Always wear clean underwear

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

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

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

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

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

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

Home Sweet Home

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

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

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

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

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

Lincoln Logs

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trailblazing

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

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

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

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

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

Reconnecting

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

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

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

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

Grass roots

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

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

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

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

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

Inner thoughts

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

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

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

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

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

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