How Much I Miss You, the Closeness of a Mother & a Daughter

After the death of a beloved family member, a mother, in this case, translated…

Last year around New Year’s Eve, my mother passed away, and, we’d weathered through a stormy, painful year. It’d been, a little over a year already, and our lives had, returned, back to normal now, I thought that everything had, already passed, but, I didn’t realize, that there’s this mysterious scent, that took place of how much I’d missed my own mother, slowly, taking over my life now.

picture from the papers…

First, it was, a plate of stir-fried rice noodle, the aromatic mushroom and shrimp, with the smooth tastes, so much like how my mother used to make it. I’d recalled how back when I was pregnant, because I’d had an increase in appetite, my mother worried that I might not get full, she’d made a huge plate of stir-fried rice noodle, I’d eaten three bowls all at once, I’d put down my chopsticks, my mother thought that I was full, I’d shook my head and told her, “I’m not done eating yet, it’s just that my jaws are sore from chewing, I’m merely, take a short break here.” After my mother heard, she’d smiled that smile of relief, and, the way she looked then came back, to haunt my mind.

Then, it was, the eve of the Dragon Boat Festival, I’d started discussing with my husband which specialty rice to buy, and, we couldn’t settle on a shop. All of a sudden, I’d regretted, how I’d not, taken up my mother’s skills to make the specialty item. Every time I’d told my mother I’d wanted to learn how to make the food item, the moment I’d stepped into the house, the aromas of the food had, passed through the house. She’d always told me, “How long am I supposed to wait for you again? If I’d made it sooner, then, you will, come home to have some sooner.”, and that was, how much, my mother loved me, and, I’d not, gotten anything on how to make the specialty food items ever.

not my photograph…

A few days ago, I’d skimmed across a computer file in the computer which was labeled by my son as, “Grandma’s Trip to Japan”, it’d reminded me of how I’d traveled to Japan with her before. My mother was educated by the Japanese methods, “Going to see Japan” had always been a wish of hers. That year, I’d taken my son and her, and flown to Kyoto, and, she’d rarely spoken any Japanese in her life, and, she was able to, speak Japanese fluently, helped me resolved many issues in communications with the locals, and my son was shocked, “Grandma’s so amazing, she speaks fluent Japanese!”, the very next year, my mother had a stroke and became demented, it’d, hit us all by surprise, the only thing that I feel good about was, I’d gotten the chance to take her to visit Japan earlier, and helped her fulfill her lifelong dream, and that took away some of my regrets.

My mother fell silent after she’d become demented, one day, I was accompanying by her side, watching television with her, there was a scene where an airplane was taking off, she’d started, “Airplane!”, I’d pressed on, “Did you ever fly in one?”, “Yes”, “Where?” “Japan!”, “Who took you there?” “You, of course!”, my mother rarely had her moments of lucidity and she’d, spoken so articulately that time, and although, there were, just few short phrases she’d spoken, it’d brought tears to my eyes, and made me excited for a long time; I stubbornly believed, that in my mother’s memories that are fading, that trip to Japan had been one of the most memorable times of her life.

no, still didn’t take the photo of this stone sculpture here…

Every time there’s a holiday approaching, I’d felt my heart, getting tighter, and tighter, and tighter. And now, I’d finally come to understand, that this sentiment was called “nostalgia”. Turns out, nostalgia exists, solely for loss, but, it’d not, been completely, taken away, no matter how much time has, passed. It turns out, that when my mother passed away, that nostalgia started, fermenting inside of my heart slowly, it’s just, that I’d only, come to realize it, after the tears started, falling from my eyes.

So, this, is the memories that you shared with your mother, and, even though she’d become demented as her life ended, you’d still remembered the moments the two of you had shared, and that, is a great way, to keep the memories of someone that you loved dearly.