances surrounding my birth. For, again, when I was talking with my dear other half, I had no explanation to give him when he asked why I wasn’t born in the US. God Bless my father, he’s 80+ years old, and so I am lucky that he’s still around and that his memory is still intact. HOWEVER, here’s the explanation I received, in revised English: When my mother carried me, she had to go to Taiwan when my grandmother needed her. And so she went to Taipei where I was born.

I have soooo many more questions – I thought I would get a little more detail than what my father conveyed. Why did my grandmother need my mother? My dad didn’t even tell me whether he was in Taiwan when I was born. So, I have turned my search to my aunt, my mother’s youngest sister, in the hopes that maybe she has more details to share. 

Here is where the continuum that I’ve thought about before arises . . . my mother isn’t here to convey the details. And now, my grandmother is no longer her to fill in the blanks. My father isn’t exactly the king of details, as demonstrated above. There are only a few who remain who can fill in the blanks. Hopefully my relatives will be able to fill in the gaps. I never realized until now how important it is to me to know my history. 

UPDATE: Well, after asking, it seems as though no one know any further details regarding why my mother was in Taiwan when she was pregnant with me. I guess that's one tidbit of history that will remain a mystery.  

Inner thoughts

When it seems as though your last breath is upon you, do you want to know that it will be your last? Or would you rather be unaware? 

Thinking about my mother’s illness, I cannot imagine how difficult it must have been for her to endure almost two years of being undiagnosed, of being in pain . . . going through rounds of chemotherapy. I cannot imagine how hard it must have been for her to brave through the pain so that her colleagues would be unaware of just how sick she was and to put on the front for my father to ease his worry and pain. Though she was in the safety of the four walls of her own home, there was still so much that she couldn’t and wouldn’t emote. 

Not until recently did I know that my mother did, in fact, know the moment she was dying. She knew it was her last breath. And there was nothing anyone around her could do to change what was about to happen. All the prayers and hopes for a miracle were dashed. All the upbeat and positive thinking, immediately squashed. In a split second, it was over.

What I did know of my mother’s actual passing is not far from reality, in fact, it is very much reality . . . but with very important details excluded. I was told that after waking up, my father went to see my mother. He said that she was somewhat awake and that he told her he was going to get cleaned up (or something to that effect) and would be back. And after he left, she was gone. That last sentence . . . there was some editing. What actually happened, broke my heart. What actually took place made my heart ache for my father. For, he saw her taking her last breaths. He heard the words “I’m dying” fall from her lips. He saw her take her last breath. He saw his partner, his friend, the mother of his children slip away. 

Though I think I prefer the Disney version of what took place, I am glad to know that my mother wasn’t alone when she died. It makes me feel that all is right in the world that my mother and father were together as one exited. They started an incredible journey together and, really, it is only fitting that their journey ends together. 

Knowledge. It can be a powerful thing. With her knowledge, my mother was brave enough to tell my father what was about to happen. I can only wonder if it brought my mother comfort or pain (or both) to let my father know that the end was right there. 

It's not a circus, I promise you

Good approach: Be a friend or as close to a mother on the motherless one’s terms.

Bad approach: Don’t state that you are the “step mother” or “new” mother. Don’t act like the replacement mother.  

Given my age and when my mother died, honestly, the last person I need is someone trying to replace my mother or even trying the “mother” me in the smallest way. I don’t mean that to be rude, I don’t mean that to be insensitive to anyone. It’s just the truth. And I know there are women out there who understand this concept; who understand that at a certain point in time, what a motherless daughter needs and most likely wants is a friend. Yet I understand that it is likely a hard balance to maintain or even achieve. 

Since my mother passed away, there have been encounters with older women who have attempted just about every approach that exists. I’ve met the woman who flat out told me she is my “new” mother. Umm – no. I think it took every bone in my body to not punch this woman. No joke. I’ve met the woman who easily crosses the line to mothering me. Again, no. As soon as that line is crossed, every bone in my body tenses and I want to scream. But I refrain. And, I met a woman who struck the balance seemingly just right. It is easy for me to say this because she isn’t my own mother and I am able to see her through the eyes of an outsider, not someone in her family. But, for me, navigating through the motherless world, again . . . this particular mother could not have hit it any more perfectly. Having gotten to know each other and spent time together, you could say we forged a relationship. So, during a visit, while we were in the kitchen, she simply conveyed to me that she would never try to replace my mother, she would never try to be a mother to me but that she would always be a friend. Good approach.

Though I know mothers of other people in my life will always take the best interests of their own child first, as it should be. But, I also know that this particular mother will always be true to her word. That she will be a friend, that she will not try and be a mother. And that brings me to a place where I am able to listen to what she has to say without mistrust. That her words carry good intentions. It brings me to a place that when I am with her, I don’t feel like I am putting on appearances, but that I am truly happy to be in her company and in her home. 

Now THAT, strikes the balance for a motherless daughter. Thank you.

Motherless Bride . . . the Beginning

Here’s the entry that I was trying to avoid. I’ve spent countless sitdowns in front of my computer trying to avoid this very post . . . but I find it is impossible, so I better just grab it by the horns and just write.

Awesome news – yes, as we all know, the love of my life proposed to me on January 9, 2009. And I could not have been happier. In fact, what a great thing that our family and close friends were just as happy. Ok, maybe not as happy as we were, but happy nonetheless. To know that being his wife is literally the next step – makes me breathless.

Not so awesome news – I’m not sure how I feel about planning this incredible event with the absence of my mother. I know milestone events in life should not and cannot be avoided. And I know I should soak up every milestone moment regardless of who is present and who is not. Because, really, those who are not of this world anymore as with us . . . at least, that’s what I choose to believe. Yet, there is a difference between the actual being here and idea of being here. It is the actual NOT being here that I struggle with now that I am engaged. 

For our own reasons, there is a desire for a proper Church wedding . . . whether it’s because it is the “right” thing to do or that I want the memory of my father walking me down the aisle, there are reasons for a Church wedding followed by a reception. However, when I picture it, someone is missing . . . clearly, that someone is my mother. She won’t be at the wedding and she won’t be with me every step of the way as I look for a dress, decide on flowers or even think about colors. See, I always thought when I got married (again), my mother would be an active participant with the planning, etc. 

It’s not that I don’t have women in my life who would be more than happy to help. In fact, my aunt, my mother’s youngest sister, has already offered to help me plan. And I know that all it would take is a phone call with a simple request. But this just seems like one of those things where I would want my mommy, so to speak. I know reality, though. My mother is not here and there will be a Church wedding. So now the task becomes embracing the event and all that it entails myself along with asking and accepting help along the way. 

Continuing Forward

So a couple of weeks ago I went back to Church. Now, to some of you, that may not seem like a big deal. However, in this particular case . . . it actually was a big deal. I have not been back to the Church that my mother’s funeral service was in since she passed away. Nevermind the fact that I don’t regularly go to Church. At all. 

This is how it went . . . after parking the car, I just sat there. All I could do to prevent myself from leaving was to sit in my car and breath. Finally, when I realized that mass was about to start, I got out of my car and walked towards the church. As I looked up at the stairs leading to the Church, all I could see were flashbacks of walking down those stairs after my mother’s service. To be honest, all I wanted to do was leave. I didn’t want to go. Deep breaths. I continued with my deep breaths. I walked up the stairs, took one last breath and walked in the doors. At that time, the Church was still a little quiet. I picked a pew towards the back and just sat down. Slowly, my nerves started to settle. Slowly, I started to feel more comfortable. Church started.

The mass itself was easy . . . it’s like riding a bike. There are just some things you don’t forget after doing them over and over again. But, what was different was that for the first time in a long while, I felt warm and comfortable in the church. I felt like I belonged. It started to feel good that I was there and got past the “when I was here last” syndrome. 

When I left, I felt lighter, I felt good. I felt that this was just another step towards letting go of my mother. Of course I’ll always know that the Church is where the funeral service took place. But, that doesn’t have to stop me from going there or make me sad. It doesn’t have to cause fear. I don’t have to avoid it. There have been many things and places that I didn’t do or go because of the connection those things and places have to my mother. But, as each day passes, I realize I cannot live in fear. I cannot avoid places just because it is somehow associated with my mother. She wouldn’t want me to live in fear or avoid places we used to go to together. 

Clearly she wouldn’t want me to avoid the church especially given that it’s a venue where I may be getting married. Where she left off . . . I will pick up and continue. For that is the legacy of mother to daughter . . . Daughter to wife. And, hopefully, someday, wife to mother.

Family Ties

So, it's a new year . . . not just 2009, but yesterday was Chinese New Year. And yet another event where my mother isn't here. Another year ticks by. When my mother was alive, Chinese New Year was her occasion. It was her time where she showed her appreciation to her employees, friends and family and hosted a party. It was a time when I saw just how rooted my mother was with the people in her life. Especially her family. 

I recently thought that I am not nearly as tied in with my extended family (my mother's side of the family) as I once was. There was a time when my cousins and I would go on family vacations together, pick a location and meet up or something. But, there was more interaction when I was younger. Now, I know part of the distance occurred as a result of my first marriage. My mother made it very clear that I was more than welcome to family events, but my ex-husband was not. Well, I was married . . . I certainly wasn't to leave him behind. He was my family, too. But, that choice I had to make has had lasting consequences. Even to today. 

But now, as part of my stepping into a new year, especially the Year of the Ox (as that's my Chinese sign), I've decided that it's time to start taking back people, places or whatever that I allowed others to take. It's time to re-assert myself. It is what my mother would want . . . it is what she would expect. She would expect that I pick myself up by the bootstraps and be an adult and take action. Become more involved with my cousins. Become more of a participant even with my father and brother. And then go out into the world and take back the places I stopped going to because of falling outs with this person or that person. But, I digress, as the more important thing is to re-insert myself into my own family. A group of people who have always been a part of my life until my mother drew her line in the sand. It's time to shed whatever insecurities I had stemming from being isolated from my family. 

So, I've started taking the steps necessary. In fact, the start, which was just reaching out with more than just an email has already taken place. When I got engaged, I called my aunt to let her know and one of my cousins. I then proceeded to email all the rest of my cousins to let them know as well. As this past Christmas and Chinese New Year's approached, I sat down and wrote an email to all wishing them well. At some point, making over 10 phone calls can be overwhelming. But, the point remains is that I am no longer just sitting by wondering why I haven't heard from this person or that person. I will reach out. What happens from there I at least won't be questioning my inaction. It's a start though, and it feels right.

It's time. It's time to re-establish the family ties that bind as I begin a time of starting my own family.

Happy New Year!

I know I've taken some time away this holiday season. But, it has been well worth it as it was spent with family and friends. 

I hope you all had a wonderful new year and the writing will resume shortly!