媽媽 Mom
I was 11 years old, a 6th grader, when I told my mom to “go to hell” and that I wish she died. I was always angry at my parents, at the world, and at myself. I will never forget the look on my mom’s face, as I was preparing to get my ass whopped. Her jaw was wide open, then she slammed the door to the bedroom, and I could hear her starting to cry. This was just a moment in many of accumulated bad relational points I’ve had with her. Eventually, there were weeks where I stopped talking to her completely, and I lived with them.
As I became older, I recognized the mortality of life, and to hold fast to as many moments with my parents. The bitter moments still lingered, but we both tried. I’ve told this story before, but during my transition to Oregon, I became clinically diagnosed with major depressive disorder, the second time in my life. My mother and I argued about my mental health, the move, our past. I told her she has no empathy, as someone who grew up in China/HK, she had no emotions and understanding of my experiences growing up as an ABC. We stopped talking, I fell back into the depression, and laid on the couch for a week straight contemplating suicide.
On the 2nd night, without a word, my mom came out at 2am with a blanket and slept on the other couch. On the 3rd night, I was watching tv, she stayed up to watch tv with me, falling asleep on the couch. On the 4th night (I have yet to leave the area besides peeing, I didn’t eat all week), she cooked my favorite meal she makes and asked if I wanted to watch a movie. We ended up watching Star Wars, as she’s a huge Harrison Ford fan. Without any words, I ate the food, we watched the movie, and fell asleep again. On the 5th day, something felt lighter, I was able to stand, shower, change, and get out of the house for the first time all week, but that night, I asked my mom if she wanted to sleep on the couches again to watch another movie. She did.
Though my relationship with my mom has not always been smooth, I realize we are just different people between generations and upbringing. My father, contrary to the stigma, always taught me to use my words and speak on emotions, whereas my mother did not show hers often through words, but with action. The whole week, after our blow up, she showed her unconditional love that I ignorantly overlooked my whole life. Now that I’ve moved, we text everyday, when I go back home, we spend a few nights playing mahjong. As she turns 73 this year, I know that’s just another year gone. I always wish to have time with a loved one back, but I’ve learned to focus on the time we have now. I love my mother, I’ve always had, just a shitty way of showing it.
I wish all the mothers and motherly figures a happy mother’s day. Obviously, one day does not fully highlight the work that you all do and have done, but you all are appreciated and loved. I am grateful to have made so many friendships with all sorts of mothers in my move to Oregon. I truly believe those friendships have helped make my relationship with my own mother that much better as I go home a few times a year. Happy Mother’s Day ❤️
