11 years...

Here's a note I wrote last year when it was the 10th anniversary of my mom's death. With today being April 22, I thought I'd repost to my blog.

Saturday is the 10th anniversary of my mother's passing. On April 24th, 2000, she lost her fight to cancer. She put up a brave fight, having been diagnosed with lung cancer the previous September, she went through several rounds of chemo and radiation. All was looking great up until February 2000, when the cancer spread throughout her body.

I remember that day well. I heard a soft knocking on my door, my stepfather stepped into my room and let me know, tearfully, that my mother had passed during the night. After he let me know that, I remember that sounds became muffled, all I could say was "okay, okay." My brother was still asleep and all I could think about was how to possibly break the news to him.

After sitting at the edge of my bed for what seemed like an entire day, I was able to gather myself to go visit my mom for one last time. I could only mumble "I love you, mom," before I broke down into tears. I left shortly after and by the time I could compose myself, the staff from the funeral home had arrived to remove her from our house.

The one thing I truly regret was the fact that I didn't say a proper goodbye. I couldn't face the fact that the person who gave me life and raised me was gone. I couldn't bring myself to go to the service and I was back in school a couple days after my mom's death. I was (and still am) thankful that I had many great friends who had kind words and were just there for me during that terrible time. If it wasn't for them, I doubt I would have been able to get through that difficult time.

I often think back to that day, and the pain hasn't really diminished even with all the time that has passed. Every year, around this time, I find myself dipping into a slight depression. It wasn't until this past year, when I stumbled across several family photo albums when cleaning out my grandmother's apartment, that I've been able to gain a new perspective on my mom's death, and more importantly, her life.

My mom (age 4)

My mom, Agnes Muh-Jing Yao, was born on February 26, 1956 in Taipei, Taiwan, to my grandparents, Ken-Fa Yao and Hsiu-Ying Lo. She was a spirited child. My grandmother would often tell me that my mom excelled in school and would be giddy to go to school in the mornings. My grandfather would scold me when I would not do so well on tests and remind me that my mother would stay up studying all night in order to get the top score in her class (I was in grade 3 at the time...really grandpa?)

My aunt Anne, my grandmother, my grandfather, my mom and my uncle.

My mom had two siblings, Morgan (the oldest brother) and Anne (the middle sister). My mom was the youngest and clearly my grandfather's favourite. My aunt once told me that her and her brother both knew this fact, and secretly hated it when my grandfather would say to them, "why can't you be more like shao may" (shao may was my mom's nickname). Nonetheless, they were all very close when they were younger, but when my uncle moved to Canada, and my aunt moved to Los Angeles, the distance put a strain on their relationship.

My mom in University.

It's weird to see photos of my mom in university. First, it is hard to imagine her at my age. Second, she looked so distinguished in all her photos (compared to my hundreds of drunk photos posted on Facebook). And finally, she looked so happy and ready to take on life's challenges - not to say she wasn't happy later on in life, but I could definitely see that she had more energy and optimism. What I find most empowering about finding photos from her youth is the fact that she worked incredibly hard to get herself into university (at a time where women still had a difficult time in getting into higher education) and came out with a degree in accounting. She secured a job as a teller at Chase Manhattan bank in Taipei and decided that it was time to start a family. From what I understand, she made the decision to get married to my dad and the decision to have me - incredible, considering that the Chinese culture is still very patriarchical, that she called the shots.

My mom and me in Taiwan.

My mom had me when she was 27 (again, another fact that scares the shit out of me, considering that I turn 27 next year and I am no where close to being ready to have kids of my own). From the very beginning, she was a loving, but often stern parent and this held true all the way into my teenage years. Once again, she proved to be different than the other women around her at the time, rather than staying home to be with me, she decided that she should also be able to pursue a career as well. She went back to work after her maternity leave (again, uncommon during that time in Taiwan) because, she later told me, that it was important to her to pursue a career in order to provide the best possible future for me (and soon, my brother).

Immigrants.

My family immigrated to Toronto in February of 1989. We settled in first with my grandparents in Scarborough, but soon, my parents bought a house near McCowan and Finch, which is where I grew up. I remember it wasn't easy for my parents - both had limited English skills, so finding a job was difficult. But my mom secured a bookkeeping job - good thing she decided to pursue her career back in Taiwan, because it was much more difficult for my dad to find anything in his field. For many years, my mom supported our family and ultimately, that resulted in the dissolution of my parents' relationship. My dad couldn't get over the fact that he wasn't able to provide for his wife and children, and my mom didn't want to give up on being able to provide for her family.

My mom was a tough parent. I was often disciplined when I was out of line or when I didn't perform academically in school. But she was also a hilarious mom - I've often told my friends this story. When I was six, as a way to help me learn English, she would rent movies for me to watch. The first movie she got from the corner store was "Silence of the Lambs" - she had a limited understanding of English at the time and even less of North American pop culture. She just recognized the word "Lamb" and thought it was a children's movie. I sat in my living room watching this movie as a six year old, too scared to watch and too scared to tell my mom that I didn't want to watch anymore because I knew she'd yell at me to watch the movie (again, not understanding what the content was).

As my brother and I got older, we became more defiant, especially when I entered my teenage years, I was a huge brat. I remember for four months, my mom and I didn't talk to each other because we got in a huge fight (and for some reason, our family loves to excommunicate each other when we fight). I often regret this incident, had I known I had so little time with her, I would have never cut her off for that long. Looking back, I am pretty sure that that incident hurt her more than it did me - as much as she was tough, she loved my brother and I a lot, and it probably killed her the fact that we weren't speaking.

My mom and my brother.

My brother and my mom had a completely different relationship. My mom coddled my brother - he was her baby. He never got hit, she was often more leinent on his schoolwork than she was with mine, and boy was I jealous. To this day, I still rag on my brother for how easy he was treated - he obviously doesn't like that I do that.

My family had our first run in with cancer when my uncle was diagnosed back in 1993. At the time, there was some tension between my uncle and the rest of my family, but his illness definitely brought the family together. He passed away very quickly after the diagnosis.

Seeing my mom go through that was painful. She had recently gotten divorced from my dad and to have this happen, she was hurting. Her only focus at this time, to get her mind off things, was to get her CGA designation in order to provide a better life for my brother and I. As a single mom, she would drop us off at school, go to work, come back and pick us up from my grandparents at 7pm, go home and study for her courses. She worked so hard to improve herself in order to make our lives better.

After my grandfather died from cancer in 1995, my mom was devastated. Since childhood, my grandfather would always be the person she relied on for advice and support. Now, he was gone and she also had to now take care of my grandmother. I couldn't imagine that kind of stress placed on me, but she was able to do it, and never once showed my brother or I, how scared and upset she must have been.

1998 comes along, and my mom meets my stepfather, and she was finally happy for the first time in a long time. However, that happiness would be shortlived as in September of 1999, she got the diagnosis that she too, had cancer.

She called me from the hospital when she got the diagnosis, and I remember crying on the phone. She was crying too, but reassured me that she will fight, promising me that she will beat this cancer. She knew I was scared, considering I've seen my uncle and grandfather pass away from the disease. But I can't imagine how scared she must have been - to be the head of a family, knowing you're facing a disease like cancer.

The last couple of months of my mom's life were some of the happiest times for our relationship. However, when the cancer started to spread, I started to distance myself, likely due to my fear that I didn't want to see her pass away. I've regretted that to this very day.

Having discovered these photo albums, that had been lost to the various boxes stored in my grandmother's closet, I have spent the last couple of months looking through them, several times. On one hand, it was great to find these photos and reconnect with a part of my family that I've forgotten about. On the other hand, it brings up some painful memories of the loss of my mother.

In the end, I am grateful for the lessons my mom has taught me in life. Work hard, work hard, work hard. Hard work make you the best, hard work will provide for yourself and your family, and hard work will inspire others to do the same. I have many aspects of her personality - the good: I'm diligent, responsible and assertive; the bad: I'm extremely stubborn, very impatient and terrible at expressing my feelings properly.

Not a day goes by that I think about her, or wish that she was still here. When she died, I remember praying to God, bargaining with him to bring her back, and that I would do anything if he did. Everyday, for the week after she passed, I would wake up and run to her room to see if he had answered my prayers, and would be heartbroken when reality hit. She was really gone.

My brother has taken her death harder than I have. I pretened to be tough, swallowed the hurt and did my best to honour her by working hard, he was incredibly hurt. It took a toll on him emotionally, and changed his personality. He was 10 at the time, and unfortunately, it took him a good nine years to get back on track. He's doing better now, especially academically, and I know my mom would be super proud of his journey back to the person she always imagined he'd be.

As for me, I hope I have made my mom proud - I wish I could have shared some great accomplishments in my life with her. I miss talking to her and laughing with her. For the last 9 years, I've let April 24 get me down. But having discovered these photos, remembering the life my mom led, I will make this April 24, the 10th anniversary of her passing, different. This year, I will celebrate my mom's life and reflect on the great memories I have of her.

So mom...I love you, and I miss you. Cheers to a life well lived.