Tag Archives: my mother

Large Coffee, One Cream, One Sugar

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Sometimes it is hard to believe that it is a little over a year since my mother passed. I wonder where she went. When I think of her, I see her as she was, vibrant and alive. She is just somewhere else. Life and love are still here. We are calmer, more at peace. For my father and me, we are still doing coffee most afternoons at the mall. I would go over to Tim Horton’s. They know me now and what I want. Every day it is large coffee, one cream, one sugar. Sometimes I get some Timbits. Surprising how comforting this habit of coffeeing is.

It really wasn’t my intention to do this. My siblings and I were not really close to our father. Our mother was the nuturing one. My father was like most Asian fathers of his generation. He brought home the bacon and left the family stuff to our mother. She took care of everything else. But with her gone, we couldn’t really just leave him at 93 to fend for himself. We pitched in to make sure he was safe.

I couldn’t do much after falling ill and losing my hearing. I told him not to call me because I wouldn’t be able hear. He understood and was very supportive. He said not to worry about him and to take care of myself. When I was recovering and could hear a bit, I dropped in on my walks for a short visit and a coffee. Last year was a long winter for both of us. He was mostly housebound. I was mostly deaf with alot of incessant bad music in my head. I did alot of walking to distract myself and also to hear the crunch of tires on ice from the traffic.

When summer came I tried walking with my father outside. The sidewalks were too rough and uneven for walker or wheelchair. Besides the weather was unpredictable – too windy, hot, cool. The mall was the perfect place for a walk and things to look at and discover. It was much easier than sitting at home with him. After awhile, I ran out of things to talk about. At first it was mostly just the two of us at the mall. It was ok. It was restful. It was my coffee break. Things evolve. Now some days we have a small group, some old friends and some new ones. I like to call it our Chinese Happy Hour. Some days I go home drunk with happiness from a large coffee, one cream, one sugar. I split it with my father.

Working in Stuck

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It’s occurred to me to keep a diary of this period of being stuck in stuck. Perhaps it will help me inch my way out of it. So far I’m not having much luck. I’m still wallowing round and round, going nowhere. But at least I’ve tapped out a couple of sentences here. Oh, yes, I did ordered some cheques from the bank this morning. I was surprised that the cheques and delivery are free. Isn’t that wonderful?

The thing that I haven’t failed is taking my father out for coffee every afternoon. How can I not do that, eh? He is 94 and has never, ever been alone till my mother passed away last October. It’s a miracle of some sort that we’ve muddled through a year without her. Today I realized I’m happy that she is free of all her physical pain and earthly cares. It lightens the load that I have felt for many years. I feel a peace of some kind. Maybe now I can start to sort and weed the clutter in my head and elsewhere.

Some people are surprised that I can take my father out every day. It is really not a big deal. I am happy that I am able to give him a couple of hours a day. I do my other stuff before and after. I look at it as my afternoon coffee break. I get to spend some time with him and see how he is managing. It settles my mind and I can sleep at night. I also get to know him a little better. He is like his generation of Chinese immigrant fathers.They work and work, leaving the nurturing to the mothers. I’m not complaining or criticising. It’s just what it was.

I’m feeling a little less stuck. Sometimes it helps to talk on my keyboard. Some things get loose and unstuck. Supper is almost ready. Time to eat. It’s goat tonight.

Working out of Acedia

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A cool cloudy October 20th, the first anniversary of my mother’s death. We’ve weathered through the first year. We took some flowers to her grave site yesterday. We had a rose for her friend, Amy but we couldn’t find her unmarked site. We knew it was nearby but it was too cold to do a long search. We added the rose to mom’s bouquet. Next visit, Amy.

A year is not a long time. Her absence felt long. I can’t remember or feel the time between her leaving and the present. I find myself wondering what the heck happened. How did I get here? It is best to leave those feelings and questions unexplored. I would only get lost in them and it would do more harm than good.

So here I am, on this 20th day of the Ultimate Blog Challenge. I haven’t completely dispelled my acedia which is described by AI as a state of listlessness, apathy, and a lack of care, often involving spiritual or moral laziness and indifference. I sometimes still find myself emotionless, incapable of being upset by anything or anyone. I suppose it can be a good thing. I’ve been too emotional in the past, with a short fuse, erupting like a volcano too often. It’s restful being in acedia.

I think I needed acedia but I’m slowing easing out of it. Maybe it’s due to my daily tapping on the keyboard. Maybe it is making an intention of losing 17 pounds. Today I feel a tiny twinge of being alive and slightly kicking. I feel trimmer, losing the pound I gained. I vacuumed yesterday. The house feels so much cleaner. The diningroom table is once again cleared. Can I say hallelujah?

Reminiscing

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A beautiful cool sunny September morning. I am a little more peppy though I’m not ready to do the jig yet. I’ve taken my vitamins and made a tour of the garden and greenhouse. I’ve turned on the dehydrator on the deck. There’s 8 trays of Roma tomatoes drying, sending off their aroma into the air. The day has started and I am ready for it.

It’s 11 months since I’ve witnessed my mother taking her last breath. I’ve wondered and dreaded the moment since she was diagnosed with her heart condition in September 2001. It was a time hard to forget. She had her first CT scan on September 11, the day of the 911 attacks. I woke up listening to the news on the radio. I thought of our relatives in New York. Then we watched the news unfold in the waiting room at St. Paul Hospital.

Now it is 24 years later. I’m sitting here, sipping my tea and tapping on my keyboard. My mother is not here. She’s had a good 23 years without surgical intervention. There were ups and downs but she had done well till age caught up with her. 93 is a good age. She was alert and independent right till the last moment.We couldn’t ask for more, could we?

Though I am no stranger to death, it was traumatic. She was my mother. I was joined to her umbilically in her womb for all those months. Then we had all the years after. She was like the pebble in the sea, sending out waves near and far. And now there are no more waves. The world has changed for me without those waves. It reminds me of how powerful each of us can be and how the world changes when we depart.

Amazement

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I am amazed at how bright and hot the May sun is. By 9 am the greenhouse was already 30℃ with shade down, vents and door opened. My sunroom was bathed in bright light by 7 am. It showed every little speck of dust. The sun came through as a cloudy haze. I ran my fingers on a window pane. It was gritty. So it wasn’t my eyes. It was dust.

I am amazed how easy and hard it was to clean the windows. A squirt bottle filled with apple cider vinegar laced water, a dust cloth and a stepping stool were all the tools I needed. Squirt and wipe, squirt and wipe. I am amazed at how many windows I got in the sunroom – 3 wallls. I got hot and sweaty after 1½ walls. I’m tired, too, hopping on and off the stool. I’m having a breather and a cup of tea.

I am amazed at how green and lush everything has grown in the greenhouse the last couple of days. The snowpeas are almost even with the rock wall. The lettuce bushy. The spinach is catching up. The radish are radishing. I planted most of the pepper seedlings in the raised bed yesterday. I will have to repot some of the tomatoes or plant them soon. They are getting spindly and outgrowing their pots. Then there’s the cucumbers and bitter melons. The bottle gourd has not yet germinated. Will it?

I am amazed that Mother’s Day is a week away. How time flies. It will be a year since mom fell the day before Mother’s Day and broke her hip. I remembered the phone call from my father as I was just sitting down at a restaurant with my friends. The rest is history as people would say. I am amazed at her resiliency. Her hip mended. She was still bright, alert and orientated x3. She could ambulate and get to the bathroom on her own. She was still fiercely independent, disliking homecare. But the trauma was too much for her body. Though she didn’t qualify for a nursing home, she did for heaven 5 months later.

I am amazed at how beautiful her tulips are, blooming away for her. I am happy to be so amazed.

Tsunamis and Tidal Waves

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I am enjoying a bit of good energy and vibes this morning. It’s such a relief after yesterday. I have been warned about days where grief can hit you like tsunami or tidal wave. I am not even sure if it is grief. It came out of nowhere yesterday morning. I was hit with such a bad feeling. It was hard to swallow, think, to move. I wondered how I could carry on, breathe, cook, clean, write my post. I worried about my father’s health. He is after all, 93, the same age as my mother. I don’t want to be responsible for for his health/life. It doesn’t seem fair and I am a little ticked off at my mother for leaving us – and without a manual to guide us.

It’s a bit strange but most times I don’t feel her death. She’s just not here. And with her gone, I feel the many losses of our family. There’s no one to call me by my Chinese name except my father. I just realized that yesterday. It makes me feel somewhat heart broken. And there will be no one to ask or talk to about our home village and all things regarding our heritage and ancestors. My father still has a remarkable memory about all that though he has not been back since he left as a young man. I was drowning with all these thoughts and guilt on things I didn’t do.

All things do pass. I was able to get beyond my emotions and put one foot in front of the other. There’s life to be lived and things we have to do. No matter how we feel, we have to get up, dress up and show up somehow. Some days are better than others. Today is a better day. I thought out what I want/have to do and the best of how and when to do them. Progress is slow and minuscule. I see results and I am happy with them. I’ve been to the gym this morning, planted all the cauliflower and harvested lettuce from the greenhouse for lunch. I am a happy and relaxed camper.

Rebirth

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A sunny Tuesday morning. It is still cool at 2℃. It is a cozy 18.2℃ in the greenhouse. Everything is thriving. The lettuce is ready for picking. The spinach a bit behind. The snowpeas are climbing the wall. The radish has a way to go yet. All the seedlings are looking green and hearty. It is a slow spring and a slow me. But I will have a wonderful garden. I’ve seeded one raised garden bed with more lettuce, spinach and kale. In a day or 2, I will plant the cauliflower seedlings gifted by my sister. Everything will come and be okay in their own good time.

I have been reading and listening to Cheryl Richardson off and on through the years. The other day, her blog post on the birth that follows goodbye landed in my mailbox. It spoke so much to me, having lost my mother 6 months ago.

“The birth that follows goodbye

The note was simple, yet weighty. Words so potent I had to catch my breath.

“I’m very sorry for the loss of your Mother,” she wrote in the kind of cursive handwriting that betrays age. “When I lost my own Mother many years ago, someone sent me this quote and I’ve held onto it ever since. I hope it speaks to you.”

I turned the page and found this:

“Your mother gives birth to you twice – once when you are born and again when she dies.”

As I reread the words, I felt the truth of its message seep into my bones. I’ve thought about this quote nearly every day since receiving the card. It gave context to my experience. Upon my Mother’s death, I felt thrust into a birth canal against my wishes, pushed toward something I couldn’t name. The labor pains of grief and heartbreak were shaping and molding me into a version of myself I hadn’t met yet. A woman without a face or name.

This morning, while sitting in my cold tub, sunshine at my back and jays squawking overhead, I had the first inklings of rebirth and understanding – an opening in the dark tunnel of sorrow. I felt the presence of my Mother and a voice that said, “You are the elder now, my darling. The mantle has been passed.”

Just a few months ago, my reaction to this message would have been a resounding, No! I want my Mother back. I don’t want to be the new adult in the room. But today is different. I gently accept that a rebirth happens when the last parent dies and we become the next elder. It’s a stage of life that offers us the chance to elevate the aging experience, to move beyond extending or preserving life, and explore what it means to live and leave well.

On the first Easter without my Mother, a woman masterful at loving others, and my Father-in-Law, a fierce protector and provider, I embrace this new beginning and think about the kind of elder I hope to become. What words would describe me and the essence of my life when the next elder steps into place?

More on this in the coming weeks as we continue to explore the Wisdom Years. Until then, Happy Easter, little bunnies 💝.

Love,

Cheryl “

I know that I cannot have my mother back. I do not want to be thrust into new world of being the elder either. But here I am anyways, standing on my own two feet. I cannot turn and run away. I still have a father to look out for.

Thursday (#NaBloPoMo)

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You can tell I’m tired and uninspired by the title of this post. I haven’t really realized what a mess I am and what a mess I’m in till the last few days. I woke up and saw everything after my mother died. These past weeks were busy taking care of the business of her passing. I was surviving on adrenaline.

Now I have to get into the business of my own life. I haven’t thought about that for a long time, that I had a separate life. There was just the 2 of us for the first 6 years of my life. My parents married when they were one month shy of 18. They were still babies in an arranged marriage. My father was still going to school. That was how it was in China then. When I was 2, my father immigrated to Canada. I had no memories of him during those 2 years.

I did not meet him till I was 6 when my mother and I reunited with him in Hong Kong. He stayed for a year. My sister was conceived and born. I have no memories of my father during that time either except that I was reprimanded for not calling this stranger ‘father’. My sister was almost 2 when we joined him in Canada.

My mother did not know English. Being in a small town in Saskatchewan there were little resources in learning for immigrants back in those days. My father was busy in the cafe earning a living for us. My mother had no one to talk to except me. So that is how I became my mother’s confidante. She was a very good story teller. The times she lived through had many stories. Her family had a very interesting history. I heard them all and more besides. I am sure I became part of my mother with all her feelings of hope, happiness but fears and anxieties as well.

Now comes the challenging part for me – to unravel all of that and put them to rest. I need to to do that to find myself and my own life.

Navigating the Early Days

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Early November mornings can get me down. It is so dark at 7 am. The sun did not rise till 8:07 Saskatoon time. I’m basking in its glow in the warmth of my sunroom. I’m sitting in front of my keyboard with my second cup of tea. My mother is watching over my right shoulder. Tonight will be 2 weeks since she’s left her earthly body. I’m sure she was greeted by Sheba at the gate, tail wagging and looking for her treat.

I do not yet know how to feel or how to start each day. I feel she’s still in her house with dad. I still see her face in my head. I still want to say “I’m going to mom’s”. I feel the loss of her upon waking in the dark of autumn mornings. I feel ok at night going to bed, knowing I don’t have to worry about her at night. Most nights I can sleep without a sleeping pill though I wake between 3 and 4 am. Now I can make myself stay in bed till 6. It’s better to stay and perhaps to fall back asleep again.

I am fortunate that I have the tools of words. I have always found relief in spilling onto the page. I haven’t found my way back to meditating yet but yesterday I did some qigong movements. Having neglected them so long, I couldn’t remembered them all. Fumbling and flailing works. I was moving. They will come back in time as surely as grief will recede. I ran into 2 of my mother’s friends the other day. We hugged and got misty eyed together. Both are widows of many years. One shared that it took her 3 years after losing her husband to feel ok again.

Though I am no stranger death and grief, it is my first at such a personal level. I’ve lost grandparents and other relatives and friends. I felt the sadness and loss. But it wasn’t the same. I have gotten off relatively easy. With my mother, I was still tied as if by the umbilical cord. I felt what she felt. At different times, like when I am at the kitchen sink, I’ve felt as if I was her. Have you ever had that phenomenon?

Enough words already for today. I have to move on with the day. Shake myself loose with some qigong and try to clear my growing clutter. Later, my sister and I are taking our father out for dim sum. He’s doing ok. We are taking good care of him.

I AM READY

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Sometimes magic happens when you just start – anything. And contrary to popular belief, don’t look at the whole picture. When I do, I’m often overwhelmed with the impossibility of it and I don’t start. I was pushed forward by the fact that every time I look out my sunroom, my view was obscured by dusty windows. I felt disgusted and shameful. I thought I could wash some if not all of them. I ended washing all but 3. Motivated I did the bedroom and bathroom windows the next day. The following day after that, I did the kitchen ones. Each time I marvelled that I can see and smell clean and it felt wonderful.

Now I have just the livingroom left and all the windows in the basement. There’s LOTS of windows down there. That’s why it’s best not to think of the big picture. But it did lead me to think about my mother and her house. My 90 year old parents are still living on their own. We help with the grocery shopping, the lawn and snow shovelling in winter. She didn’t want help with the house. Seeing how much hard it was for myself, I asked her if she needed help with washing the windows and the dusting. Oh, I washed all the windows already, she told me. I do one a day. It takes me a couple of months but they’re done. I use a stick with a cloth to dust those hard to reach things so I’m good.

I’ve always admired my mother but now even more. She has always been my source of inspiration. While I’m still on this motivation high, I tackled putting all the garden stuff away in the garage today. I tried to do it properly by finding a place for everything. It’s a bit of a job but I made a start. It’s been a long time since I worked in the garage. 9 years exactly, the number of years since I’ve retired. I cleared a few shelves of dust, dirt and cobwebs for my plant trays. A few pots were broken that got accidentally knocked down. I pulled out totes to see what they held. I found 2 of Sheba’s beds in one. Even though they had been washed before being stored, they stank. I was ready to let them go now. She has been gone for 2½ years. It is time.

I’m feeling surprised by my get up and go. I have been so languid for so long. I felt as if I have just woke from a deep slumber. I think it is my 90 year old mother jolting me awake. If she can still keep her house spic and span, I could at least try for just spic to start. Being able to still keep her house clean gives her so much pleasure along with walking in her garden and seeing her flowers. I can learn alot from her. I have a long way to go and lots to do. I am ready.