Mom, 

It’s been three years since you passed away.  Many things have happened during these three years, although it also feels like a big blur. As I was thinking about the last three years, I became sad because my memories of you are starting to fade. I had to think hard about whether it was 2017 or 2018 when you passed away.  And one day, when I am older, I will forget even more details of our time together.  I do know, though, you will always be alive in my heart and you will be the first person I think of whenever I am in pain. In a way, it feels like it’s been a long time since I’ve become motherless. But then, I see you in my dreams and think of you so often that I feel like I have never been truly motherless.

That summer in 2017 was so hot and humid in Korea. The hospital you were in had the worst AC although you were never a fan of AC. I remember that one day, you woke up in the middle of the night and called me gently because you wanted to go for a walk. I was tired, jet-lagged and did not like being woken up.  Taking a walk was so important to you because you never gave up. You wanted to go for a walk because you hoped that the walk would help you regain strength again and with that strength, you would beat the cancer and come visit me in SF and take care of future grandchildren. So you wanted to go for a walk. Grudgingly, I got up. I dressed you by putting pants on your swollen legs.  We started to slowly walk.  You were in a good mood without much pain that morning.  We started walking slowly, you on your walker and me next to you.  Normally our walk was to halfway down the hall and back because you’d be tired by then. That morning, we went all the way down the hall and into the chapel at the end.  It was my first time going inside of the chapel. When we got there, there were already a handful people. We sat down in the back.  You told me that I should go to church. Then you held my hand and started praying. I felt so sad because I knew it was one of the few morning walks that we would have together.  Seeing you praying also made me somewhat peaceful. I hoped your prayer would help you prepare for your journey. 

Your passing made me embark on my journey to learn more about death. I’ve read and thought so much about death, and what happens after death, in the last three years. A Tibetan Buddhism belief is that at death, the stream of awareness that departs from the body is no longer human, though it does carry a vast array of latent impressions from the just-ended life as well as from earlier lives. These impressions are responsible for the type of experience one undergoes during the intermediate period following death and prior to the next life.  I was wondering what kind of latent impressions you carried with you, and whatever that might be, I wish you to be liberated, free from pain, and joyously embodying the innocence you had. 

Some of my friends now have kids and I love playing with them. Whenever I am with the kids, I see so much of you in me.  For example, you had this sense of innocence that was carefree and playful.  I remember how much you loved singing and how you’d sing somewhat randomly and I was embarrassed of that when I was young. Now as an adult, I admire that innocence and wonder if the sense of innocence I got from you is what connects me with children. 

Having seen many different types of mothers over the years, I now know how incredibly special you were, and how incredibly special our relationship was. You had a beautiful heart, always cared for people around you selflessly, and made dull moments into something fun.  Whatever happened, you always believed in me and that unconditional trust helped me become an adult who also believes in herself.  You always told me that the most important thing is to be a good person before anything else.  I think I am, and I think you’d be proud to see who I am today.  I am starting to have some white hair and wrinkles around my eyes but I am proud of the mindful presence and resilience that I have been cultivating as I grieve.  I’ve been softened into the true strength that arises when I connect to grief and loss in the last three years. Maybe the biggest lesson is to surrender to what is. While I have so many questions as to why you got sick, why you died so young, what we could have done differently, I accept the way it unfolded and am staying grounded in not knowing, in the mystery of life and death.

I am remembering you on this anniversary of your passing, at Ocean Beach with some of my closest friends. These friends are my family.  And I wonder if this is how you are taking care of me, by bringing these people into my life and having us come together on a day like today so I won’t be alone.  That is how you are loving me from afar. 

In the Mexican culture, which honors its dead in an exquisite yearly festival called Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead), there is great wisdom about death.  They have this saying “La muerte nunca muere; la muerte es la ventana al otro mundo.” And it means “Death is undying; death is a window to the other world.” In the other world, may you be free and joyous. 

I love you and I miss you. 

Aerin