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.