Memories of My Mother

6

My mother did not like the following:

-Angelina Jolie

-Sandra, the blonde lady with the cooking show

-Law & Order: SVU

-my last haircut

-mice (she had a deep fear of the these tiny critters)

My mother liked the following:

-NCIS

-tofu

-my hands

-Columbia, the brand

-Live Free, Die Hard

-gospel songs

5

I didn’t go to work today because the thought of my mother’s absence weighed heavily with me.

I woke up puffy-eyed and sad, but I was glad to find that someone had read my grief-stricken entry from last night and wrote me a very heartfelt and kind message. Thank you.

Over this past summer, my father bought my mother this beautiful bouquet of flowers congratulating my mother for a positive blood result from the hospital visit that morning. In his excitement, he gifted the flowers to her although my mother protested. She didn’t want to make it a big deal - after all, the boost in blood count was due to the transfusion. At an average, her blood count tallied at 10, give or take. On this particular day, her blood count was over 20.

Sunflowers were her favorite flowers. Maybe because yellow was her favorite color. I vaguely recall drawing sunflowers with a purple background in elementary school, with the thought of her in back of my mind. They’re tall, bright, strong, and noticeable. If my mother were any flowers, she would be a sunflower. Her love shone.

Here’s to hoping that tomorrow is a better day.

4

Whenever I have moments of questioning my worth, life, etc… I always talk to my mother. She’d give me uplifting words about how much she cherishes me, then provide me with stern but constructive criticism on how I can grow.

I have felt this way for the past week or so, and it’s mostly because I seem to be incapable of effectively managing my time and focusing on my academics.

Currently, I feel so unmotivated and apathetic.

I have been revisiting memories of her last day with our family over and over again. A few weeks ago, I came across something I had jotted down on September 13, 2011. I had woken up that morning feeling uneasy and haunted by several dreams I had.

“I am at the stairwell with my dad. We hear my mother shriek. Dad runs to her, he is screaming. I look over and see her head bleeding. I am crying and screaming in terror.”

I was scared of the dream I had. I didn’t share it with anyone, in fear that it may come true.

The day after Christmas, I woke up at around 9 or 10 in the morning to the sounds of my mother whimpering loudly. I heard my dad making phone calls everywhere, and the sounds of his feet scuffling as he nervously looked for help.

My mother was so weak as she sat on the edge of the couch clutching at her head. She was scowling in pain, and said over and over, “It hurts so much.” Immediately, we helped her dress, and she lost her balance as she put on sweatpants.

I stayed home with the sisters as my dad and my brother rushed her to the hospital. My brother said that she lost her conscious on the way there, and that her last words were to my dad - “Honey, what’s wrong?” She had lost her consciousness before due to shortage of blood and oxygen, so I sat at home, thinking that she would be fine once she arrived at the hospital.

Instead, I received a text from my brother that said, “Come now with Danielle and Faith.” And without asking, I just knew at that instant that it was over, and I wailed and sobbed hysterically. I felt my head spinning, and my vision was blurred with the pouring tears. My sisters were quiet as they sat in the backseat so overwhelmed and confused. I was going 90mph.

When we got to the hospital, my dad and brother were waiting for our arrival in the Emergency room. My dad was crying, and I knew she was gone.

My mother had been battling leukemia, (specifically Acute Lymphomatic Leukemia) and her bone marrow could no longer produce red blood cells. Instead, her white blood cell count kept escalating. For the past year or so, she would go to the hospital every other day to get a bag of platelet transfusion. (Platelets are the protective and clotting element of the blood. They help stop bleeding.)

On that December morning, there was bleeding within her head. The bleeding would not stop because of the lack of platelets and the blood essentially crushed her brain. Her basic motor skills were wiped out, and she slipped into a coma. She was in coma for a day until finally, her heart gave out.

I feel myself getting anxious and upset when I think about her birthdays, my parent’s wedding anniversary, Valentine’s, Christmas, and Mother’s Day in the future years.

I feel sad about her absence when I graduate, get married, and have kids. I feel sad about the times I made her cry, and about the times when I could have done more than she had asked me to do.

I feel sad about how something as simple and routine as urinating was painful for her. It breaks me apart that I couldn’t feel and understand the things she endured as I lived comfortably and took my life for granted.

I feel ashamed for the times I have been ungrateful. Her presence was and will always be irreplaceable. I will never experience another mother in my life. I will never be loved by any woman in the way she loved me.

But even more so, I feel incredibly sad thinking about my father. I think about how he held onto her hand and kept asking her to wake up. He remained so hopeful to the very end.

-

I wish so badly for you to be here with me, Mom.

3

Be warned: this post contains multiple stories.

-

My parents named me 소영 (Soh Young).  소 (Soh) is short for 소중한 (soh-joong-han). which means “precious,” and 영 (Young) is short for 영혼 (young-hoeun), which means “soul.” My name means “precious soul.”

And precious, is how my mother made me feel.

She told me that when she was pregnant with me, she dreamed that she was walking on the beach and she discovered a brilliant and large precious stone. She said that she was sure that the stone signified me. I loved hearing that.

She said giving birth to me was painless. The three births that followed were not as easy. My mother said that when she first saw me, I was silver. This story seemed too made up, but my father would confirm this story. She would tell me that it was so apparent that I was special from the very beginning. How I miss being so spoiled by her love.

As a baby, I received her love without giving back. I would make a slight sound, and she’d run to me and make sure that I was okay.

There are a lot of funny stories of when my mother would overreact to any unusual scenarios. She thought that I had run away and called the police, but I was hiding in another room. She was absolutely hysterical and frantic. She called my dad, and she thought the world was over. She was a young mother, but she loved me so much that she often didn’t know what to do with herself.

This particular photo makes me laugh. It was my birthday, and my parents and I went out to a nice restaurant for dinner. The waitress kept calling me “pumpkin,” and it upset my mother. In America, “pumpkin” is a term of endearment, but in Korea, “pumpkin” is an insult. She was absolutely livid with the waitress. “What is her deal? And why does she repeating herself?”

This story sheds light on how protective she was over her family. Not just then, but until the last day she was here.

Today at work, a woman came up to me with a plate of homemade pound cake. She offered me some, so I gladly took a piece. I don’t enjoy them, but my mother loved to eat pound cakes. When my mother’s health began to deteriorate, there would always be Sara Lee pound cake in the refrigerator. She would often experience a loss of taste and in appetite, so my father would buy her pound cake to get her to eat. Pound cakes are sweet and easy to chew, and towards the later years, she ate them more ritually than leisurely.

She would spend days without eating and drinking any fluids. She would get so dehydrated and lose oxygen that she would become incoherent. To avoid these situations all together, we would buy boxes of Ensure and easy-to-eat food for her.

The memories of my father devotedly nursing my mother always makes me teary-eyed. If she asked for water, he’d immediately get up and fetch her water. And more. He’d get her a teabag. And a napkin. And a blanket.

There’s so much more I want to share, but I guess I will leave this as is for now.

2

Mom,

I wish I could hear your voice. It pains me to think about your absence in my life, and in our family’s. On nights like this, I’d call you to see how everything was at home. You would scold me for calling so seldom and so late at night.

As the days went by, your voice grew thinner over the phone.

When I went home for break this December, it was the first time that I realized how withered and exhausted you were. You sat on the edge of the bed, and your skin was discolored. It took all of your strength to move from your room to the couch.

My heart sank.

Your back hurt, and I would give you massages to ease the pain. When I was young, I’d squeeze your shoulders with all of my might. My hands would hurt and be stiff after I’d give you a massage.

But when I gave you a massage this time, it would be no more than a gentle rub because anything more was too painful. I could feel your ribs because the muscles in your body had disintegrated.

And despite all that, you gathered whatever energy you had in your body and moved to the living room when it turned Christmas at midnight. You sat on the couch and we shared laughs reading Faith’s Christmas card to James. You smiled and I saw your gums and they were grey from bleeding so much. Your teeth were yellow because if you brushed your teeth, your gums would bleed. Regardless of the pain, you made us laugh as you opened your Christmas gifts.

You gushed to Grandma about how wonderful it was to have the whole family back and how Christmas was so fun.

I didn’t hug you this Christmas because the touch was too painful for you. I took your touch and hugs for granted. I took your voice and health for granted.

Because of you, I am able to appreciate the small details in every day.

I miss you a whole lot.

1

My mother was born between to brothers. She was a year younger than her older brother and a year older than her younger brother. She grew up in a chauvinistic environment, and South Korea continues to be a patriarchal society where the sons and fathers get favored.

She was sandwiched between two sons, and was often fending for herself. Her opinions and wishes were wait-listed, and she was raised to be meek, obedient, and patient.

The boys could be unruly, but the girls must be controlled. My mother would tell me ridiculous and hilarious stories about how my uncles would prank her here and there. She told me once that they had hid her pet cat into the mailbox. In the wintertime, they’d pee on worms. They would skip school to spend their allowances in the city, while she waited home and hoped that they would be punished when they returned. They weren’t punished.

Nevertheless, my mother was faithful to her family and loved them wholeheartedly. This was her reality. Without the support of her parents, she was admitted and graduated from Korea’s best women’s university - Ewha Woman’s university.

My grandmother pushed my mother to study textiles against my mother’s true wishes in pursuing a career in journalism. My mother had no interest in textiles, but reluctantly obliged. My grandmother wanted for my mother to marry immediately upon graduating, rather than building her independence through a career. To my grandmother’s defense, in Korea, a woman’s sense of security comes mostly through marriage, and not from a career. The family was also in a financial rut, and my grandmother did not want my mother to lose any opportunity in getting married.

When my mother would tell me many stories of the past, it seemed to me that she harbored unresolved bitterness towards her mother. Her mother, my grandmother, was completely consumed with caring for her eldest son as he was the firstborn, and often unhealthy.

That being said, I find it fascinating how she developed her relations with me and my siblings. Each of us felt completely smothered with her love, and her individual relations with us were so intrinsic and unique. She knew every little detail of each of us - from the acne on my face to Faith’s self-cut tresses; from Danielle’s burning desire to own a puppy to my brother’s diet.

Her interest in knowing every little part of me helped build my character. If you know me well, you know me to be very upfront, playful, and expressive. Under her parenthood, I always felt so confident in being who I am.

She chose to take her experiences and make change. She changed the way her family thought. It must have taken so much effort to think so differently from what her ancestors and cultures taught her was to be right and true.

She raised the four of us to be fully ourselves, and celebrated our differences.

Thanks, 엄마.

Prologue

I am sifting through files on my laptop and I have countless images of my mother. Some of these images were scanned in, and other were taken during the last few years.

I have always had an obsessive habit over documenting my life through photographs. This obsession is a ritual: I take photographs - whether it is on a digital camera, video camera, camera phone, disposable camera, and/or pre-existing images -  then I meticulously collect and sort these images in drawers, in computer files, or into organized photo albums.

My friends and family get aggravated with this obsession and my dire need to document every moment. I don’t want to forget anything, and I want others to remember as well. This every moment that I share with a “someone” has meaning and value to me. If I am out and about with you, and take a picture of the food we share, I am not just capturing the image of the food. I am soaking in that moment with you, and immortalizing the feeling of what it was like being there when the photo was taken. I want to look back on the photograph and know exactly what it was like being with you. I am capturing that feeling, the look, and sound, the temperature, and the taste of that particular moment.

In the same way, mother had the habit of writing down her every thought in scraps of paper, journals, and books. She has told me and my siblings her dreams of someday having her story published and shared.

I am realizing that my obsession has come in quite handy.

Since she departed from my family so soon, I feel a sense of urgency to record my every memory of her. I also want my sisters to always have something to remember her by, and so here’s my attempt.

This is for you, Mom.

Yours,

소영 “소중한 영혼.”