Happy Heavenly Birthday, Mama
Today would’ve been my mom’s 59th birthday.
I’m trying to remember the before time.
What did we do for her very last birthday? I can’t seem to remember — until I check my photos. We bought supermarket cupcakes and my dad bought a supermarket cake and we had dinner at my parents’ old house, and video called my sister and her husband who lived in Kingston at the time. We ate noodles my dad made together, for longevity. The cupcakes we bought were too sweet for anyone’s liking, I remember, but we all ate some because it was a birthday celebration, and Asians don’t like wasting food and money. I wish we knew that it was going to be our last birthday celebration together ever, maybe we would’ve done something differently — better cake choices, more time spent, a heartfelt letter. But My mom was happy.
I do remember 2020. That was when my sister lived with my parents for a year after my mom returned to Canada on a paramedic plane. When we were still raw from the diagnosis. When we were trying to make sense of it all. My dad made some of the best longevity noodles he’s ever made. My sister made an impressive-looking donut-shaped cake by hand. I wish we knew that it was going to be our last celebration in-person, all of us, maybe we would’ve done something differently. But my mom was happy.
I also remember 2019. The before before time. My sister was still in Korea at the time. My now-husband, then-boyfriend’s family came to visit for the first. There was a lot of tension behind the happy smiles they put on when they joined us at my mom’s birthday at home. They brought a beautiful flower vase as a birthday present. I wish we knew that it was going to be our last celebration before everything changed, maybe we would’ve done something differently. But My mom was happy.
To explain a bit more about what the before before time means, I drew a diagram to show what life feels like to me now.
The after time: after losing my mom
The before time: before losing my mom
The before before time: most of the before time, ended with my mom’s diagnosis
I wish I told her how beautiful she always looked when she closed her eyes to make a wish before blowing out the candles.
I’m not sure where the “if you say it, it won’t come true” came from, but for that reason, we will never know what she ever wished for. On my next birthday, I’m going to wish for “whatever my mom wished for”, to increase our odds!
When I was young I used to hand-draw cards for special occasions. From childish doodles to thoughtful words — some years I spent a bit more effort than others on the cards, but it was how I expressed my love. We were not a family that said “I love you” to each other during normal circumstances.
Today has been hard. Not as hard as Mother’s Day or New Year, but harder than my own birthday or Easter. Mama, I hope you can see how we all are doing, and be happy.