I am a Motherless Daughter

Renaming?

2011-07-28T21:14:00.004-04:00

I've been thinking the past few days whether to change the title of the blog. See, the thing is, while Motherless Daughter was something I identified with for quite some time, and still do, there are events that have taken place that sometimes add or lessen the weight of "Motherless Daughter". And because of that, I think, well, maybe I should change the title as I am sure the direction of this blog will change along the way as well.

See, I'm not just a Motherless Daughter. But, I'm also a Motherless Mother. I'm a Mother. All titles that intertwine. It's not just about me being a Motherless Daughter anymore.

That being said . . . I stand uncertain but moving forward. It's a weird statement, I know. But, I guess at the end of the day, does it really matter what I call the place where I share my thoughts on motherhood . . . where I talk about missing my own mother . . . where I talk about the lessons I learned from my mother and lessons I hope to teach my own child? I don't think it really does. I mean, it is, after all, still about my mother. It is still about my being a motherless daughter. There's just more now. So. Much. More.

It's been a while. A LONG while.

2011-07-25T21:12:00.002-04:00

Not much to say at this very moment, except that I am coming back after an incredibly LONG hiatus. Though I am not sure if the title will remain the same . . . as the content will be expanding somewhat and, well, it may just be time for a change to the whole thing. So . . . stay tuned. Lots to catch up on.

I am ready to shake off the cobwebs of writer's block. I am ready to start writing again. It is the one thing I have missed sorely as a way to connect to others, let go of my frustrations and share my joys. It's not that I had forgotten about this wonderful place I created, it's just that life took over in such a major way. And it wasn't just one thing . . . it was one thing after another after another - you get the idea. But recently a friend was looking for guest bloggers for her website as she was going on vacation. I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to get the writing flowing again. And it was on a topic that I had never written about publicly yet. I look forward to sharing that post with everyone . . . but, not until some filling in the blanks happens.

I'm ready. I hope you're ready to rejoin . . .

Not my friend

2009-12-22T18:24:00.001-05:00

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

2009-12-02T18:01:00.001-05:00

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

2009-11-23T17:50:00.000-05:00

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.

2009-11-18T18:43:00.001-05:00

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.

2009-11-12T18:12:00.000-05:00

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

2009-10-29T06:30:00.001-04:00

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

2009-10-07T18:26:00.000-04:00

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?

2009-09-29T18:50:00.001-04:00

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 . . .

2009-08-14T17:30:00.000-04:00

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

2009-07-23T19:02:00.000-04:00

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"

2009-07-20T18:46:00.000-04:00

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

2009-07-15T19:01:00.001-04:00

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?

2009-06-10T19:32:00.005-04:00

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

2009-06-08T18:46:00.000-04:00

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

2009-06-05T19:02:00.000-04:00

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!

2009-05-13T18:20:00.004-04:00

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

2009-04-22T19:13:00.001-04:00

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

2009-04-21T20:45:00.000-04:00

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

2009-04-14T19:30:00.000-04:00

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

2009-04-08T20:30:00.000-04:00

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

2009-03-31T20:23:00.004-04:00

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

2009-03-25T15:41:00.002-04:00

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

2009-03-17T18:14:00.001-04:00

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

2009-03-16T18:00:00.000-04:00

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

2009-02-26T18:15:00.000-05:00

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

2009-02-23T18:00:00.000-05:00

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

2009-02-03T19:30:00.000-05:00

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

2009-01-27T08:57:00.000-05:00

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!

2009-01-05T17:34:00.000-05:00

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!

Merry Christmas!

2008-12-29T19:30:00.000-05:00

What a Christmas. It was perfect. And I think it was exactly what my mother was hoping I would allow to finally happen. This Christmas wasn't spent in a fog of missing my mother. It was another one where I faked my way through it. It was not another one where I held myself back from enjoying the holiday with loved ones and friends. Instead, I allowed myself to be present to each and every moment. And I truly could not have asked for a better experience.

Christmas started early given that the love of my life and myself ended up opening every present we had for each other in the wee hours of Christmas day. Truly, I wanted to exchange one present Christmas Eve and leave the rest for the morning. But after we each opened one . . . we decided to just keep going. And it couldn't have evolved into a more spectacular Christmas. And, though I got awesome gifts . . . the joy for me was watching him as he opened up each gift and seeing his face light up or break out into a huge smile. There were practical and extravagant gifts, but each had its own meaning or story. They were thought out carefully because I had learned to do what my mother taught so well, which was to pay attention. Pay attention to everything. There may be those random statements that really aren't so random that will lead to something big, like some of the gifts that I ended up getting for my loved one. When we were opening up gifts, I knew my mother was with me because what really mattered most to me was him opening his gifts and for me to see his reaction.

I recall from an early age that my mother would spend hours in a mall looking, just looking, around at different things and thinking about who needs what or who would appreciate something that caught her eye. My mother didn't just buy gifts for people to have something to give. There was thought, careful thought, for each and every gift purchased. Some may think that purchasing a tie for a man is simple - but not to my mother. She thought about the man, the colors he wore or colors that would best suit him. She thought about his personality, etc. Interestingly enough, I did purchase a tie for the love of my life for Christmas. But it wasn't just a tie. First, it was bought from a store that I knew he loved. Second, I thought about everything that my mother always articulated when she was selecting a tie for a man. I thought about the suits he had, the colors he looked best in and his personality. The things that he liked the best - nothing flamboyant or loud, rather something that was simple yet elegant. I spent much time online looking at different ties that were offered before I went to the store. And when I went to the store, though it was a quick decision, I went through an abbreviated process to make my final decision. And in the end, it was perfect. He loved it. It was so perfect that when he saw the bag, he thought I was playing a joke on him.

The best Christmas present for me was watching my man open up each gift that was carefully selected for him. And it was because of the many lessons my mother taught me that I didn't even know she was teaching. That, is also the best Christmas present ever.

** I hope each and every one of you had a wonderful Christmas with your family and loved ones. And thank you for taking time out of your day to read my blog and leaving comments. I appreciate it all.

In appreciation . . .

2008-12-23T21:26:00.000-05:00

While reading the ending of The Joy Luck Club, a line resonated within that I think explains so much of my guilt that I've had since my mother passed away. For those of you who don't know the basic story line of the book, here it is. The story revolves around a daughter whose mother passed away and the close friends of her mother's and their daughters. The points of view shift throughout the story and the main lesson to be learned, in my opinion, is how the mothers' pasts shaped, either directly or indirectly, the lives of their daughters. In the book, the last chapter is from the motherless daughter's point of view. And she says, "They'll think I'm responsible, that she died because I didn't appreciate her." That realization is the very same thing I feared when my mother was dying, or rather I feared that, in my case, my mother would die thinking I didn't love her. For I certainly thought my mother died hating me. And that, couldn't have been farther from the truth.

So, there it is . . . it seems so simplistic, so easy. But, it is full of so much emotion from the past. I know that there is no way my mother knew, at least from my words and, likely actions, that I appreciated her. That I admired her drive for what she believed in. That while I thought she was ridiculously stubborn, strict and unflexible she was appreciated. That she was loved so dearly by me. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty, so of course I always think about what I could have done differently, what I could have said. This is true down to the very last time I saw her. The last time I saw my mother, I didn't even speak to her. She was laying in her bed, floating in and out of consciousness. Truth be told, I didn't even approach her. Part of me was afraid, part of me was angry, part of me was being stubborn. It was resolved in my mind that I was done meeting her more than halfway and walking away angry, disappointed because she would just push my buttons. Yes, she managed to do that even while in her last weeks, days. I couldn't see the bigger picture. I couldn't see past my own anger and bitterness. I couldn't see past my own fear because seriously, what would I do if she did die? To approach her, see her as she really was, to me, would only be acknowledgement of what was going on. And that was the last thing I wanted to do. She was my mother . . . there was no way she was actually going to die. But, the thing is, she did. And she did so without my ever telling her how I really felt. She did so and I lost my chance to tell her that regardless of everything I loved her and appreciated everything she had ever done for me. And moreso, that I appreciated every lesson and value that she instilled in me.

Now, I know that most will say of course she knew that I loved her and that of course she knew that she was appreciated by her only daughter. But of all times for my words and voice to fail me, the last time I saw my mother couldn't have been a worse time. I truly didn't think that she would die two days later. I thought there would be more time. I thought, next time. And so, I've spent the last eight years searching and searching for the answers. Searching for closure, searching for peace. And this year has been the first year where I feel as though the pieces are falling into place. Where I have been open to really reflecting on her life and her actions as well as what my actions are and have been; what my life has been and is. I think this is the first year where I am able to say that through my actions, will my mother or anyone else be able to see that I truly did appreciate her and all that she did. Put all her professional achievements aside . . . it's her personal side that I appreciate. The hardness, the stubbornness, the sillyness, the pure fun that made her who she was. It is mainly due to her that I am the way that I am. It is because of her that I have such firm stances on how I would like my children to be raised. It is because of her that I know what I do and do not want for my professional life. And I'm not saying that in a bad way. And though I don't want every aspect of my married life to reflect what her marriage was to my father, I do know that there are incredible aspects of their marriage that I would want mirrored in my own.

It is because of my mother that I know who I am. Or at least really seeing and learning who I am. It is because of every aspect of my mother's life that I know what I want for myself and those who I include in my life. How could I not appreciate an incredible woman like that? It's absurd. But, admittedly, I thought for so long that it was my fault. That I didn't love her enough, didn't see her enough, didn't talk to her enough, didn't let her know enough that through it all she was an incredible mother. I know that she died because she was diagnosed with lung cancer well into its last stages where much couldn't be done. I know, rationally, that once it had spread to her bones and her brain that much couldn't be done. But, it didn't negate the incredible amount of guilt I felt. And it is really only now that I understand and realize where that guilt came from . . . that all would think she died because I didn't appreciate her enough. Because quite honestly, it was no secret among the entire family and friends that my mother and I fought more often than not. That's the shame that I brought on and carried myself. Is it true that people blame me for her dying because I didn't appreciate her enough? Reality and rational thinking would say no. But, that's where I was in my head and emotions. And when it comes to emotions of that caliber . . . reality and rational thinking don't really guide.

Now, I know that it is my responsibility to live my life and quietly demonstrate my appreciation of my mother's life and all the lessons that can be learned. It is my job, as her only daughter, to pass on her knowledge, values and whatever else to my children (hopefully including a daughter) and all those around me. Appreciation is not done with words alone.

Tis the season . . . tis the time

2008-12-17T20:22:00.000-05:00

Since 2000, I have gone through each Christmas motherless. And I haven't exactly done it with very much grace, either.

2000 - I was an absolute wreck because it was just over a month since my mother passed. If I recall correctly, my brother and I argued and my father retreated to his own space.

2001 - I stayed in Virginia with my friends. But, I think, for all intents and purposes, I boycotted Christmas. It was more of me just going through the motions. I was numb. Still.

2002 - Again, I was away from my father and brother. No one really pressed the matter . . . we were all trying to find our own way through it all. To borrow a line . . . I got by with a little help from my friends.

2003 - It was my first year of law school. And, even though I spent six months away from my father, I really didn't want to spend Christmas in the home where my mother passed. So, again, I stayed away.

2004 - This was the first Christmas I spent in Pennsylvania and with my father and brother. Suffice it to say, it was a bit awkward and uncomfortable. It just didn't feel right. But, we muddled through.

2005 - I honestly don't remember what happened for Christmas.

2006 - My brother, newly married, didn't come home for the holiday. I really had no desire to spend the holiday with my father as he had recently re-married and, well, I wanted nothing to do with his new wife. I spent the holiday with an ex-boyfriend and his family.

2007 - Let me start with Christmas Eve . . . well, the long and short of it is that I was ridiculously depressed and I missed my mother so much it hurt. It was as if I was experiencing the loss all over again. That is how raw and crushed I felt. There's really no other way to put it. No one could help me out of it. I didn't want anyone's help, actually. I pushed everyone away. It was all I could do to ensure I didn't drown in my own misery. No joke. It was not one of my most stellar moments. In fact, it was horrible. But, all I wanted was my mother. No one could help me with that, so I hid. I spent Christmas away from my father, as he now lives on the west coast most of the time. The holiday was spent on a plane going to Las Vegas with an ex-boyfriend. I had to work while travelling. And, to be honest, I really didn't want to be on that trip. At all.

It's now 2008 and I can't believe that with Christmas approaching, I am doing well putting one foot in front of the other. The Christmas cards are addressed and waiting for stamps. I've managed to get my father his present and send it on its way. Most of my shopping for the love of my life is complete. The stuff that's left is to make my annual Christmas cookies and celebrate Christmas with loved ones. I won't be with my father this year, but that's okay. He'll be out west with his new wife and friends. I'll be here celebrating Christmas Eve and Christmas with loved ones. And I truly cannot wait.

Now, I'm not naive to the fact that I will probably think of my mother on Christmas Eve and Christmas . . . and I'm not ignorant to the fact that I'll miss her terribly. But, what I can say is that for the first time I truly feel like it's time to make the holiday joyous again. It's time to embrace the family that remains behind and the family that is to be. It is time to let go of not wanting to let go of my mother. I know that is what she would want. I know that of all things I could do for her for Christmas, it would be to realize that she wants to me stop living standing still, afraid to move forward, to stop feeling guilty for really moving on with my life, to let her go and be at peace.

So, Christmas is about joy, love and peace. I have much joy in my life for one of the first times ever since my mother died. I have love in my life in quantities that amaze me sometimes. And now, my gift to my mother is to let her soul go and be at peace; to allow myself to continue living at peace, knowing that my mother lives within.

Christmas progression

2008-12-16T21:25:00.000-05:00

As Christmas draws near, I have to admit that I really don't know how my mother did everything that had to be done. In addition to her working full time, there were so many things that had to be done before the annual Christmas trip to Taiwan. There were presents to be bought for her office employees, her friends in addition to all the presents that had to be bought for anyone she could think of that we would and might see when in Taiwan. Then there were the presents for my father, brother and, of course, me AND all of her brothers and sisters and their kids. I think all of this generally started right after Thanksgiving.

Today, I was doing some Christmas shopping and while I was driving from place to place it was snowing. At certain points, there were the big fluffy snowflakes. The ones that just make you want to stick out your tongue and catch the snowflakes. I was stopped at a traffic light when all the years of Christmas shopping with my mother came flooding back. However, to my surprise, I did not get depressed or as sad as I am known to get when my mother came to my mind. Rather, I smiled to myself thinking that slowly but surely I am, again, stepping into her shoes. I knew this to be true when I found myself in a store contemplating wrapping paper . . . when I was deciding on which Christmas cards to purchase . . . knowing exactly what I wanted from a particular store . . . hemming and hawing over whether a particular item would be suitable as a gift. I did not do that much wandering through stores, but when I did . . . I could feel my mother right there along my side. I could see the process she went through selecting items as potential gifts and realized that I was doing the same thing. It felt so familiar. So comfortable.

Now, that is not to say that everything went off without a hitch because there was a glitch or two. But that's okay. I really don't mind that there was a glitch here or there because I learned how to approach the situation next Christmas. The point is that I could not be happier to be at a point in my life where I am embracing Christmas again and all that it entails. I am moving forward, putting one foot in front of the other. I am embracing at yet another opportunity where I am able to put all that my mother taught and emulated for me into practice.

More than just memories

2008-12-11T19:00:00.000-05:00

4As Christmas nears, scads of holiday memories come to mind . . . the many family trips to Taiwan to visit my mother's mother, the year I discovered that Santa's handwriting looked a lot like both my mother and father's handwriting, the year we opted for Hawaii instead of Taiwan . . . the list goes on and on. There are quite a few holiday memories where I just sit and giggle or groan to myself thinking about the family Christmases.

One of the most memorable Christmases was the year my family moved to Philadelphia many years ago. Because of the move, my mother made the decision that we would not be going to Taiwan, rather we were staying in Philadelphia to finish unpacking the house and getting it organized. Woohoo!!! I remember thinking that was awesome, because I really didn't feel like going to Taiwan. AGAIN. Not that I don't love my grandmother and seeing her, but the trip does get tiring year after year after year. You know? So, anyway . . . one night, my mother and I were unpacking boxes in the dining room. I have no idea what time it was, but I remember that we were getting somewhat delirious and we'd start laughing for no particular reason. Now, I don't remember the exact order of events, but at some point, my mother ended up in a moving box, legs flopping about, with a moving sticker on her forehead. I remember laughing my head off at her AND taking a picture. The funniest thing is that we were laughing so hard that she couldn't get out of the box.

I had that picture of my mother for years. It reminded me that it is possible that my mother and I get along and have a good time. It often reminded me of the fact that my mother did have a sense of humor and could be ridiculously silly. After many moves of my own once I was out of college, I lost that picture. Or, admittedly, maybe I threw it out in a fit of anger at my mother at some point. I guess it doesn't really matter though, because I have that memory. I'll always have that memory. And nothing, except for maybe Alzheimer's, can take that (along with all my mother mom-memories) away. Sure it'd be great to have the picture just to show other people, but I know within my core that even though my mother and I fought more often than not, there were those incredibly fun and silly times together.

There was probably a period of time when I was unable to think about happy times with my mother because of all the anger and bitterness that was built up inside me. I spent so much time being angry that I was unable to cherish the time we had together after my mother was sick. I was unable to let go of the anger from the past to just be with her, especially in the end. Going to my parent's house was a struggle because I didn't want to deal with her. Even as she got sicker, my mother still had a way of pushing just the right button and then in less than five minutes we were arguing. The anger was so strong in me, that I couldn't just let it be and try to find a way to cherish what ended up being the last few moments I had with my mother.

Now, the anger has subsided along with the bitterness. I've found a way to be okay with everything that transpired between my mother and I. It's the only thing I could do so that I can be in a place where I want to celebrate my mother's life and remember all of our happy and silly times together. I want to be in that place so that as my own family develops, I will be able to share stories, good and bad, of the most incredible mother I could have ever had. As each day passes, I understand her life's importance.

The weak spots

2008-12-09T14:40:00.000-05:00

I’ve recently been reading The Joy Luck Club by Amy Tan, again. I can’t tell you just how many times I’ve read this book. Nor would I be able to tell you just how many times I watched the movie. I recall that when I first read the book, I saw so much of me and mother in the individual characters. When I saw the movie, I believe I walked out because it affected me that much. I don’t think I ever walked out of a movie before or after that one time. I don’t know what came over me to read this book again, right now, given that there is a list and stack of other books that I want to read. Not to mention that I’m still working my way through two other books. Regardless, here I am reading The Joy Luck Club yet again.

I must admit that reading TJLC again, I now have a different perspective. A different set of eyes reading the book and absorbing the information. I now read lines or portions of the text and either realize exactly what the lesson is or have multiple experiences of my own that can relate to what I’m reading. So, I’ve taken to writing down excerpts that stand out to me as they have given me many ideas to build on for my own purposes.

While I was reading last night, I came across a portion of text that referred to the invisible barriers that a character had created in order to protect herself from her mother’s attacks. Not the direct attacks where it’s clear what the purpose is, but the indirect attacks. The attacks that hit at our very core. Our weakest spots. Now, I am sure that any mother knows how to do this, but in my experience, from what I’ve seen, Chinese mothers seem to have this down to an art. That both of you could be in a regular conversation alone or with others, and without even skipping a beat or tone. That was exactly how my mother could be when we were together.

My mother knew exactly what buttons to push. She knew exactly what to say. And even moreso, she would say her sharp, cutting words in such a regular tone of voice that it would get me at more core like you wouldn’t believe. And it was all the more frustrating when she would do this when we were in mixed company. It’s not like I can have such a reaction when we are in front of others. (In fact, the only times I’ve ever been saved from my mothers sharp words was if her mother was around.) And it got so bad that I never knew if my mother was being light-hearted or cutting with her words. Hitting my weak points seemed to come so easily. She had a way of doing this that I felt as though just about everything she said to me had some sort of hidden meaning that was meant to grind my nerves.

Now, the bad thing about this is that I learned how to do this very same thing. Just as my mother could cut me to the quick in about three sentences or less, I too, am capable of doing the same thing. And I am learning on a daily basis how to not exercise that skill that my mother perfected. It hurts too many feelings and leaves feelings of inadequacy or resentment for which I want no responsibility. At least most of the time I just make these comments under my breath or in my head . . . it's much better that way. I only wish my mother could have seen that when it came to our interactions. I mean, I know that my mother's job was to be my mother and help me better myself. However, I don't think that includes cutting me to the core with her words that she knew would hit me where it hurt the most. I remember the first time I brought home a 92 on a test. What does she say to me? Where are the other eight points. I constantly heard the barrage of questions or wonderings aloud of why I couldn't be more like my brother, why couldn't I have friends like my brother . . . the constant devaluing of the choices I made in my life. The constant disapproval of just about everything. Focusing on all the times I wasn't around with my family rather than the times where I did pull through for my family. I constantly felt the frustration. I constantly felt the sting of my mother's extremely well-placed words.

To this day, I am still recovering from my mother’s ways. The one that has had such a lasting impact is not taking everything that everyone says so personally. That comments aren’t always full of hidden meanings, but that they are exactly how they sound. And that not everyone is trying to cut me to the quick and have me feel small by their words. It is a daily process to keep the invisible barriers down so that I don't respond defensively or passively to what people may say. Words are words. That's it. Not everyone has mastered the art of using words to the degree that my mother has. And even if they have, not everyone sees the benefit in mastering the art of hitting the weak spot as my mother did.

At this point, it is what I make it . . . or not make it.

I'd like the usual, please.

2008-12-08T14:30:00.000-05:00

The times I feel the loss of my mother tends to be around the holidays. Since my mother's passing, my brother, father and me couldn't be more geographically challenged if we tried. And, with the past few years, I've truly learned who are true friends.

When I was a kid growing up, the Christmas tradition became easy to remember - we went to Taiwan each year, with the rest of my mother's brothers and sisters and my cousins to see my Grandmother. There was no doubt about any of that. As we got older, maybe not all the cousins would go to Taiwan, but for many years, that's all I knew for Christmas. And what an ordeal that would be. The shopping for people we would see while in Taiwan started early. My mother, who was great at selecting just the right gift for someone, took forever when we would go shopping. When all the shopping was completed, my mother and I would lay everything out, going over who was getting what and what gifts were extras. Then, the task became arranging all the gifts in a suitcase so they would stay in their respective grouping. That was what Christmas was almost every year I can remember up until the end of my college years. When the trips to Taiwan ended . . . I don't think I spent another Christmas with my mother.

There was a period of time where my mother and I didn't speak. I mean it, we really didn't speak. At all. After a couple of years and many interventions, we were able to come to a point where I could tolerate her presence. And I think she may have felt the same way. And though she was sick, I was looking forward to spending some time with her around the holidays. I had missed the usual family gatherings during the time when my mother and I didn't talk. However, in 2000, spending time with my mother around the holidays was not meant to be. I didn't even get a little bit of Thanksgiving with my mother.

For a few years, I had my own holiday traditions, but that soon came to an end when I came back to Pennsylvania and decided to stay. And now, I find that I feel a little at sea with the whole celebrating the holidays thing. Now, don't get me wrong - I love Christmas and everything that goes along with it. Well, almost everything. I could do with out the egg nog. I love Christmas carols and the Christmas shows. But, I do miss the Christmas traditions. The things that were constants for me at Christmas - shopping with my mother, decorating with my mother, travelling to Taiwan with my mother . . . All these things that I did with my mother.

I know that the past is the past and there is no way for me to go back. And I know there is no way for me to make my present or future exactly the way as my past was. But, there are just those times when I feel so disorganized or disconnected from the holidays because I find that I am missing my mother and want to do all the things that I once did. The flip side is that I can remake Christmas and start my own traditions. And then I only hope that the holidays will become less disconnected feeling and more family feeling.

I would if I could

2008-12-04T17:11:00.000-05:00

Some days it's just not enough to know that everything is the way it's supposed to be. I know that in my mother's last months, she was in a lot of pain and not in any condition that she wanted to be in. And I also know, without a doubt, that she left on her own terms. Because all else was taken from her - strength, health, etc. - she had to have the last say, somehow. In many ways, I am grateful that she decided when she was ready to let go. And when she did . . . I know she went peacefully. But seriously, there are just some days when that just isn't good enough for me. It doesn't bring me a sense of peace. I know her passing is not about me, it's not about her family or friends and the work she left behind. There are some days, though, when it feels too lonely without her here.

As an adult in the stages of preparing to begin a life with another individual, there are days when I wish she were here to talk to and hear her opinion and thoughts. By her dying, the opportunity for our relationship to come full circle, whether it was meant to or not, was taken. I was robbed. I want to believe that at some point, my mother and I would have come to some sort of middle ground. A place of understanding for each other. A place where we could interact as adults and not just mother and daughter. A place where she could see me as her daughter about to get married, hopefully have children and be with me along the way. To be with me to provide her experience, her wisdom. As things have changed for me in this past year, what is abundantly clear to me is that I wade through this without her. That I go through the highs and lows, the good and bad and everything else in between without her.

I don't deny that there are women in my life who would gladly provide their pearls of wisdom and past experiences to help me along the way. But, to that, I have to admit, I tend to have no interest. I try to remain steadfast with an open mind, but that tends to prove harder than I think. It's just not the same. It's not my mother. I know that it would only be to my benefit to reach out and have an open mind, but there's always the obvious - whoever that woman may be that I reach out to or seek comfort or knowledge from is not who I really want. I recognize that isn't fair to others and I struggle to resolve that problem. I know this is my obstacle. I want to think that as the pain and sadness lessens, my willingness to be open to others will blossom, if not completely, then just enough so that I may continue to learn from those who have come before.

She was, I wasn't

2008-12-03T17:04:00.000-05:00

As my writing takes on different paths, I realized recently that there is a path that I will have difficulty going down if and when the time should come for me to take that journey. I really don't know much about my mother aside from her professional life and the interactions I saw myself. I don't know much about my mother when she was a child, a teenager or adult. I don't know what it was like when her brothers and sisters would stay with her and my father when they came to the United States to study. I don't know how she and my father met or what their courtship was like. I don't know what my parent's life was like before they had children. There are so many things that I don't know that I want so much to know. I know that I would like to know all these things and more - what were the relationships like between my mother and her siblings. How did she feel when she had children. Did my mother ever get into trouble as a child, teenager or adult? So many unanswered questions. These are the things I feel I lost out on given the fact that I no longer have my mother to turn to so I may ask these questions. Somewhere within me lies the curiousity and the want to reach out to my mother's remaining siblings to ask these questions and more. Is it too intrusive or would they welcome the opportunity to share these stories that I don't know about my mother? There are so many things I want to ask my father . . . but he is unable to utter one or two words about my mother without breaking down into tears. Would he welcome the opportunity to share with his daughter how he and my mother met? How they fell in love? How they felt when they had children?

I want to know who she was so I may learn more about who I am and draw my own conclusions about how similar and different we are. Or maybe how as mother and daughter we complemented each other. Or not, for that matter. I know that I am my mother's daughter in so many ways. But those are characteristics or traits that we share. Do we share any similar stories, though? I want to come to a place where I understand her better.

One part of her story that I do know . . . I am not the only daughter of Chinese parents who knew all too well that there was one child who was the apple of one or both parents' eyes. According to my aunt, my mother was always number one in my grandmother's eyes. Not one of my mother's four brothers and sisters could outdo my mother or take her place. My aunt explained that they all knew that, so no one ever tried to take her place or change that fact. And, oddly, my aunt didn't seem the least bit upset. She conveyed the story from a place of acceptance and calm. I remember for years it was so obvious that between my older brother and I . . . he was the golden child. In my parents' eyes, my brother could do no wrong. He was the oldest. He was the male. And seriously, he could do no wrong. It was he who always had the "right" friends, good grades, etc. Me? I couldn't have been more inopposite of my brother, and that's not by accident. Though, I think even as babies and small children, we couldn't have been more opposite. To this day . . . as far as I can see or hear, in my presence, my father generally speaks of my brother as if worshipping him from afar. Not in my presence, though, things are not as they appear . . . but that's for another day.

My mother was number one . . . her siblings would never be number one. I was never number one . . . my brother was always the apple of my parents' eyes. I think that is one of many factors that contributes to the dynamic of the relationship between my mother and I. Clearly, we don't share that story . . . rather we complemented each other. We balance that part of our independent stories. How awesome is that?

From generation to generation . . .

2008-12-01T10:22:00.000-05:00

So, Thanksgiving came and went without much incident. The event was so filled with activity and new things that I really didn’t even have a chance to think about my mother. Although, there was one moment where thoughts of her came to mind.

Let me set up the scenario: it was the first parent gathering for me and my significant other. And I was completely drowning in nervousness because, well, my father’s wife chooses to not speak a lot of English (though she understands quite a bit) and my father has a tendency of switching to ornery old man very easily. Forget all the other fears and thoughts that were plaguing my mind, those were the two that were really weighing me down. However, not much time goes by and I see, okay, things are going smoothly. So, then, without thinking twice, I begin doing what my mother has taught me so well to do – I begin helping my significant other’s mom with putting food out, etc. I immediately clear after each course. I feel good about this because not only do I want to help, but I know my mother is looking down smiling. The end of the meal comes and the table is being cleared, just as it’s been for every other course. At this point, there are only some glasses remaining on the table and random silverware. I return from the kitchen and am about to sit down when my father’s wife tells me to clear the glasses. It took less than 10 seconds (no joke) for every resentful bone in my body to flare up. I purposely did not clear the remaining clean glasses in the event that people wanted a different beverage for dessert. So, I wave her off saying not now and go to sit down. She then proceeds to physically touch me to clear the glasses. Now, I want to punch her. Ok, maybe not punch her . . . but, I really wanted to look at her and ask who she thought she was because seriously, she’s not the one who raised me or taught me how to conduct myself when having a meal at someone else’s home. This is where the significant other very quietly (and calmly) touched me and asked me to please just do what she asked. For him – I did. Had I been left to my own devices, I would have sat my weary behind down and ignored her.

Now, let me say . . . I do not disrespect my elders. BUT, do not talk to or treat me as though I have no idea how to conduct myself. This applies moreso to my father’s wife than anyone else. And there I am not joking. To sing my mother’s praises . . . she did an EXCELLENT job of raising me, especially when I wasn’t acting like such a brat. But, when it comes to hosting and being an active participant when at someone else’s home – my mother knew exactly what to teach and show me and how to do things discretely or without having to be asked.

So, the last thing I truly needed on Thanksgiving night was for someone to try and change what my mother taught me years ago. I take great offense that this woman, yes, I said “this woman”, thought that she had any place in telling me how to conduct myself at the home of my significant other’s parents. This was her FIRST time there . . . this was NOT my first time. I have had Sunday meals there and have helped in the style of my mother each and every time. And I think if something weren’t satisfactory or appropriate about what I did, I would know about it already.

My mother was the most incredible host along with an incredibly active guest. She instilled every bit of her manners and skills in me, starting from an early age. And I’ve never forgotten a single iota of what she taught me. She would always tell me that if I looked bad it was my fault, not hers because she made sure to teach me everything I needed to know. So, to have some woman who has only been a member of my family for five years attempt to “mother” me was incredibly insulting and offensive. That is the one area where my temper and anger flares. I have one mother and one mother only. And because this woman married my father does not mean I want anything to do with her attempts at mothering me or giving me advice that my mother would dole out.

Call it childish, call it being close-minded . . . but, I can say with great confidence that between my mother and I . . . there was knowledge on being a hostess and/or guest passed on that does not need or warrant any sort of improvement or alteration. Nor do I want any improvement or alteration unless it is mine.

These are some of the lessons that I have learned from my mother that will be the ones I want to pass on to my children. Without the input of anyone other than me.

The Next Breath

2008-11-26T08:33:00.000-05:00

Well, the hard part is over. The eighth anniversary of my mother's passing is over. And, surprisingly, it went smoothly. I was with my father, his wife and my significant other, who could not have been a stronger rock for my roller coaster emotions.

And then I thought, well, ok, so it's over, so what's next for all my writing? It started as a cathartic thing for all my feelings and emotions as her anniversary approached. And it worked. It brought a lot of clarity to me and my feelings. Then, I thought about my original goal when I started writing again. Last year. Yeah, a while ago. My original goal at that time was to do a crapload of writing to put together in a book and maybe even publish. The thought was to record my journey of healing, mainly healing from my mother's death. But, then, last night, I thought - there's so much to write about. The healing from my mother's death. The journey of my discovery of my mother in me. The lessons learned from my mother. Basically the good, the bad, the ugly. And, possibly even something that my children may read to learn about their grandmother and how their own mother was raised. The journey of healing and learning will be lifelong one in which I am excited to record. So, join me if you will.

With brutal honesty about one of the most unsettling relationships I will ever have, perhaps it will bring me peace. Perhaps it will bring you peace or realizations that you thought not possible.

Who I am

2008-11-24T19:14:00.000-05:00

I wonder sometimes if I really know my mother . . . if I ever knew her. It's funny because a few years ago, I probably would have scoffed at someone who asked me to talk about my mother and what I knew her to be, etc. Honestly, I probably would have been incredibly positive about the professional side of my mother, but not so much about her personal side. The truth of the matter is that I do know my mother and I am able to be positive about her professional and personal side. See, the bottom line is that my mother is in me . . . she is part of me. Down to the very core.

I chuckle to myself when I realize my night vision is horrible. Or when I am ridiculously stubborn with others or myself. A smile rises from the depths when I realize that in a shop full of items, I am drawn to the ones of the highest quality (and likely to cost the most). When I find myself suddenly incredibly impatient or intolerant of others at times, I shake my head because that is so my mother.

When I see how I am today and how I have been, I am able recognize immediately where that particular characteristic/trait came from. It's easily identifiable as to whether it is my mother's or father's. As I would recognize a trait of my mother's in me, it used to make my skin crawl. It gave me no joy whatsoever to say to myself, I am my mother's daughter. However, today is a far different story. I have come to a place where I embrace each and every characteristic that is either my father's or my mother's. I am able to say that yes, I am my mother's daughter and enjoy making that statement. That's just another way to keep her spirit alive and honor her memory.

Ordinary day

2008-11-22T11:04:00.000-05:00

So, today is the day. To my surprise, it's been relatively smooth sailing. I didn't wake up with a shroud of grey over my head. I didn't wake up not wanting to face the day. I woke up with somewhat a sense of renewal . . . a feeling that it is time to turn things around.

I went about the normal morning routine. Took the dog for a walk - we ran into a good friend with her dog. It was nice to spend some time catching up and watching the dogs run around and play. Got home, brought in the paper, made some coffee and actually interacted with my father's wife. This is a first for me - to interact with her and actually enjoy the conversation and not feel resentful that it should not be her standing there. Had some early chatting with my father then proceeded to do the crossword puzzle as I drank my coffee. It's like any other ordinary Saturday - except for the fact that my father is here and it has now been eight years since my mother's death.

It seems, in many ways, that this year is a turning point or a point of change for my father and I with respect to handling this day. My father didn't arrange a service or big gathering to honor my mother's memory. I am smiling, enjoying the day. It is as if in some non-verbal and unexplicable way, my father and I silently agreed to just let this be another ordinary day. Yes, we will go and see my mother and place a wreath of flowers at her site. And then we'll have lunch, as we do every year on the anniversary of her passing. However, it is without ceremony and formality that this will be done. We will each honor her and think of her, but then let the day pass as if it were any other ordinary day. And maybe, just maybe, that's how we need to look at it so that we may continue to put one foot in front of the other and continue moving on and letting go. Because, really, it is just another day. Neither my father nor I need to commemorate my mother's memory any differently than we would on any other day. This is just a day.

But, if this is just a day . . . it just doesn't feel that way.

A letter

2008-11-21T10:04:00.000-05:00

Dear Mom,

Well, tomorrow it will be eight years since you have left a world of physical pain. And also, eight years since you left us behind. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about you. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't wish you were here. Though I know letting you go puts us both at peace, it is still such a difficult task.

I'm sitting here listening to Christmas music, and your favorite one, "O Holy Night" is playing in the background. And all I can think of are all the happy Christmases we had together, especially the first one we had when we moved to Philadelphia 20+ years ago. And how both of us would get eerily silent when "O Holy Night" would be playing. It snowed today, for the first time this winter. And I said how beautiful it is to you, under my breath. It was as if were right there in the car. If only.

I miss you like crazy. There are so many things I want to tell you, share with you. But, reality is that (1) I simply cannot do that and (2) you already are aware of everything. You know that I've fallen in love with an amazing man that I just can't wait to marry and have children with. You know that I've been wallowing in misery at times because I miss you. You know that my dog is growing up each and every day. You know. You know it all. You see it all. And I know that you see my attempts and small steps at moving forward. You already know that not every piece of jewelry on me was once yours. You already know that I am trying to let you go. But not because I want to forget you. But because that's what needs to be done to let the healing continue. Sometimes it's hard to remember that letting go doesn't mean forgetting you.

In fact, forgetting you just isn't possible. I am at a point now where I love sharing memories I have of you and me - shopping, when we first moved to Philly, our drives home with KFC in the car, your inability to get home successfully sometimes from the market (that was less than 10 minutes from our house) . . . how we used to watch "The Wizard of Oz" and "The Sound of Music" each year when there on television . . . tales of our shared stubbornness . . . I revel in all of it. So, while some things have changed, know that you'll not be forgotten. I can't wait for the hurt to lessen so the real joy of you being my mother may settle in. I can't wait to have children and tell them all about their grandmother and what an incredible woman she was. And I can't wait for the guilt of letting go subside so that I can just remember you with a smile on my face, always.

So, yes, the firsts now of my baked goods will go to my future husband. And if I have a daughter, I will learn from our mistakes so as to have a better relationship with my daughter than we were able to have before you left. Your strength of character, dedication to work and family along with your silliness will live on forever in me. I know you want me to move forward and take joy in all that I have . . . and I am trying to do that. Don't worry, I can feel your swift kick in my arse to nudge me along!

I love you, Mom.
Forever your daughter,
Kathryn

My lesson for you

2008-11-20T11:22:00.001-05:00

She drove me nuts.
We argued within minutes of being together.
We rarely agreed.

We loved to go shopping together.
We loved our dinners out, just the two of us.
We watched cheesy TV together and swapped trashy novels or magazines.

We didn't exactly have an incredibly consistent relationship, but if nothing else, we were definitely mother and daughter. And despite all the screaming matches, disagreements and disappointments, there isn't anything I wouldn't do to have her here. There isn't anything I wouldn't do to be able to have just one more day, one more hour, one more minute with my mother.

Just one more moment in time to take in her breath, to take in her love. To tell her that above all and despite everything, that I love her. Just one more moment in time to bring closure to all that remained between us. Just one more moment in time for her to hear me call her "mom." Just one more moment to feel her presence.

I thought there would be more time. I thought she'd hang on just a little longer. I thought we would have the chance to come to a final place of agreement . . . even if it was just to disagree. I didn't think she would go so soon. I didn't think that there wouldn't be another chance to tell her how much I love her.

And these are the things that run through my mind each year as the date of her death approaches. It is this time of year when it sometimes becomes so hard for me to find my footing. To feel as though I have a place in this world. I never realized just how lonely it can be to NOT have a mother. Clearly it's not because I miss our friend-like relationship, but just the fact that one of my constants is no longer that - constant. It puts me a place where I have to find my strength of character to go about my daily business and function when that is the very last thing I want to do.

Time is precious.
Life is precious.
Our parents . . . they are precious.
Remember this when it's most difficult for you to do so. Remember this the next time you don't want to go and see your parents. Or pick up the phone and call them. Remember this when you think your parents are being oh so annoying.

This is our one chance in life to get it right with our parents. There are no mulligans. Once they're gone. That's it. And that is a hard pill to swallow when you live your life thinking there would always be more time.

Never put off tomorrow what you can do today.

Lessons

2008-11-19T10:54:00.001-05:00

Last night I returned from a brief getaway to Orlando. I was right across the street from Disney World. Right across from where they have the one ride with the one song that my mother and I used to sing over and over again when I was younger. It’s a Small World. I remember the last time I was in Orlando, going to Magic Kingdom and riding on that ride was an absolute must. There was no getting around it, there was no way I wasn’t going to do that. This time – it was less of a must and more of a maybe. Surprisingly . . . the maybe didn’t bother me in the least. In fact, I started off thinking that I had to find a way to fit going to Magic Kingdom into the one full day I had in Orlando. And I couldn’t see that happening without wanting to lose my mind. And, quite frankly, in my mind, there were also other things that I wanted to take care of during the day. In fact, I could think of nothing more than helping out my significant other and taking care of what I needed.

So there was my sign. There were the flashing lights letting me know that in some way I was choosing to move on. That I was choosing to do what I am sure my mother has been wanting me to do since she died. Move on. Take care of myself. Live in the present. Admittedly, I have struggled with this since the day my mother left. I struggle with it as each year clicks by that she hasn’t been here. However, this year has been the first year where I’ve really felt okay and strong enough to take steps towards letting her go. It’s actually resonating with me that letting go doesn’t mean that I’m forgetting her or that I’m disrespecting her in some grand way. Rather, to move is honoring her and letting her be at peace.

This year has been a year of struggles and hard lessons learned. But it has also been the year of many incredibly wonderful lessons. Most of all, I’ve begun looking towards a life with someone who accepts me just as I am. Someone who has always allowed me to feel my grief and sadness. Someone who has reveled in the good with me. Someone who has always found a gentle way of letting me know that torturing myself and holding on so tightly to my mother aren’t exactly good things to do. And because of that . . . because of the freedom I have to talk about my mother and share the memories I finally feel and understand that letting go is exactly what I need to do to let my healing continue.

So, on this, the almost eight year anniversary of my mother’s death – I will strive to let her go and let her remain free so that we can both move on. And, on this the eighth Thanksgiving without her, I am grateful for a man who understands that to love me is to hold me when I cry for my mother and encourage me to let go of my past and embrace my future. Just as my mother would want me to do.

The ties that bind

2008-11-17T17:47:00.000-05:00

For almost eight years, a piece of my mother has always been close. Ok, maybe not a piece of her, but something or some things that were once hers. Since the day she died, almost all my jewelry that I wear was hers - the first diamond earrings my father ever gave my mother along with a necklace and ring that she wore quite frequently. For eight years, nothing ever changed, unless it was to change my jewelry (to some other jewelry that was once my mother's) for a formal event. The construct was always the same though - earrings, ring and necklace was always something that she once wore. By doing this, I felt as though my mother was always close to me and it was a great source of comfort. But, it wasn't until recently that it occurred to me that maybe what I was doing wasn't the best of ideas. That by doing this on a daily basis I was trapping both myself and my mother.

Though my mother is gone . . . my inability to truly let her go has been debilitating to me and also to her soul. You may not believe in that, but I do. While I was trying so hard to hold on to her and keep her presence here, it just doesn't work like that way. She's gone. She's not going to come back . . . no matter how much of her jewelry I keep on my person. No matter how hard I think about her and remember her every single day. She's not going to materialize and suddenly be here, physically.

See, what I failed to realize completely is that she is with me. Everyday. That she is inherently a part of me. No kidding, right? But, it's funny how one can forget about this when it seems like the continuum has been thrown off. I am my mother's daughter. I have the freedom to think about her and honor her in any way I choose, whenever I choose. I don't need to have on a favorite ring of hers to honor her. I don't have to try and keep her alive in my mind and in everyone else's mind to respect her. I don't have to punish myself to make up for what never happened between my mother and I to honor her memory. And to make it seem like she died in vain. I don't have to do any of that. In fact, I have to do the complete opposite. I have to live.

I have to make the conscience decision every day to live the life that she would have wanted me to live. To be successful. To be happy. To not wallow in the misery of her absence. To remember her and laugh. To remember her and pass on all that I have learned form her to others and, hopefully one day, my children. I know that she would not want me to live like this, to live with such a death grip on the past. To live with such a hold on her soul because I don't want it to appear as though she's forgotten. What I do have to do is continue to move forward and let go of the sadness. To let go of the mourning. To let go of her.

So, I have taken more steps to completing the cycle of letting go. I have retired the notion that I must keep her close by having tangible pieces of her jewelry on my person. And I have taken action to break my debilitating cycle.

While I am moving on and letting go of her . . . she will never be forgotten. Her strength of character, the silly moments we shared and the lessons she taught me will be passed on and shared. I will honor her memory by living the life that I know she would want me to live. The life she would want me to live free of guilt and sadness.

She will always be with me. She was, is and will always be my mother.

Perspective

2008-11-14T14:03:00.000-05:00

As each year passes since my mother died goes by, it still seems surreal. It still seems . . . unreal. But, what I do know and think about each year is just how much my mother's daughter I truly am. To be honest, I never thought I'd ever say something like that about me and my mother. To me, I thought to be like her would be the worst thing EVER. But, as the days pass . . . I couldn't be prouder of the fact that I truly am my mother's daughter. And that it's evident, even in some of the simplest and silliest ways. When I recognize the similarities, all I do is smile and laugh to myself. In other cases, I'll just say something to the effect of I have my mother to thank. And most times, I'm not being sarcastic.

I thought of this very topic last night while I was going home from work. It was later than I usually leave, so it was dark and rainy. After driving for a bit, I noticed my back was hurting as were my eyes. I took a minute to think about it and realized I was death gripping the steering wheel and squinting - yes, there it was . . . the lack of night vision that my mother has bestowed upon me. All I could do was shake my head, smile and chuckle quietly to myself.

In almost every way now, I am my mother's daughter. I am capable of her temper, incredible stubbornness and perseverence. I have her appreciation for the finer things in life, both shopping and dining, as well as her flair for being ridiculously silly. And while I revel in these thoughts, I have to wonder how my father feels about that. Whether when he looks at me, does he see my mother. And if he does . . . does he hate me for it? Those questions never occurred to me before until recently. It was pointed out to me that while I may feel abandoned by my remaining family members - it is appropriate to think about how my father must feel in comparison to the sadness I feel because my mother isn't here.

My father's partner of 25+ years is no longer here. He is a retired doctor . . . he couldn't save/ cure her. Their children remain one of whom is a daughter that in many ways is like his deceased wife. What he must feel when he looks at me . . . and then I wonder, what does he see. In so many ways, much of how my mother was is now a part of me - from the lack of night vision to making sure parties are planned for appropriately to the headstrong personality.

Being my mother's daughter . . . curse or blessing in disguise?

A new First

2008-11-13T12:33:00.000-05:00

Last night I made dessert for me and my awesome significant other. I decided I would make chocolate lava cakes. Now, don't be impressed, really, because it was just a mix. The problem for me was two-fold - I wasn't in my own kitchen and this was the first time I've made these things. Whenever I tried a recipe for the first time . . . or whenever I would bake . . . firsts were always to my mother.

Whether it was chocolate chip cookies, blueberry muffins or a new recipe for dessert . . . my mother always had the first. I remember I would take a plate out, just for her . . . and as something came right out of the oven, she got the first one. Always. Even when I moved out of my house this would happen on days when I knew I would be going to see my parents. I would take the first and put it on a plate for her. It didn't matter if she was actually going to be the first to eat my creation, all that mattered was that she was the recipient of the first one.

So back to last night . . . I was baking these delicious looking chocolate lava cakes for dessert. As they were baking, the smell filled the house and was just awesome. I got blue for a moment because I realized that my mother would not be getting the first. But, the flipside of that is that my significant other would be receiving the first. And he will be receiving the first from here on out. That's not such a bad thing. If my original first's shoes must be filled, I truly cannot think of a better person to fill those shoes than he.

My mother had all my past firsts and she loved every single one (at least that's what she told me). I'll always want for her to be the first, but reality dictates otherwise. So, my significant other will have the present and future firsts. Not such a bad trade, in my opinion.

Fight or flight

2008-11-12T09:13:00.000-05:00

Family. This time of year generally has me thinking a lot about family . . . the ones that are still here and those who have gone. It also reminds me of that "left behind" feeling. My mother is gone. My father generally spends most of his time in CA now. My brother is married and living in Shanghai. So, yes, I tend to get lost in that "left behind" feeling as the anniversary of my mother's passing approaches. The past few days, especially, I've been feeling especially blue and feel as though I have multiple personalities. It's amazing that anyone around me can deal with, what I think is craziness. Now, I do know that at some point, whether it be a couple of days or a week, I will shake these blues, sadness, whatever you want to call it. And I shared that yesterday while apologizing, yet again, for my recent craziness. It was at that moment that I was reminded that while it may seem as though everyone, in some way, has left me, I am in the process of building a family of my own.

Oh yeah, that's right! I'm building my own family. A family where life will be created and celebrated. A family where there will be no feeling of "left behind" - at least not immediately. the best part . . . I am creating a family with a man who I am so in love with. And this is the good stuff that I have to remember when all I want to do is be engulfed by the sadness that plagues me because my mother is gone. Yet keeping that perspective at the forefront of my mind is so difficult at times.

It remains difficult at times because I feel as though all I've been doing for the past eight years is re-building my life. Creating an existence without the presence of my mother. Re-creating my sense of family since now all that remains are the three of us . . . separated by ocean and land. And I have to admit that at times, it is just plain tiresome. All this rebuilding. Some days, I just want things as they were . . . the four of us.

But no, I must look forward and keep putting one foot in front of the other. Take comfort in the family I still have and continue to look forward to the family that I am creating. It's the circle and cycle of life. I can either fight it or welcome it. Some days I'm not sure what I want to engage in - a fight or life.

When I was just a little girl . . .

2008-11-10T08:16:00.000-05:00

Given the time of year, I tend to think back of the moments of my mother and I. Most of those moments tend to be the funny . . . it's funny because most of those stolen happy moments I recall so often with my mother are ones that were so far and few between. Especially as I got older. However, my mind continues to hit rewind and play just the happy ones. I'm not disillusioned or that forgetful that I do not remember that most of the time, my mother and I fought like cats and dogs. I think at this point in time, it doesn't really matter. When I look back at times with my mother, there is already enough regret that just recalling the miserable times with her doesn't really make sense. So, yeah, I choose to remember the yearly Easter tradition where my mother gave me a chocolate Godiva bunny. Or the fit of laughter that she and I broke into when she thought she saw (identical) twins on a double date - and I mean, identical twin sisters on a date with identical twin brothers - only to realize that the couple was sitting right next to a mirror. Or the suddenly quick drives home when we had KFC in the car. Or the numerous times when we'd be out shopping and my mother would want ice cream, for example, and rather than just tell me she wants ice cream, she'd ask me if I wanted some. If I answered no, the woman would just stand there and pout and tell me I'm no fun.

The times that were the most fun were ones that usually involved shopping. Put my mother and I in any retail setting and the tensions that were between us simply melted away. I really have no explanation other than the fact that my mother and I always enjoyed shopping together. The purpose didn't matter, because usually there wasn't one. As I got older, the teasing would begin when one of us would be looking for something for me or come across something that I would like . . . when it was decided that I would get it - I generally played the "oops, I left my wallet at home" reel and though my mother would give me grief, in the end, she picked up the tab. And that was our song and dance. At the time, I always thought that I was pulling the wool over mom's eyes whenever she would finance our shopping trips, because let me tell you, when my mother and I went shopping, it was an all out event. We rarely came back empty-handed.

Looking back, though . . . I can't say that I was actually getting over on my mother. Looking back, I think it was her way of expressing a level of love or emotion that she was unable to articulate. Growing up, my family never really expressed our independent feelings. Nor was there ever many displays of affection, either. And my parents never really showed much affection towards each other. I think this always made me feel like a fish out of water because I always wanted the feel of my parents - something to make me feel safe. However, I rarely ever got that. It was generally a pat of some sort from my father and not much more from my mother. But, when it came to shopping or other events - it was no holds barred. As an adult I've come to realize that buying things or giving me excessive money when I went out was their way of showing their love. Though I thought it often as a child, it wasn't them trying to buy my love, but their way of just expressing their love because for whatever reason, they knew no other way. To engage in personal conversation or touch was beyond them.

This weekend I was on a mission for new black boots. I was also in quite a funk missing my mother. After some encouragement and nudging from my incredibly awesome boyfriend, I ventured to the outside world and went to find boots. When I finally managed to peel myself from the chasm of blankets and sadness, venturing into the outside world felt good and refreshing. After I successfully completed my quest of looking for new boots . . . I took a trip to a favorite store of mine to see what I could pick up. A little retail therapy never hurt anyone. While in the store, I was trying on a trench coat, admittedly the only trench coat I own was purchased well over 5 years ago and it was clear that it really doesn't fit properly. So, there I was standing in front of the mirror asking all the usual questions - does it fit right? Does it look okay? Will it fit properly even over a suit? And then I was hit with a wave of sadness. Suddenly, I couldn't help but notice that my mother wasn't here to answer my questions. That she wasn't around to tell me that I had indeed found the perfect trench coat. Before I could sink too far into the abyss of sadness, I hear a woman's voice telling me that the coat suits me and it looks great. I ask her if it's too big explaining that I had a thin t-shirt on underneath, she said no because I'll likely be wearing a sweater or suit jacket underneath. I thanked her and said she helped make my decision easy as she answered questions I was struggling with in my head. Before I had a chance to walk away, the very same woman asked me for my advice on two dresses she was holding. And for that moment in time, for that brief exchange with a complete stranger, it brought me back to those moments in time when my mother and I shopped together and had similar exchanges. As I walked to the register to pay for my belongings, all I did was smile to myself and knew that my mother was with me as she always has been and always will.

And as I walked out of the store, I recognized another sign that my mother was right there with me . . . I was humming one of our favorite songs.

What works for me

2008-11-06T12:33:00.000-05:00

Truly, there is nothing worse than someone telling me that's it time I "get over it." Seriously, if you lost your mother, regardless of when, you would never tell another motherless child to "get over it." Second to that, don't tell a motherless daughter that the pain or grieve shouldn't still be debilitating - regardless of when it happens, regardless of how long ago her mother died. See, the thing that people do not realize is that you never really get over it. Obviously I cannot say that with 100% conviction. Nor is it a guarantee or absolute fact. However, from all that I have read, from all that I have heard from others . . . it is a loss that one does not wholly recover from. And finally, the fact that my mother isn't in pain anymore and is in a better place didn't bring me all that much comfort the day she left . . . so, honestly, it's really not going to bring me all that much comfort today. So, please, don't say anything remotely close to "but she's in a better place."

An old friend of mine would repeatedly tell me that it was time to move past the pain and, literally, to "get over it." Easy for anyone to say when both parents are still standing. Easy to say when you don't have to actually put that into practice. Death is hard enough to manage and cope with, let alone have to cope with the death of a parent at a time that just seems so unfair and wrong. But, to have someone tell you to get over losing half of the combination that made you? To get over losing someone who was supposed to guide me through having children? To get over someone who was supposed to do this, that and the other thing? You have got to be kidding me.

Here I stand approaching eight years to the day since my mother left this world. And still, unless I'm being irreverant to a telemarketer, I cannot bring myself to say that word . . . that she is de*d. I've said it out loud and it makes me want to vomit. Literally. Ok, so it makes me want to cry, be sad and all that other stuff. But, honestly, it makes me want to vomit. Why? What daughter, at any age, wants to say that her mother is dead? Even moreso, what daughter in her late 20s really wants to say her mother is dead. And realize that her mother won't be physically present when she gets married or when she has a baby.

So, as the 8-year mark of my mother's passing nears . . . this is what I need to help me through:

Do not tell me to "get over it."
Be gentle and kind with me. I'm just as irreverant and relentless as the next person, but this is a time when I need those around me to just understand that, yes, I am fragile.
Understand that the pain will be overwhelming at times so I may say things that are more a reaction to a feeling of being overwhelmed than actually a reaction to what you say or ask.
Let me have my day or two of wallowing. I need it. If those days come up for me, I need them. I need to be able to cry, watch sad movies, listen to sad music or whatever to help me get out the preceding days and months of missing my mother.
Do not tell me to "get over it."
Give me a wide berth . . . be cognizant that this is an extremely difficult time for me. The last thing I really want to do is remind anyone who is close to me of what's seemingly around the corner. This is especially annoying if we've had the conversation and yet you still look at me like I'm a freak when I'm over-emotional.
Accept the fact that you nor anyone else will be able to comfort me. But, the fact that you are listening to me talk and cry like crazy is awesome.
If I say I hate you and everyone else who has a mother . . . don't take it personally. I highly doubt I hate you if you're being a pillar of support/strength during this time.
If you ask me what I want or what you can do and I respond with something that implies my mother being here, just let me say it. You don't need to respond . . . I know it's not possible.
Do not tell me to "get over it."
Don't try and make a list of things for me to do (or something of the like) to distract me and keep me moving forward.
Don't problem-solve my feelings of sorrow, loss and emptiness. You can't. Just listen.
If I start to smell, am wearing the same clothes, am not eating or being remotely social for more than two days, you have my permission to kick my arse into gear.

I'm sure there are other things to add to my list, I just can't think of them at the moment. I generally go into hiding when this time of year approaches. However, as the years progress it's getting harder and harder to hide. But, I'm also finding that I don't want to hide. Yet, to rely on someone, anyone, during this time is incredibly scary. So, for those who find that I've been turning to you more . . . this is a partial, growing list of what works for me during this time.

So, thank you in advance for being such a good friend and staying by my side when I've asked during this difficult time.

Psst . . . if you tell me enough years have passed and that I should "get over it" - I may hurt you. Badly. ;o) Consider yourself warned.

There can be only one

2008-11-04T19:36:00.000-05:00

This is the point that I think escapes people. When my mother died, what went with her was one of the two most important people in my life. For my entire life, my parents always said that the only ones I would be able to count on were my mother and my father. And, well, of course my brother. I remember my father saying this over and over again, even as I went into my twenties . . . my father constantly reminded me that the only people I would be able to truly and completely count on were my parents - my mother and father. So, the screwed up thing is that as much as I tried to not believe that, I did. I believed that my mother and father were always going to be there. That they would always be the two people who would pick up the pieces when they fell apart. That they would always be there to put me back together when I fell apart. Not that they ever really did . . . but, just knowing that I had them there in my corner (whether I believed that or not) always provided some sort of comfort. As I saw friends around me go through their parents divorcing, I took comfort in the fact that my parents stayed together - for better or worse. And believe me, there were times when all I wanted was for them to get divorced. Anyway, the point is that I was raised by a father who told me that he and my mother would always be there. But see, what he neglected to tell me were all the caveats. All the what ifs. All the possibilities of what could happen. So sure, you can say to yourself, well, gee . . . didn't it occur to you that you parents would die one day? Well, of course it did occur to me. Of course I knew that at some point in the far off future, my parents wouldn't be around. I didn't think that the natural flow of things would have a disruption. Never did I think I would have to deal with the death of my uncle (my mother's youngest brother) and maternal grandmother AFTER my mother died. Again, the natural flow of events was disrupted. At least in my world it was disrupted.

So, after my mother died, I've had some major milestones - I graduated from law school, my brother got married, my father re-married and I've moved into an incredible condo. I'm also about to embark on another journey, which is planning a wedding to the most incredible man I've known. And while it's awesome . . . again, my mother is not here to go through the process with me. Just as she wasn't here to see me graduate from law school and see my brother get married. I know that there are people in my life who will be more than happy and willing to help me plan my wedding . . . it's just not the same. And who knows how it would go if my mother helped me plan this wedding. But the fact remains that she would have been here to help or, at the very least, be part of the process dictating every little detail.

See, the point is that there is no substitute. There is no one who can take her place or even come close to it. And it's not that I want anyone to be able to do so, anyway. It's just the simple fact that a mother is like the swordsman out of "Highlander" - there can be only one. No one can come after. And those who try . . . not even close. I say this because this is what people need to remember. As far as mothers go - there is only one for every daughter. And when our mothers go . . . there is no replacing her. There is no substitute. There is no mother, per se. This is the daily struggle. The balance between embracing those who are here versus the one who isn't. If you aren't already, some day you'll walk in similar shoes as mine . . . and only then will you understand.

There can only be one.

Figuring it out

2008-11-04T17:07:00.000-05:00

Anger. That was the strongest emotion, aside from sadness, that I felt after my mother died. I was angry that she was gone. I was angry that I didn't have resolution to our conflict. I was angry that I couldn't talk to my brother or my father about my feelings and what was happening to our family. I was angry. In one fell swoop, my world seemed like it was unraveling and I had no idea how to keep it together. The thought that my mother wasn't in pain anymore didn't bring me much comfort. It didn't ease the anger that I was feeling inside.

Anger. It describes the nature of the relationship that existed between my mother and I for as long as I could remember. I was in trouble more often than not. That made my mother angry. My mother was gone a lot for work, my father was gone during the week for work, my brother was in high school so he wasn't around much either. All of that made me angry. And the times when we were all together or some combination of the four of us together, I was angry because I felt like a fish out of water. I didn't feel like I belonged in my own family. That made me angry. When my mother died, the three left standing were like independent islands. We came together when we had to . . . but we co-existed when we did. That made me angry.

At some point, the anger dissipated and changed into an emotion that changes all the time. Sometimes I'm angry. Other times I'm sad. And when I'm not feeling one of those, empty, alone, depressed filled those gaps. There are times, though, when I remember what it's like to have fun or be happy and not feel guilty that I was feeling those emotions. I remember when I would stop myself from those feelings because it felt wrong. It felt like I was disrespecting my mother, but I know that what she would want is exactly that - for me to continue to move forward. For me to continue with my life and be successful. Admittedly, I feel guilty for doing so. Yeah, that's me - do the opposite of what someone would want. Seriously, it's not that difficult to do what's right . . . to do what comes naturally. It doesn't matter if it is exactly what another person would want from me.

It is now in my life when things are settling and making sense. So, of course, now is the time when I think I've been feeling the saddest and angriest since my mother died. All of these awesome things that are happening - I want her here with me. It's funny how all the feelings tend to come full circle at some point. How they all take turns in making their presence known within my being. What I have to remember is that while it's ok and natural to feel anger, sadness and guilt . . . there will be that moment in time when the feelings must switch for me to be in the present and not ruin it for everyone else.

Striking that balance . . . that's what I'm trying to figure out and do successfully.

Growing pains

2008-11-03T14:18:00.001-05:00

Integrating the loss of a mother has its ups and downs. It's also an ongoing life process. And you better believe that there are some days when I feel just as sad as I did on the day she died and the days that followed.

This month will be the 8th year that my mother has been gone. Ok, fine, since my mother died. And I just experienced a couple of days that felt extremely familiar to the days of when she died. The sadness I felt, the depression that took a hold of me, the darkness that tried to consume me entirely. Grant it, there were some moments where the sadness completely took a hold of me and I had trouble finding my way out. There were moments where I thought my moods were going to drive me and everyone around me completely bonkers. In fact, I know I frustrated a specific someone this weekend with my Sybil-ness.

It's so not on purpose though. And this is truly the reason why I don't like people around me when I am going through some of the darkness. It gets bad. I get ridiculously sad, angry, bitter and resentful. And, I really don't want anyone around me who is going to try and be someone who won't let me feel the sadness or wallow, for just a bit. The thing about me is that I have to wallow in it. I have to get the sadness all over me before I can move forward. I move forward everyday, but as my mother's anniversary date nears each year, there is always a period of time I struggle with because of the hurt. Sure, I can focus on the people who are still here and are family. I can focus on the fact that I have my health, an amazing partner and the most incredibly loyal dog ever. But, really, for the two or three days when I feel so miserable and sad, the bottom line is that while I'm glad to have all of that, it doesn't change the simple facts that I (1) miss my mother; and (2) want my mother here. I know all the things and people who are still here. But, those moments in time are not about any of that.

So, unless I actually stay home from work day after day after day or lay in bed day after day after day . . . I'm allowed my sad days. I know eventually those won't all be sad days . . . but it's an ongoing life process. I guess it's just a different form of growing pains.

Gettin it right

2008-10-30T13:08:00.000-04:00

Needless to say that Thanksgiving and Christmas 2000 weren’t joy-filled holidays. But, we made it through . . . somehow. And, the new year passed as did each day following. Life started to settle down and the days weren’t as difficult. I didn’t realize, though, that it was leading up to a calm before the storm. So, this is what happened . . . I was out with some friends on a regular Friday or Saturday night, I can’t remember which. It was April and probably one of the first times I agreed to go out with a group of people. I recall it was an ordinary night of shooting pool and hanging out. Nothing too out of the ordinary. The great thing about it is that I was having a good time. But the change took less than a split second. Suddenly I felt like the only person in a room full of people. My mood immediately sombered and all I knew was that I had to get out, I had to leave. The change was evident to everyone. And all of my friends tried to persuade me to stay, but I wasn’t having any of it. I had to leave. Immediately. I remember that when the mood changed, I couldn’t put my finger on what exactly was bothersome. I couldn’t figure what put me in such an immediate and rapid emotional spiral.

It was the day before Easter. Now, you may be asking yourself, what’s so special about Easter. Well, the answer is nothing. Absolutely nothing. EXCEPT for the fact that when I was younger, my mother and I would dye eggs. AND, until I graduated from college, each year, without fail, my mother gave me a Godiva bunny. It’s not like I was expecting a chocolate bunny this particular year. I hadn’t received one from my mother in at least five years. It was the memory of what was that sent me in a spiral. It was the memory and the idea that I’ll never be given another Godiva bunny on Easter by my mother. Ever.

See, when I went through some therapy and what not, no one told me that there would be random days or holidays that would unleash surges in grief and emotion. Easter of all holidays! But, it made sense. It didn’t matter that whatever I used to do on those holidays, for example, I didn’t do anymore. It was just the fact that I would never do them again with my mother that caused such turmoil. You see, I didn’t just stop there. I would continue the string of what won’t happen by stating she won’t be present to help me plan a wedding, she won’t be present when I have my first child . . . all these milestones in my life to come and she won’t be present. Physically present.

So, now, Thanksgiving and the 8th anniversary of my mother’s passing are fast approaching. And much as I’ve done since the first year of my mother’s passing, I mentally prepare myself. I’ve taken every approach that one can create and I haven’t been consistent as the years have passed, either. There are times when I hide, maybe I’ll allow one or two around me, maybe I’ll just want to be at my mother’s grave . . . I can never be sure the approach, I just know that I actively remind myself to be gentle with myself because of what’s approaching. While I am experiencing much of the same emotions and feelings as I usually do, there’s an added twist this year. There’s someone I want her to meet so much. There’s someone a part of my life now that I think she would truly have liked and welcomed into the family with open arms. It’s someone who, for the first time, I want to introduce to my mother. Alive or not, I don’t think I’ve ever had that feeling about any man who’s been a part of my life. I feel that way now because I think she’d laugh and see that I got it right this time. And I know she waited and hoped that I would . . .

Never give up . . . on anyone

2008-10-29T08:49:00.000-04:00

I knew my mother was sick . . . I knew there wasn't much time left for her. But, I always thought there would be time for us to try and mend fences. I thought there would be time for us to find resolution and closure to the past together. I was wrong. I missed out on opportunity after opportunity to make amends with my mother, but towards the end, I gave up. If there's one trait I could say I definitely I inherited from my mother it's her stubbornness. Ok, and maybe a sense of pride. Though it is no excuse, I know that I gave up meeting my mother halfway because each time I did, it got me nowhere.

See, my mother and I were so similar that if you put the two of us in a room together (alone) the equivalent of a verbal World War III would break out. That’s just how we were . . . from the time I could probably speak, we rarely saw eye to eye on things. We were constantly arguing. But, the flip side is that when we got along, we really got along. We had a blast when we would go shopping together. She always gave into my ploys of “forgetting my wallet at home” and footing the bill. She did this even when I was a college student. There were times when my mother and I just laughed and laughed together – late night drives across the state of Pennsylvania, unpacking our house when we moved to Philadelphia, incredible shopping trips for prom dresses, etc. But, all that was lost on us when we didn’t get along. And in the last few years of her life, there were many things that brought her disappointment and sadness about some of the choices I made for myself.

For me, when my mother was getting really sick and the future was looking dim, my fears completely surfaced. I feared her dying thinking I was such a huge disappointment, that she hated me, etc. And what made it even worse was that the last time I saw her, two days before she died, I barely said a word to her. In fact, I don’t think I said anything and at the time, I had no idea if she even knew I was there. So, yeah, she died and our last moment together was silence. No words. Nothing. And this realization echoed through every inch of me.

So, there I was. My mother was gone and we had no resolution. No closure. Nothing. And I had all these lingering questions. Perhaps it seems childish or insane that I thought my mother hated me or that I was nothing but a disappointment in her eyes . . . but our relationship was so tenuous that these were truly my fears. Thus, in addition to feeling sad and grieving . . . I was angry because my mother left before we could resolve anything. She died without shedding a small ray on how she really felt.

God, yes, God, has a funny sense of humor though . . . either that or an incredible sense of timing. As I reveled in this anger, my father told me that my mother’s nurse was on the phone and she was asking for me. Her request was simple – to come to the house to talk to me about my mother and her last hours. Of course I said come over; which she did, the very next day. Never in a million years did I think that she would be my answer. What she conveyed to me was something I never thought I’d hear or learn about my mother’s thoughts. Especially during her last hours. In a nutshell, when all was said and done, the nurse told me that my mother was proud of me and the woman I had become. That though I didn’t follow the path she thought I should have, that I didn’t do so bad. And yes, she loved me. Apparently, my mother woke up calling for me and then proceeded to spend however long talking with the nurse about me and my life. She tried to express such disdain, worry and, perhaps, disappointment . . . but the nurse told me that when she simplified it for my mother, she couldn’t argue with the fact that I had a good job, a roof over my head and the ability to take care of myself. My mother conceded that there really wasn’t much more she could ask or expect. At least not at that point. And most of all . . . my mother loved me.

For quite some time, I was bitter because I couldn't understand why my mother couldn't have just said these things to me. Why she couldn't just, for once, tell me "I love you" without it being a battle of the wills. Why she couldn't have just met me halfway. Just. Once.

Now, I am not bitter or angry that it wasn't my mother who could have told me these things herself. She had her reasons . . . which I do understand. Rather, I am grateful that the nurse felt compelled to share this information. I am grateful that my mother was able to have this sort of conversation and leave nothing unresolved. It was Thanksgiving Day when I learned all of this . . . talk about something to be grateful for.

Passing the torch

2008-10-28T13:50:00.000-04:00

The day of my mother's service is a day that I still don't remember completely. To me, everything seems like a blur. I do remember thinking that I couldn't believe what we were actually doing . . . that we were burying my mother. Everyone appeared on edge and of little words. And me, I was screaming inside. All I wanted was for my mother to be.

We arrived at the church for the service . . . and there she was - laying down in a box. She was dressed in one of her favorite suits. She looked so peaceful, she looked like she was asleep. But, I knew differently. But oh how I would have traded places with her - she deserved to be here. In my opinion, she wasn't done yet . . . we weren't done yet - there was so much more for her to accomplish as a professional and so much more for us to accomplish as mother and daughter. Apparently, though, that wasn't the case. Her time had come and it couldn't have been clearer than looking at the front of the church seeing her laying there. Peaceful.

I don't remember much of the service. My aunts did a couple of readings, one of my mother's close co-workers and my brother gave a eulogy. And the whole time my brother was speaking, all I could think was that he was so stoic, together, calm. Meanwhile, I was just numb. Looking around the church all I could see was a sea of people - it was standing room only. All these people who had crossed paths with my mother either permanently or temporarily had come to say their final goodbyes. It was an amazing sight. I think the breaking point for me during the service was when these very people did, in fact, say their final good byes to my mother. For, I guess as tradition or protocol holds, you then (again) express your condolences to the family. I can't tell you how many hands I shook, how many faces (familiar and unfamiliar) I saw, how many times I heard "I'm sorry". And I think it was the first time I ever saw my brother shed a tear over our mother's death.

After the service, I (yes, me) led the procession away from the front of the church holding a picture of my mother, my cousins were behind me holding my mother's casket. I remember focusing so hard on walking. I couldn't see through the tears that were just streaming down my face. It was too much for me. See, nothing really prepares you for a moment like this. Nothing prepares you for the loss of a parent, let alone how to get through a service in his/her honor.

When we finally got back to the house after the service at the cemetery, there was so much to be done - food to be put out, drinks to be served, people to be tended to. And this is where I finally felt some sort of familiarity - the hostess-ing. Immediately, I saw to the caterers, made the rounds to see that everyone had a drink, etc. I made small talk with people, listened in on some conversations where people were reminiscing about my mother - the good, the bad, the crazy. Throughout the day, my focus was on the guests - to make sure that everyone had what they needed. When I took a moment to breath, it was then I heard some guests talking about me. Revelling in how I had stepped into my mother's role of hostess so seamlessly. That on the first day of having to be the matriarch, I had done my mother proud.

Of course that was a proud moment for me, but a sad one as well. I didn't want that role. I didn't chose for that to happen when it did. But, in a house full of guests - what was I to do? I know my mother would have wanted me to take the reins and do what she would have done. All those parties she had where she had me running around like a maniac finally made sense to me. She did that so when it was my time, I would be able to pull off being a hostess to the degree that she did. So that I wouldn't question what I thought needed to be done, so that everything would flow smoothly and no one would notice the great effort it took to make it all happen. And there I stood, surveying the crowd of people in the house and making a mental list of who needed what, where there needed to be more food, where there were things that needed to be cleaned up. There I stood . . . in her shoes.

One foot in front of the other

2008-10-27T12:37:00.000-04:00

The days that followed were a complete struggle. The week after that fateful day, I stayed in Philadelphia for another week to help my father. But, it didn’t take long for him to shoo me away to go back home. I relented, but I had no idea just how difficult it would be to resume life.

This was pretty much what happened the first week:
Day 1: Wake up, start crying . . . crawl back into bed.
Day 2: Wake up, start crying . . . crawl back into bed.
Day 3: Wake up, brush my teeth, start crying . . . crawl back into bed.
Day 4: Wake up, brush my teeth, take a shower, start crying . . . crawl back into bed.
Day 5: Wake up, brush my teeth, take a shower, get dressed, start crying . . .
Day 6: Wake up, force myself through the day.

I am grateful that at the time, my job was completely understanding of everything I was going through and the difficulty I was having resuming my daily routine. Unless you actually go through the loss of a mother, you truly have no idea how heart wrenching and painful the experience. And it makes no difference if you’re best friends or almost mortal enemies with your mother when she dies because the bottom line is that she’s gone, you’re here and that’s that.

During that time, if it hadn’t been for my friends, I really don’t know what I would have done. Anything and everything that had to do with daily life and existing was incredibly difficult for me. Truly, I didn’t want to exist. I wanted more than anything else to trade places – and I gladly would have done that. Selfish as it may sound . . . I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to be in so much pain and have to be here. My father had retreated into his own depression, my brother was emotionally unavailable when it came to the topic of my mother. Talking to my aunts, uncles or cousins wasn’t really a comfort to me, either. I’d felt like a child who didn’t know how to find her way anymore.

The weeks that followed got easier. The crying wasn’t every minute, the inability to move wasn’t so powerful. The pain wasn’t as gripping and debilitating. However, today . . . almost eight years later, there are those days when it feels like it just happened; where the pain is that huge and the inability to move that powerful. And it is then when I have to remember I can allow myself to feel all of that, but I cannot be paralyzed indefinitely. I’ll never get over the pain of my mother’s death or the sheer fact that she’s gone. Anyone who expects that or tells me that I should get over it is out of his or her mind. But what is important is to let go of the grief and my mother. I know that sounds weird, but it’s true. And it’s taken me eight years to learn that lesson. I couldn’t truly move forward until I let her go.

That Day

2008-10-24T12:53:00.000-04:00

My mother’s death was the first family death I had to deal with. Ever. Wednesday, November 22, 2000. The day before Thanksgiving. I was living in Virginia and my goal was to leave the area for my parents’ house before 9 or 10 AM. As I was about to turn into my parking lot where I lived . . . my phone rang. It was my father and brother. While turning left, that’s when I hear the news – my mother was gone. I don’t remember how I managed to park or even get up to my apartment. What I do remember is how numb and shocked I felt. Over the weekend, one of my cousins and I figured that she’d make it until the end of the year. I didn’t think she’d leave the day before Thanksgiving.

How did it happen? Apparently ever so peacefully. My father said he went to say good morning to my mother. Perhaps they had some conversation, perhaps not. But I do know she knew he was there. He then said he told her he was going downstairs to get breakfast for them and he’d be right back upstairs. They didn’t have breakfast together. She was gone before he got back upstairs. I like to think that she held on for one more chance to see my father.

For second time in my life – I was paralyzed. I didn’t know what to do. I knew that this would happen, but nothing had prepared me for this moment and how to handle it. I think I just started calling people. And I kept making phone calls and it didn’t even register with me that I was calling people during the workday and they wouldn’t be able to talk. And, of course, for the moments that I was able to talk coherently, if someone said he or she couldn’t talk, then I said ok and hung up without explaining the nature of my call. After some time passed, there was a knock at the door – it was one of my friends, Dwight. He brought me the hugest Starbucks frappaccino topped with whipped cream and just sat with me. I don’t recall if there was any conversation, I just know that someone was with me. I suspect had someone not been there, I probably would have gone out of my mind. Knowing me, I probably started trying to put clothes together to get ready to leave and to keep myself occupied. But, I honestly couldn’t tell you what happened that morning.

The drive to Philadelphia was excruciatingly long. All I could think about was the fact that I was going home, but to a single-parent home. All I could notice was the massive amount of cars on the road. Well, no kidding there are a lot of cars on the road because it is the day before Thanksgiving, after all. And it was at that moment where I suddenly felt lost, abandoned . . . alone. It seemed like an eternity to get to Philadelphia and each second was pure agony. How was I supposed to walk into that house? What was I supposed to say to my father? What was I supposed to do. Period.

Seriously, I couldn’t tell you what happened once I got home. It’s all truly a blur. The next significant thing I remember is going to the funeral home . . . and all I remember thinking is that I just wish my mother would wake up; even if it meant yelling at me for whatever reason. Just wake up, dammit. She didn’t. Obviously.

That was the day. And as I sit here and try to recall all the details – I just can’t. Maybe it’s a good thing . . . maybe it’s not. But I guess at this point, it’s irrelevant. The long and short of it is that she is and was my mother. And it doesn’t really matter if I remember the details of that fateful day. What I’ve come to learn with regard to what matters is how I move on, how I remember and honor her and what I choose to do with each day that is given to me.

The Nuts and Bolts - Why? Who? How?

2008-10-22T13:33:00.000-04:00

Why am I doing this? Because it's healing. Because it brings the cycle full circle. Because I want to. Because I'm ready. It's hard enough to deal with the death of a parent. What makes it harder is that unless you've actually experienced the death of your mother you have no idea what it is like. And even if you experienced the loss of a parent, you can only sympathize. There are far too many factors that affect how a person reacts, handles and lives in the aftermath where another individual could actually empathize with how I felt and still feel with respect to my mother's death. So if no one other than me ever lays eyes on this particular blog . . . I'm okay with that because this is for me more than anyone else to help me down the road of healing and recovering.

Who? Well, it is my mother who this revolves around. And it is about and for me as well. Anyone else who comes along for the ride is more than welcome.

How? It was November 22, 2000 when I received the phone call from my father and brother. We all knew it was coming, however, we, or maybe just I, thought that it wouldn't happen until after the holidays. My mother was diagnosed with lung cancer less than 8 months before she passed. She went over a year undiagnosed - one doctor thought it was TB, another thought acid reflux, etc. No one ever thought to look for lung cancer - she didn't smoke. Nor was she around people who do smoke. After she was properly diagnosed, I think it was already Stage II or III. Immediately my mother started chemo/radiation . . . it was heart-wrenching to watch her go through those processes. After her first round, the doctors were relieved because it seemed as though she was doing fine. Then . . . my mother started saying how her bones were hurting and it hurt for her to walk. Yeah, you guessed it - the cancer had spread to her bones. This is never a good thing. By the time she went in for x-rays, the cancer had spread to her brain. That was, literally, the kiss of death. In less than 3 months, my mother died peacefully in our home.

Why? It is almost eight years later and I find that I am at a point where I want to talk about her more. Where I want to share my mommy-and-me stories. Where I want to celebrate my mother.

So, Mom - this is for you.