After a strangely cold day with rain, hail and snow, the sun came out this morning. I looked out of my windows wondering how many families would take advantage of the beautiful weather to step outside with moms; I wondered how many families had to phone in their greetings; I wondered how many people had come up with creative ways to celebrate this special day. Instead of taking my weekly long walks, I stayed in, scraping old paint off my window casing, and thinking of mom.
Today was the first Mother’s Day and the one hundredth day since mom’s passing—a small milestone on the eternal journey of separation. In Taiwanese tradition, families would hold simple ceremonies to commemorate their loved ones on this day. Robert told me that he visited the columbarium earlier, telling mom that, as the pandemic continued to change the world, we were doing fine.
Mom, like many Asian women of the yesteryears, kept her feelings mostly to herself. She got used to my hugs and kisses on her cheeks while living with me in Ohio. However, she never appreciated my desire of explaining or expressing myself verbally. Still, I would either call or send her a note for Mother’s Day.
It was not always easy to find the right card for mom. We were not close like sisters. She didn’t always make my days brighter. Her influence on me was gradual but profound. Her support for all my endeavor was consistent and, sometimes, blind. My love for her only grew as I aged. Often, I would write her a letter or put a personal message on a blank card. Sometimes, I would write about the latest in my life; other times, simply a “Thank-you.”
For years, mom lived alone in our old house. In 2012, a knee infection, which required an emergency surgery, abruptly ended her independence. After the surgery, needing constant care, she moved to be near Robert. Other than documents and a few valuable items, she was forced to leave most of her belongings behind. Last December, as mom resting in the hospital, I began sorting things in her apartment. In the drawer of her nightstand, I found an aerogramme from my Illinois days and two Mother’s Day cards. At that moment, I realized what those messages meant for mom.
Countless times in the last months, I felt the urge of saying something to mom. Then, I had to remind myself that I could not communicate with her the same way anymore. I liked to believe that, in a different way, mom already knew what I wanted to tell her.
This is the message that I like to send to her today:
Hi, mom:
How are you? Robert told me that he visited you and brought you my love.
I miss talking to you over FaceTime. As you know, it has become the only way for many people to talk to their elderly parents.
No daughter would like to let go of her mother. But it was a blessing that you left when it was still possible for me to be there for the last good-bye. It is such a strange thing to say: I will forever be grateful for that. Robert and I are glad that nothing can harm you anymore. Wishing you peace and joy.
Love, Julia
