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.