I could easily become a hermit if left to my own devices. I have no energy and no ambition. So begins another Sunday morning and the second Mother’s Day without my mother. Mothers’ Day will always be a memorable day, not because of its name/label. It is because it is the day before Mothers’ Day in 2024 that my mother fell and broke her hip. I was just preparing to sit down at Pink Candillac restaurant with my friends when my phone rang. It was my father saying my mother fell. Can I come and see.
The rest is history as the saying goes. It’s not good when a senior falls and breaks a hip. My mother survived the surgery and the hip. She spent 6 weeks in the hospital. Her hip was not a problem but the rest of her couldn’t take the trauma. On a beautiful October day we bade her farewell. She saw the sunrise and the sunset as she wished. And so here I am, on the second anniversary of that fateful fall. And perhaps it was fate. She was tired and looking for a way out.
I am solemn and melancholic but also feeling grateful that my mother is not suffering any more. I am comforted that she is at ease in her forever home. I read this post written by Edward Curtin about his mother, Rita Rose: A Mother, an Artist and a Soul Still Speaking. I hope you will enjoy it.
Looks like winter is here again. It’s been snowing steadily since early afternoon and will most of the night. And most likely tomorrow as well. The moisture is welcomed by the farmers which includes us. We are farmers as well as gardeners. A little sun would be welcomed though. Without the sun, the temperature in the greenhouse has dipped. The little heater has been running most of the day to stay above 0. Presently it is sitting at 3.1℃. The snow peas, onions and celery are fine with that. I brought in the young seedlings of tomatoes, peppers and egg plants.
I wonder when spring will come and stay. It is the middle of April. I wonder if and how all the bombing and destruction going on in the Middle East have affected air quality and climate change. I wonder if all the warring kings have given any thought to how they are destroying our planet and humanity. Why are humans killing other humans? So what if they win the whole world and there’s nobody on it except their 1%? I wonder about so many things. The older I get, the less I understand. So let it snow. Let it snow. Maybe Santa will come down the chimney tonight. Won’t that be a surprise?
I might be getting a little daft. Last night I dreamt I was talking to my mother on the phone. All she said was, Hafong. Hafong is my Chinese name. It reminded me of her last call to me. It has been a year and a half now. She is gone and yet she is still here within me. She reminds me of it now and again in dreams and other ways. One time she woke me up from a nap. I felt her hands on my back. I thought it was the guy. I was a little disorientated and muttered, Is it day or night? When I opened my eyes, it was daylight and there was no one in the room. But I sure felt those hands.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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onethousandandtwo 