Mom

She was a doctor's daughter. Had a privileged life, married a minister, raised four children, had a fairly tough life. Fragile physically and hurt emotionally.

Mom is beautiful, intelligent, spiritual, honest and dedicated. But she is also a little wounded, bitter, fragile and stubborn.

She taught piano. She painted. She did yoga and chi-gong. All she wants is peace.

Remember her cooking live eel, trying to steaming it by placing in a pot, but the eel escaped, fell to the floor and she chased it through the kitchen.

Remember my brother and I getting caught picking up leftover watermelon from the garbage can.

Remember thermometer incident. She was teaching piano.

Remember moving to new home, sister discover an old scrapbook filled with mom's exercise drawings from high school.


Her hands:

Remember her playing Chopin nocturne late at night.

Remember her painting chinese and water color. Practicing strokes faithfully.

Remember her washing washing board to wash clothes.

Remember cutting vegetables and cooking. the smell filling the house makes me feel loved and secure. (home)

Remember her making eggrolls at the restaurant.  Washing dishes. Cleaning. Hair pulled back. fatigue on her face. (restaurant)

Remember her hands massaging her shoulders, holding accupuncture magnets to ease her pain. Heating pad on her back, always taking a nap trying to recover.

Remember her complaining of pain of hand and wrist from her job as data processor, typing on the keyboard all day long.

Remember her gardening, planting and pruning. But now she has not even one plant.

The best way I can thank her is to be totally obedient, talk and visit her frequently and pray for her constantly.

I can never make up (no sons nor daughters can) make up for the huge chunk of life she sacrificed for me. Because of her I am who I am today good or bad, and I am eternally grateful, and will do anything for her.