Why My Mom Didn't Buy a Hat

Written by Liên, my second daughter, who lovingly went back to the botanical garden three times to get me a hat. The first time she went back, the store sold out of all the hats. The second time, the store was closed. The third time, the store was stocked with ALL colors and she picked purple, the color she'd have told me to get while we were there.

A few months later when I was in a flower shop in Irvington, NY with Jane, I spotted the same hat on the sale rack. There was only one, so we didn't get to choose the color, but we got it for Jane to match with me. We look fabulous. Sisters with matching hats do.

For three months, there were four generations of women living in my house. When I gave birth to my baby girl, my mom and my grandmother (or Bà, as we call her in Vietnamese) visited me during my maternity leave. It was a magical time filled with tap dancing, slapstick comedy movie nights, Bà's favorite card game "tam cúc," incredible home cooked meals, and of course plenty of cooing over the new baby.

The time flew by. Before I knew it, it was time to go back to work and my mom and Bà would be returning home. On our last day off together, I thought it would be nice to let my mother choose any outing she wanted. We lived 3700 miles apart, Bà was getting older, and my baby was still so young. Who knew when the four of us would all be together again? What special memories should we make on our last day? I was ready to do whatever my mother chose. Would it be a hike? A park? A beach? 

My mom chose Pearl Harbor. I took a deep breath. I've lived in Hawaii for 13 years and I've somehow always managed to escape the inevitable pull to visit Pearl Harbor. I love exploring Oahu, but frankly I just haven't had any desire to go to a touristy historical site. "No Mom," I complained. "That sounds so boring. Let's go to a botanical garden instead!" My mom agreed. And just like that, I had given my mother the freedom to choose any activity and in an instant I had taken it back. I felt mildly guilty, but I was sure I had made the right call. Walking among orchids and rainbow eucalyptus trees sounded so much more fun and relaxing than learning about military attacks. 

The four of us got ready for the day. As I was loading my baby in the car, my mom suddenly looked panicked. "Where's Bà?!" she asked. I didn't see much need for alarm until my mom ran into the front yard mortified, yelling for Bà to stop peeing on my plants. She was too late.

A word about Bà. She is 97 years old and 85 pounds. In the medical world, we refer to her as "pleasantly demented." She has a happy-go-lucky smile and a propensity for only remembering good things (in the three months she lived with us, she insisted that my newborn never cried, not even once). Her memory has worsened so much over the last couple years that sometimes she mixes up, or even outright forgets, most of our family members. And what my mother had been too embarrassed to share with me until this moment was that sometimes she also tries to pee outside. We were off to an interesting start. 

Despite that little hiccup, we made it to Foster Botanical Garden. After walking around for a bit, I sat on a bench to nurse my baby. Bà said she needed to rest and sat on the bench next to me. As soon as my mother started walking away, Bà jumped up and walked to a bush with the same focus my dogs get when they're about to mark something. "Mom," I called out, "Mom, come back!" My mom ran over and stopped Bà from peeing in the middle of the botanical garden just in time. Crisis averted. 

We grabbed lunch at a Vietnamese restaurant nearby and then returned to the gardens. I needed to change my baby so we made a bathroom stop. Bà refused to join us, saying she did not need to use the bathroom and would prefer to rest on a nearby bench. While I was changing my baby, I overheard my mom screaming, "Mę!" (which means mom in Vietnamese) “Mę, no0000000oo!!" I jumped up and watched my mom rushing from the bathroom to Bà, who was peeing in the middle of the botanical garden. My mom tried to convince Bà to come with her to the bathroom. "I don't need to now," Bà replied in Vietnamese, "I already went."

I asked my mother if anyone had seen Bà peeing in plain sight and she told me she didn't think so. "Well," I responded, "if they hadn't noticed on their own, they probably did when you started yelling like that." We laughed. It had been a long day and Bà was already beating us 2:1. It was time to go home. 

On our way out, we swung by the botanical garden's gift shop. There were a bunch of cute sun hats in an array of colors and my mom decided to buy one as a souvenir. "Which one do you think would be fun?" she asked with a bright smile. "Blue? Purple? Pink?" She started trying them on one by one. I was distracted by Bà suddenly making her way out the door and beelining toward some nearby bushes. "MOM!!" I cried. We were both thinking the same thing. My mother threw the hats down and we abruptly left the store, giggling the whole way. We stopped Bà, guided her into the car, and made our way home in a hurry. Oh, sneaky Bà. We had managed to tie 2:2, but we had to leave the hats behind. 

That evening, I recounted my day to my sister. Her response was, "Well... if you had known all that would happen, you would've chosen Pearl Harbor!"

Hummingbirds in My Garden

What a beautiful sight
You grace my garden
I love the green wings and
White band on your neck
You let me stand near
While you taste the sweet nectar
I lovingly prepared
Drink up I say to you
Drink to your heart’s content
I never get tired
Watching you in the air
Flapping your tiny wings
Pushing your long beaks
Into the small holes
Where sweetness you’ll find
I give you purples
Pinks reds yellows and whites
My garden is your home
Built for you and me
Love is in the air
When your presence
Makes my heart swell


Những con chim ruồi bé tí
Bay qua cái vườn nhỏ
Khi buổi chiều nắng phai
Ta chiêm ngưỡng chim xanh
Vẫy cánh chim quay lượn
Chim có thấy ta chăng
Mà để ta đứng ngắm
Chim hút từng giọt nước
Từ những lỗ nho nhỏ
Của cái bình màu đỏ
Bên hàng hoa chuông vàng
Vì chim ta bận bịu
Chùi rửa những bình này
Pha đường hoà nước lạnh
Mời chim hãy đến uống
Chim uống đi uống đi
Đem vui đến cho người
Hoa đủ mầu ta trồng
Nào tím vàng hồng trắng đỏ
Vườn ta xây cho chim
Chim cứ đến mỗi ngày
Niềm vui ta tràn đầy

Being My Mother's Caretaker

I unexpectedly became my mother’s caretaker for the last two years. Our journey together has ups and downs. It was very hard the first three weeks because my mother did not wish to be with me. She wanted to either go back to her own apartment in Virginia or go live with one of her sons. She packed a backpack with different items every day, ready to go. When she felt a backpack was not enough to hold things, she bundled belongings and used whatever she could find as cords to tie them together. She has cut a charging cable and an electric cord from an electric blanket for her purposes. She packed and repacked picture frames that hold pictures of my dad and her parents so many times that she broke the stand of a brand new frame. She badgered me every day about taking her to the airport or a bus station so she could go back to Virginia. She asked my son-in-law to take her when I refused. Then one day, she had had enough. 

She put a heavy backpack on her 85-pound frame and walked out the door. It was a good thing my daughter and son-in-law were home that day. They were working on installing window films. I walked after my mom and asked her to come back. She turned around and yelled at me, telling me that anxiety was like a fire in her belly and how could I tell her to forget about her apartment in Virgina. She felt she needed to go back to check it over, to make sure all her belongings were still there. She kept on walking, I kept on following her. Every time I asked her to return, she gave me a lecture. The road was hilly but that didn’t faze her. Not until she got to the main road three fourth of a mile from home that she seemed tired and ready to concede. She pointed to a building and said that must be the bus station and she wanted to go there. She agreed to sit down to rest. My grandson had followed us on his skateboard. He sat with her and massaged her feet. I called my daughter and son-in-law to pick us up in a car. 

My oldest brother came to visit shortly after and told my mom he could not take her to his home. Things became calmer after that. My mom decided that he came to see if she was well cared for, and since everything was to his satisfaction, he didn’t need to take her to his home. She stopped “running away,” but the packing and repacking continued for a long time.

My mom finally settled in. No more packing. Now she doesn’t remember much of her life in Virginia, nor does she know where she lives currently. She doesn’t remember how she got here and how she and I came to be together. She no longer remembers that she was the one who took us out of Vietnam at the end of the war to escape a life under communism fifty years ago. Sometimes she thinks some of her children are still in Vietnam. She asks how she and I found each other and how we ended up living together. She often asks where each of her children lives. When I say my sister lives in Chicago, she thinks that means my sister is in Vietnam. 

My mom’s dementia worsens as time goes on. Nine month after she moved in with me, I took her with me to Hawaii when my second daughter gave birth to her firstborn. We lived with my second daughter in Hawaii for three months to help take care of the baby. My mom thought Hawaii was her home, and forgot about Texas. When we came back to Texas, she forgot about Hawaii.

My mom knows me as her daughter most of the time, and at times forgets about her other children. She no longer remembers names of her grandchildren, great-grandchildren, sons-in-law, and daughters-in-law. She often confuses my older brother with her own brother. She constantly asks me if her brother or my older brother is still alive. She forgot that she lost a son when he was eleven. She asks where he lives now.

My mom knows me as a source of comfort. She gets anxious when I am not around. Not long ago she was agitated when I was gone. My son-in-law took her on a walk. He said she kept walking longer than the usual route she takes when she walks with me. I wonder if she was angry with me and her anger fueled her energy, just as the time she put her backpack on and walked out the door. I started taking my mom to my soccer and pickleball games. She had never come to watch me play soccer even though I’ve been playing soccer for almost 30 years and she lived close by. Now she contentedly sat on the sideline watching me play. She enjoyed the attention my teammates gave her. Often she prefers going out with me than being home without me even when it’s hot outside and she cannot lie down. I learned that I cannot take her everywhere. I took her to my annual check-up with the audiologist. While I was in a booth concentrating to listen to faint sounds, what I heard instead was her reciting poems! Poem reciting must give her comfort. She does it more and more and it could happen at inappropriate times like when we were at a show or a piano recital. I have to watch out for her poem reciting and her bladder emptying. I cannot leave her alone for a moment at public parks or outdoor venues because somehow she feels she can empty her bladder in nature even when there are people around. More recently, even soccer fields and pickleball courts are not safe when the need for bladder emptying arises.

My mom no longer has a concept of age and time. She doesn’t remember how old she is. She may say she is fifty, or twenty, or ninety. She doesn’t recognize the blessing of having a long life. She thinks my father and my uncle have died at a young age when she is told that they are gone. The fact is they died in their 80’s and my mom is now 98. She may ask if one of her children has gotten married or if they had babies yet. She goes back to childhood often. Sometimes she thinks her parents are still alive. She asks where her parents live. 

When my siblings, or nieces, or nephews come to visit, my mom keeps asking them how they know where she and I live, or why they know she lives with me. She marvels at their being so smart for finding our place. She also thinks I am smart when I know how to drive to different places. 

My mom’s hearing gets worse. She often hears wind blowing and comments that the wind is so strong. During her first year being with me, she’d argue with me that it was my hearing that was bad if I could not hear the wind. We got her hearing aids but they didn’t work out. She doesn’t understand she should wear them all the time. She lies down so often they keep falling out of her ears. She would put them away but not consistently at the same place, so we constantly have to look for them. I finally put them away and only use them when we are in a weekly zoom meeting with my siblings. 

My mom constantly unplugs her cell phone when she sees it’s being charged. She doesn’t remember when I tell her to not to unplug it. My younger brother and my mom’s cousin calls her every so often to talk to her. She does not remember how to answer the phone anymore. If we are around when the phone rings, we help her answer. 

My mom is a curious person. She always wants to know what something is. If there is a stack of mail or papers or magazines or something on the table, she’d pick them up and look at them. If she sees a package of wet wipes and she doesn’t know how to open the lid, she finds scissors to cut the package open. I do not know how many packages of wet wipes she had dried up. I’ve stopped putting wet wipes in her room or her bathroom. Once I put a box of television wall mount brackets in her room, waiting for my son-in-law to install them on the wall of her room for us, she tore open the box and left a mess. I have learned not to put any unopened boxes in her room.  

Yesterday while the four-generation household of seven members sat down at dinner together, my mom said she was the only one left in her family because her brother and parents had died. I told her that the six people around her are her family and she’s not alone. I am not sure if she understood but she said “Thank you.” Then she asked where she and I first met. I was a little confused. I wasn’t sure what she meant to ask. I made her repeat the question. Then I said, tentatively, “When you gave birth to me.” She laughed. I definitely should laugh with her. Laughter is a good response. 

Mom’s Magical Moment

My mother was a remarkable woman who came to the United States as a refugee when she was 48 years old. She made plans and brought the whole family of seven of us out of Vietnam at the end of the Vietnam War. She did not know much English but that did not deter her. I was busy going to college and going through some emotional turmoil, I did not realize her accomplishments in the new land until years later when I went through her papers. She went to a community college herself. She took ESL and completed an AVT Clerical Program. She got a number of certificates such as Perfect Attendance, Volunteer Service Appreciation, and Completion of Practice Management Seminar. She started her new life in a new country with a job in the assembly line of a manufacturer of window blinds and shades and ended up working as a bookkeeper in a doctor’s office. After retirement, my mom and dad came to live near me. They moved from Illinois to Virginia. After my dad died in 2006, my mom insisted on staying at the same apartment she shared with him. She said he loved the apartment and she wanted to keep his memories alive. Besides, she loved her independence. She took care of bills and her own medical needs without her children’s help. She cooked her own meals. I occasionally gave her a ride to the doctor’s office or to go shopping, and that was about it.

Then seven years ago, my mom fell and fractured her spine. She was 91 years old. She was in the hospital a few days, then rehab, then with me for a while. Every day while she was at rehab and at my home, she asked to go back to her apartment. But her health worsened after the fall. She started to forget things. I had to take care of her medical needs and help her with paying the bills. We were able to apply for long term health service. She continued to stay in her apartment. An attendant came for eight hours each day to help her with cooking, laundry, and light cleaning. Her dementia got worse. She forgot to turn off the stove and how to use the microwave. It was time she should not live alone any longer.

She came to stay with me after I retired and moved to Texas. The adjustment was rough at the beginning. At some level, she knew she should not live by herself, but she yearned for the independence she once enjoyed. It has been over two years. She no longer has short-term memories, and memories of the past have faded. Time plays tricks on her. She doesn’t remember sequences of happenings. She does not remember where she used to live. She does not remember what she just ate or where we just went. She does not remember who just visited. Sometimes she forgets the names of her children or the number of children she has. She forgets how old she is. She wonders if her parents are still alive.

Over a year ago my second daughter gave birth to her firstborn. I went to Hawaii for three months to help out. I took my mom with me. There was a time I felt bad about it because it seemed my mom’s dementia got worse after any big change, but now I am glad I did. We were on the airplane the day the baby was born. There was something magical besides the birth of the baby that day. I expected my mom to be asleep on the flight, but she was alert and awake the entire nine hours of the flight. She looked out the window and everything she saw was a wonder to her. She was like a child being on the airplane for the first time. She had a big smile on her face. She excitedly pointed out to me the things she saw and heard. She loved looking at the city as it got smaller and smaller below us. She loved seeing the beautiful mountains. She thought she saw many animals, including big fishes. She loved watching the white clouds grow thinner, as though they were melting away. When we were close to Hawaii, she thought the clouds had turned into water. I think in her mind, the airplane stood still and the view kept changing. She thought she heard Vietnamese songs and poems recited on the plane and she liked that. She even told me the words of the songs and poems. 

I didn’t realize that the moment was magical and not something to be repeated. I expected the same thing on the flight back three months later but it was not to be. Her childlike happiness and joy were for that day alone. I didn’t know at the time that the baby was already born that same day while we were at the airport waiting to board the plane. But now I think the two events intertwined. The birth of Max Iris and my mom’s magical moment happened on the same special day. I am grateful for both.

The Most Embarassing Moment of My Life

I have shared the most embarrassing moment of my life only with my husband and children and their spouses so far, in one of my daily emails to them, and only after I’ve read Paul Reiser piece called A Funny Thing Happened… in an issue of AARP The Magazine eleven years ago. 

My most embarrassing moment happened a long time ago while I was in college. I went down to the cafeteria of my dorm for breakfast. While I was carrying my food tray to a table, something slid down my leg and fell out of my pants onto the floor. I was horrified to see that it was a pair of my underpants. I was too embarrased to pick it up. I just walked away from the scene, wondering if anyone had seen what happened, and hoping fiercely no one had seen where the panties came from. I didn’t tell anyone about the incident, not my roommate, not any of my close friends, and not any of my family members. I was dying of embarrassment. 

Later when I happened to read A Funny Thing Happened…, I felt better about what happened in the dormitory in college many years ago. Paul Reiser, while in line at airport security, felt a soft clump around his ankle and realized that his “yesterday’s underwear was still squooshed up inside today’s pants.” While he was trying to subtly remove his underwear by pretending to tie his shoes, someone behind him recognized him as an actor and started a conversation. He didn’t have time to stash away the underwear when it was his turn to go up to the security guy. He was unlucky that he wasn’t famous enough for the security guy to recognize him. He looked suspicious as he tried to stuff his underwear back into his pants. He was escorted to the side and patted down. He was asked to remove the soft bulge around his ankle and answer the question of what he was holding in full view of everyone.

There’s another funny thing. I wanted to read the Paul Reiser piece again. The problem was I did not remember his name or the magazine I read it from or the title of the piece. So I googled something like “Underwear stuck in pants” but the article didn’t come up.  So I added “at airports” to the end of the phrase and the article still didn’t come up. However, I saw tons of the same stories of underwear finding their way out of trousers. Up until then, I had no idea it was a common occurrence, or common enough that a Google search would have no trouble finding stories to feed me. I was floored.

So you probably can use the search engines for anything imaginable and perhaps you’ll find you’re not alone with your problem after all.