Dear Mom,
One of my earliest memories of you is when you would wake me up in the mornings. I know that most children don’t like being woken up from sleeping, but it was something that I looked forward to with you. You would sit beside me and gently touch my cheek and tell me how much you loved me. But you didn’t even have to say a word, because I knew and have known, without a doubt, that you loved me so much.
I loved watching you cook and you were such a wonderful cook. You took so much pleasure in feeding everyone. Every day, growing up, you would show us your love by feeding us. Well into my 30s, I felt your love every time I opened my freezer. You would fill it with home-cooked meals so I would never go hungry. You always made me feel loved. I was convinced, and still am, that your secret ingredient when cooking was love.
You made it a point, along with Dad, to take my sisters and me on a family vacation every year. You instilled the love of nature and the value of family time in all of us. We didn’t have a whole lot growing up, but we had each other. We always had each other.
You were a doting mother. Everything you did, you did for your kids. You worked the night shift for years so you could be with us during the day. You often worked two jobs so we could go on our vacations and take piano lessons, gymnastics, painting, cooking classes, swimming lessons, you name it – we took every single class imaginable. You helped us with our homework. You attended every single parent-teacher conference, piano recital, violin concert, volleyball or track event – you were there for us growing up. You were our own personal cheerleader: encouraging, motivating, inspiring and always pushing us to do our personal best.
During my college years, I would get frustrated with you because you would stay up at night, sometimes as late as 3am, and wait for me to get home. I’d get upset because I felt I was no longer a child and I didn’t want to be treated like one. I didn’t understand at the time that I’d always be your child. I didn’t understand how much you loved me, that is, until the day I became a mother myself.
When Emma was born, I thought my heart was going to burst with love. I remember thinking that I loved this baby so much and the love I had for her was so great, that no one could possibly love their child as much as I loved mine. It occurred to me then, that this is how you felt about me. I finally understood why you stayed up every late night that I had, why your heart bled with mine during my divorce, and why you held your breath every time I took an exam during pharmacy school. You were there for me - without me asking - you were always there to pick me up and make me whole again after I was so broken. My heart aches when I think about all the painful times I put you through.
But I made it through. I graduated from pharmacy school in June 2011. You were so proud and I was so happy to begin a new chapter of happier memories. I finally had a chance to begin replacing some of those tough memories with better ones, happier ones.
You loved spending time with Emma, and Emma loved her Halmoni. You were such a wonderful grandmother. You drove out to Arizona without hesitation when she got sick. You drove out to Las Vegas every other weekend to give her love and stability when her world fell apart with the divorce. But most of all, you two shared a special bond. You loved her so selflessly, so wholeheartedly, so unconditionally.
Finally, after years of worrying about me, I was ok. You breathed easier knowing that I was ok. I could see you finally breathe. You spent more time doing the things you really enjoyed, such as quality time with the grandkids, family and friends, hiking, reading and writing. You did all of these things, until you couldn’t…
It was on my birthday in December of 2011. You and Dad came out to visit and took me out to dinner. I knew something was wrong, but you wouldn’t say. Later that night, Emma showed me the recording she made with her new toy. There were pictures of you on the phone crying. I asked Emma who you were on the phone with and she told me it was Emo (my older sister).
My sister told me what my mom couldn’t. None of it made any sense.
In a way, the last two and a half years have been the longest two and a half years. It was so hard to see you in so much pain. But mostly, I feel that time went by too fast. None of us were ready to let go.
I’m grateful that I was there, with our family, when you took your final breath. I’m grateful for all the love and sacrifices you’ve made for me. You were such a beautiful person. So loving, positive, selfless, and charming. I was so lucky to have you as my mother. You taught me what love really means. And you didn’t even have to say a word, because I knew and have known, without a doubt, that you loved me so much.
I’m struggling right now. But it’s ok. I’m told things will get better in time. Plus, now I have you as my guardian angel. But then again, I’ve always had you as my guardian angel.
I love you, Mama.
Helen