Fringe benefits of motherhood

In the aftermath of deep loss, there is of course a complicated healing process that must be faced. 

Grief is a beast of a thing. It hides and pounces and burrows and lurks. It catches you at your most vulnerable. I find myself longing to make a phone call to a woman who can no longer pick up the phone and the reality of that is very strange. What has gotten me through this tough, tough time is the very thing that makes it so tough. Motherhood. 

I cannot collapse. I cannot wallow and fall apart and spend four days in bed. I have two babies that need their mom to be functional, strong and brave. Maika can read my emotions so I really can't even fake it. I have to be joyful and playful and take care of myself. I learned this lesson from my mom. She honestly didn't complain. Despite her growing malignancy and her failing organs, she stayed strong for me. She smiled and embraced my children as if nothing were the matter in those last weeks. She held Emlen during meals so I could eat unencumbered. In the height of her suffering and fear of dying, she was STILL putting me first. What a woman. 

Losing my mother was and is gut altering. I am not the same. In some ways, though, I am relieved. She was in terrible pain and gasping for air. I know that at last she is comfortable.

And luckily, my profession and my kids keep me from feeling self pity and drowning in sadness. I remind myself that my mom had the chance to live life. She traveled to the US from Taiwan for college, saw the world, raised two children to adulthood and was married for forty years. I have cared for patients who lost babies in utero and I have seen a colleague lose her 10-month old bubbling son to SIDS. Loss is inevitable but losing a child is a tragedy.  My mom's death was not tragic. It was actually part of the natural order of things, an unfortunate byproduct of growing old and gaining wisdom. I just live now with a different reality, as a woman without her mother. I have been able to inhabit many different roles in this life... I was once a brooding adolescent, a single girl, a sun-kissed bride, a pregnant woman; I am someone different now.

I look at my fresh, bright-eyed children, just embarking on the journey of life and am filled with joy and hope. Nature was smart to give us babies. They are a great cure for loss. They anchor me in the reality of my present life so I am not pulled into the murky waters of 

mourning. I honor my mom's memory by moving forward and remembering to live life well. 

Xo,

M

For my mom,

I wrote a column for my college newspaper which was probably a bit self involved and I am sure I over shared details of my personal life. I am maybe too open, blunt, loud. 

I wrote that column as a way to connect with the public but it was therapeutic for me in many ways. Emotional catharsis. Trying to be "normal." It's been almost 20 years since I was a freshman in college and I find that I turn to writing again now as a form of spiritual healing.

My mom is dying.

Is that too much?

Will she be horrified to read this statement when she logs into my dad's Facebook account to catch up on pictures of my kids or see my new office? I don't know. I do know that I want it to be public because at some point everyone has lost a parent, is losing a parent, will lose a parent. It's an inevitably cruel joke of life. We spend years building this sticky bond of family only to have it torn away. We are overjoyed to have children to share with our parents and marvel together in their coos and 7-word sentences. We finally bond after estranged angry adolescence and adult conflict. The joy of my fresh, pudgy delicious children buoys me amidst the bitter sting of losing my mom. Life is my new manic bipolar best friend. So high and so low.

We were never best friends. In fact we had conflict. Deep painful conflict and strong acerbic disagreements. My mom is the strongest woman I know, maybe will ever know. Her will and her opinions are unshakeable. Her conviction is unparalleled. In my late teens I felt betrayed because she never sugar-coated a comment, she was brutally honest at the times that I thought a mom should tell a white lie to her daughter. 

And for that I actually say THANK YOU. Thanks, mom, for giving me the honest answer everytime. For showing me how to be a strong, powerful woman and for pushing me to work hard. For being unwavering in your dreams for a better life for me despite my best attempts at being a starving artist....She saw so much potential in me and carved out a path to the woman I am today from her humble immigrant beginnings. 

Her ovarian cancer made us closer. In twisted bittersweet ways, the illness that steals her from me now is the very one that made me feel closer to her than I ever have. As a gynecologist it's a doubly cruel strike by Mother Nature. I wish I could have seen the signs 7 years ago. Even now I struggle not knowing how to be a doctor and a daughter. I see a beautiful, proud woman who has given so much love to her children and grandchildren. I am a mother and a physician but I am embarrassingly inept in this department of dying and knowing how to tell her all these things. 

Being a mother is hard. The fruits of your labor often go unnoticed and you often give up exercise, dinners and vacations for the sake of your children. You may make recommendations that lead to anger and resentment from your kids. We are all just trying our best, though.

I see it now and in these last moments I say to my dear Margaret Ning Tham...Thank you. I'm sorry. I love you.

You've taught me some great lessons about being a mother and a woman.

Xoxo,

maika & emlen's momma

My mom circa 1979