In Memory of Mom

My mother passed away last year, and tomorrow my three sisters and I will scatter her ashes in the cemetary rose garden not far from the house where we grew up.

My parents almost didn’t buy that house–living close to a cemetary is not the best feng shui–but the cemetary was up the hill and a couple of blocks away, and the bungalow with full basement was just what they needed since my dad had broken his leg and was still on crutches.

“There’s a cripple moving into the house,” the neighbours whispered. But once they got to know our family, we became part of the neighbourhood just like everybody else.

I meant to blog about something else entirely today, but instead I’m filled with memories and re-reading the tribute I wrote for Mom last year. Here it is below.

Written July 16, 2011, 3am

Over the last few days, I’ve been trying to write a tribute to my mother. Even in the very early hours of this morning, I was still struggling with what to say–how could I possibly describe such a tiny woman who was at the same time so strong and so determined:

  • a 2nd generation Chinese-Canadian with all the struggles that meant in the 1920s, 30s, 40s and beyond;
  • a woman who never finished grade school, but who read two newspapers a day and encouraged all her children to get an education;
  • who over-watered all her houseplants, yet still had the most beautiful African violets, amaryllis, roses, and other blossoms;
  • who made such great chocolate chip cookies that her family called them “world-famous” and although she would generously share the recipe with anyone who asked, no one else could ever make them turn out right—people even suspected her of leaving out a secret key ingredient in the recipe she had given them, even though she never did (it was all in the touch I think, just like her apple pies which were second to none).

She was a practical woman who saved plastic bags and twist ties and empty Kleenex boxes because you never know when you might need one; who thought telephoning long distance always meant bad news, so instead she took the time to write me three times a week when I was living at a distance in the US.

She was not religious in any traditional sense, but she believed and prayed in her own way.

She was a proper lady who always liked to have her hair done; who loved beautiful things like her collection of crystal dishes that we are using today; a woman with many friends who was always ready to go out to lunch or shopping; a two-time cancer survivor.

I suppose these things tell you something about my mother, yet all these words seem so flat compared to the life she lived. So I thought I’d let my mother speak for herself by sharing with you just a few of the things she’s said to me over the years:

  • When I was a child, I would sometimes ask my mother to tell me about her childhood, and she would always say, “you don’t want to hear about that, it’s too boring.” As a teenager, I thought, isn’t that just like a mother, telling me that I don’t want to hear something even after I’ve told her I want to hear it.    But years later, I came to realize how much my mother was trying to protect me from the harsh realities of her younger years.
  • When I stood over her as a young bride-to-be wanting to know how to cook all of my favourite dishes, pen and paper in hand, ready to take notes, she said, “you don’t have to measure everything.”
  • My mother on housekeeping: “the beds can wait, let’s go shopping.”
  • My mother on going to school: “No education is ever wasted.”
  • On following your dreams–whatever I hoped to do or tried, my mother would always say, “I have every faith in you.”
  • On dealing with illness, she said: “oh I’m so popular, I have so many dates with doctors.”
  • On being independent and moving into a seniors residence, my mother would tell people, “My children didn’t put me here, I put myself here.”

And when she was much older, very frail and dealing with many health problems including vascular dementia, even within the last couple weeks of her life when I would ask her, “how are you, Mom?” she would say, “I’m fine.”

How could she be “fine” as she struggled in mind and body with so many different ailments? Given her dementia, some might say she really didn’t know what she was saying.

But I know better—once again and always, my mom was still protecting me.



Categories: Spiritual Practice

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11 replies

  1. Hi April:
    I have been following your blog for the past few months and really appreciate the words you share with so many “unknown” readers. How difficult is that? You don’t even know if you have an audience or how your words are being received. I do appreciate the time you take to talk about your life experiences and the books you’ve read.
    The memory of your mom is particularly meaningful to me. David and I lost all three of our parents within a year; David’s mom in June of 2010, my mom in November of 2010 and my dad in June 2011.
    It’s the conversations that we’ve had with our parents over our lifetimes and the thoughtful things that they’ve done for us that are most fondly remember.
    Thank you for sharing your tribute of your mom, it’s given me a small window into your life.
    Every blessing, thank you so much for sharing of yourself,
    ~Heidi

  2. Thanks April,

    Love, Judy

    On 8/20/12, spiritual practice, faith, and life ~ april yamasaki

  3. Thank you for sharing with us. Be assured of my prayers for you and your family.

  4. Appreciated you sharing this with your audience.
    Even-though we don’t speak of it all the time, the loss of our parents is never far from our minds and our hearts.
    They just seem to be there…. still watching over us, I think! It’s a comfort!

  5. Thank you all for your comments and prayers. I also appreciate reading your experiences and thoughts on your parents and loss. Heidi, it must have been especially difficult losing three parents in the same year.
    I actually find blogging more personal/immediate than writing books–I always appreciate comments and “likes,” but even without those, I can look up my stats and see that people are visiting my site (although not exactly who they are). I can blog something one day and get a comment on the same day. In contrast, the book I’m completing now won’t be published until mid-March, so any comments will come much longer after the fact.

  6. What beautiful insights that make me feel like I know and loved your mother too. And in fact, reminded me of my deep love for my Chinese-American grandmother of the same generation, who gave more than she received, and who also experienced unspoken hardships so that I might not have to. Thank you.

  7. Thank you for your response – I am so glad that my reflection connected so personally with you. I’ve been reading some of your blog just now, and resting in your lovely words. I’m following you on my google reader now and look forward to more.

  8. A lovely tribute to your mother. I wish I could have met her. Thank you for the personal post.

  9. Thanks, Rhonda – my father died suddenly over 20 years ago, and I didn’t write a tribute for him at the time, but I’d like to do that sometime too.

  10. This page is the first bookmark in this browser that I’m using, so I can always go back to it.

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