During my senior English class, we had to write an autobiography as our final project to fulfill graduation requirements. My teacher, Mrs. DiPrinzio, gave us some helpful advice to guide us through the writing process. She told us to think back to a moment that impacted your life. Capture what you heard, saw, thought, felt–anything to take your reader back into that moment as if they were reliving it with you. I ended up writing a 26 page autobiography that consisted of a series of 4 letters to my future daughter. Each letter began with an opening page addressing my future daughter, Lily, that prefaced what the rest of the piece would be about. Then, it delves into the story as I was experiencing it at the time. Each letter held different experiences and hardships I battled in my life, and a words of wisdom to help my future daughter. This excerpt I chose is 1 of the 4 letters, and my favorite one. It captures my relationship with my mother and all that she has taught me in life. Here’s the excerpt:
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To my dearest daughter Lily,
I must’ve told you countless of times about your Grandmother, the strongest person I know. She’s been my rock through all these years and it’s a shame that you only get to see her on holidays since she’s living in Vietnam again for retirement. All throughout my childhood she was my rock; someone I could always depend on to be there in my troubled times. Being a single mother getting three kids through college is no easy task. But your grandmother’s hard work and perseverance was unparalleled. Trust me; tuition bills for three children going to college two years after one another are hefty. She toiled through two jobs, waking up at the crack of dawn to start the first one and coming home at midnight after the second one just to give her children the best education she could. I saw her push herself to work day in and day out without ever complaining. My admiration for her is so great, for I have never seen a stronger woman in my life. I could only hope to be half as great of a woman as she is. She never let on when times were rough, or when her paychecks were being stretched too tight to cover our expenses. She just kept working and worrying, so that we wouldn’t have to. Now that you’ve heard about what strength she has, I have something that might surprise you. Have I ever told you about the only time I’ve ever seen your Grandmother cry? In all my years, I’ve only seen my Mother cry once. Just once. She always had such a calm demeanor, never showing her darker emotions to her children. She never wanted us to worry, so she’d mask her emotions in front of us. But one horrific day, her walls broke down. Even then, she only let go of her emotions for a brief instant. Just one day in the span of my whole life have I seen her break down like that. Even though she did, she still remains the strongest person I know. Here, let me go back to the day that my Grandmother, the Great-Grandmother you never knew, died.
I’m awakened by the sounds of people shuffling around outside. The lack of light outside tells me that it’s the middle of the night, or maybe early morning. I’m not at home, but rather spending the summer in Vietnam with my family. I hear many people in deep discussion right outside the bedroom I’m sleeping in at my grandparents’ house. As a curious twelve-year-old, I tip toe as quiet as a mouse to the bedroom door and slowly open it, hoping that it won’t creak. My efforts to be silent prove futile since I wake up my older sister who is also sleeping in the room. Kim looks at me with her brow furrowed and her mouth wide open in a puzzling manner.
“What are you d–”, she begins. I clamp my hand over her mouth softly to stop her from talking.
“Shhhhh! There’s people talking outside in the middle of the night and I wanna know what’s going on. I don’t want Mom and Dad to know we’re awake though, we might get in trouble!”
She nods her head to show she understands and I remove my hand from her face. She gets up too and we both creep towards the door. I feel like a spy on a mission, secretly eavesdropping on the conversation outside. With the about halfway open, we can hear the voices of my Grandfather, Mom and Dad, and my various aunts and uncles. They speak in a rushed, hushed manner. I can feel that there’s something wrong, or that something bad has happened. My youngest aunt, Mom’s little sister, is sobbing with her face buried in her hands. I look at Kim’s face and see her eyes wide and worried. Everyone’s talking in Vietnamese, so we can’t fully grasp what they’re talking about. Our limited vocabulary only covers words for colors, numbers, animals, and a few other tidbits. One of the words I’m able to pick out is “bệnh viện” which I know means “hosptial” in English. My mind races in circles. Who’s hurt? Everyone was fine before I went to sleep that night. I decide that eavesdropping probably wasn’t the best idea. I’m more confused than ever. I close the door, forgetting that we’re supposed to be asleep right now. It shuts with a loud clang. The voices outside cease as they hear the noise we created.
“Crap!” I whisper to Kim, who rolls her eyes in exasperation.
“What happened to being sneaky about it? Now we’re gonna get caught”, she berates me.
I jump into bed and close my eyes, trying my best to pretend like I’m sleeping. She does the same and we lie there in silence, waiting to see what happens. Footsteps approach the door and it creaks open. I’ve got down a pretty good technique at feigning sleeping, breathing in slow even breaths and adding in a couple of stretches and snoring to seem more real.
“Oh, something probably just fell in the room that’s all. They’re okay, let’s get back out there” Mom says to Dad as they leave.
“Awesome, we didn’t get caught! We should go back to sleep”, Kim advises.
“Mhmm yeah good idea”, I agree.
I guess Kim isn’t too worried about what’s going on. Maybe she didn’t hear about the hospital. I guess she didn’t see Aunt Ma crying. Or maybe she has and is just pretending everything’s alright for my sake. She goes back to sleep easily. I on the other hand, cannot for the life of me get any sleep. I lay there in bed, wondering what the adults don’t want us to hear. I’m scared that there’s something wrong, and my gut instinct tells me that there is. The dark night turns into morning as the rays of sunlight begin to shoot into the room. The voices never died down outside. Rather, the chatter lasted all the way through the morning. I’ve stayed up through all of this, my overactive mind making up different scenarios. Maybe it’s no big deal. Hopefully.
Mom knocks on the door and comes into the room. Her face is haggard, her eyes rimmed with purple shadows, indicating that she hasn’t gotten any sleep. She’s holding a half empty box of tissues.
“Girls, are you awake yet? We have to talk”, says Mom in a somber tone.
We both wake up, which I pretend to since I’ve been up all this time.
“Is something wrong, Mommy?” I ask with worry written all over my face. I brace myself for the worst, already fearing the answer.
Mom nods her head and her shoulders begin shaking. Her face contorts as she begins sobbing deeply. Kim and I look at each other in alarm since we’ve never even seen Mom cry before. Her usually calm demeanor has been replaced by that of a woman who is barely holding herself together. We immediately reach out and wrap our arms around her, trying our best to comfort her. The sobs begin to slow as we see her struggle to get a hold of herself. She breathes deeply, calming herself down to tell us what has happened.
“Last night, your Grandmother had a stroke and was rushed to the hospital. We were hoping throughout the night that she would be in better condition in the morning, but we just got the news that she didn’t make it”, Mom utters in a strained voice.
I just can’t make sense of the situation. It’s hard for me to comprehend the magnitude of Mom’s words.
“But Mom, Grandmother was fine last night when I saw her. I helped her cut up vegetables for dinner last night. Now she’s gone? That can’t be right. She can’t just go like that! She can’t!” My words hang in the air for a brief moment.
“This wasn’t her first stroke, honey. She had another one small one before, but was lucky enough to get better. This time was worse.”
“She had one before?! Why didn’t anyone tell us?”
“I didn’t want you to worry, so Daddy and I thought it would be best not to tell all of you.”
We all sit there in stunned silence. Then, I burst into uncontrollable tears. Rivers of tears are streaming down my eyes. My vision is so blurred that it’s like looking through window that is fogged up with steam. It’s not until I try to mop them up with tissues that I see Mom has started weeping again. Kim has begun crying as well. The profound sorrow in the room is utterly depressing. I’ve never known or seen such sadness before in my life, especially from Mom. I’ve never even had a pet die, let alone a close relative like my Grandmother. I put myself into my Mom’s shoes, trying to understand how I would feel if my own Mother died. This makes me cry even harder as my body trembles from the racks of sobs that convulse through it, sending seismic shocks with every hiccup. Why does this have to happen now? My Grandmother has been unfairly ripped from our lives. Her death has reduced my Mother from a driven, strong woman to an absolute mess. Seeing my Mom like this has really opened my eyes to how much of a front she usually puts up, never revealing her sadness or grief. It changes my view of Mom, letting me see how fragile she really is inside. The mask she puts on is just a façade, but one that she puts on for her children. She wants to be seen as a strong individual, who will endure the pain without breaking down. This makes me realize that even the strongest people have their weak moments, the moments too tough for even them to handle. Even superheroes have their kryptonite. Breaking down doesn’t make someone weak though, since everyone has their breaking point. Those moments in that room were the only ones where Mom cried through the whole situation and the aftermath. She only had one moment of expressing her remorse while everyone else was a wreck throughout the funeral and burial. Even though Mom opened up and showed her sorrow to us, she put on a strong front the rest of the way. She held it together when everyone would understand if she fell apart; and to me, that’s true strength. I haven’t told anyone about this moment of weakness throughout the years believe it or not, Lily. There has never been a reason for me to bring up my mother’s tough times until now because I finally realize the lesson that can be taught from it. Through this story I want you to take the message that it’s okay to be weak sometimes. I know that there will be trying times ahead for you, but this story is always there for you to come back to realize how to stay strong.
With all my love,
Mom