Mother’s Day is tough for those of us who don’t have our moms with us anymore.
My mom passed away in 2012 from cancer. I have tons of photographs of/with her. I have the letters and birthday cards she wrote me over the years. I have sheets upon sheets of scratch paper where subacute delirium carved maniacally beautiful strokes in place of the words she tried to write to us:
But I have no recording of her voice. It’s hard to believe with the ubiquity of smartphones nowadays, but I didn’t get my first iPhone until after she passed away. And, much to my horror, I’ve all but forgotten what she sounded like.
Every Mother’s Day, I revisit my favorite poem about the mother-child relationship. It’s called “Three Poems About Birthdays” (母難日三題之一) by legendary Taiwanese poet, writer, and critic Yu Kwang-chung (余光中):
“母難日三題之一 今生今世”
我最忘情的哭聲有兩次
一次，在我生命的開始
一次，在妳生命的告終
第一次，我不會記得，是聽妳說的
第二次，妳不會曉得，我說也沒用
但兩次哭聲的中間啊
有無窮無盡的笑聲
一遍一遍又一遍
回盪了整整三十年
妳都曉得，我都記得
—余光中
Rough translation:
“Three Poems About Birthdays
One: This Life”
I’ve cried uncontrollably twice
Once, at the beginning of my life
Once, at the end of yours
I don’t remember the first time—I’ve only heard you describe it
You would never know the second so it’s futile for me to point it out
But in between these two moments
Were endless bouts of laughter
Echoing again and again
For thirty full years
This you know, and this I remember
—Yu Kwang-chung
If you, too, are missing your mom today, please know that you’re not alone. Your mom might not be around anymore, but you are an extension of her. Her life continues because you’re still here, breathing and striving and being.
