Love You, Too
Today was Mother's Day around the world and, like many people, I called my mum to mark the occasion. This was a call that I was looking forward to making as the phone number will be disconnected in the next couple of days as one of my sisters takes care of emptying her apartment, closing accounts, and notifying relatives. After nearly 25,000 days on this earth, my mum passed away at the young age of 68.
While walking Ayumi in the park this evening I was thinking about the calls that my mum and I would have every Sunday. I would call at 10pm my time, which was 9am for her. Then we'd chat for roughly two hours until her visiting nurse would arrive to provide care and help with some household chores that my mum was not capable of doing from a wheelchair. Just about every call ended the same way. She'd say "Love you", and I'd respond "Love you, too" before hanging up. This was true for our last conversation four weeks ago, mere days before she lost the last of her hearing.
Despite being on the opposite side of the planet, we were fortunate enough to end our final conversation with some simple, yet powerful words. I hope she heard me.
Since then, a speech-to-text answering machine has answered her phone and asked for a brief message. I've left status updates to let her know that Ayumi and I are fine, that the recent earthquakes in the area were inconsequential, and that communication is still important.
However, with today being Mother's Day, I wanted to make one last call. A happy call. A congratulatory call. A "thank you for all you did, all you tolerated, all you taught, all you said". Like most people, my parents were not perfect. They did, however, do the best they could with what was available. My mistakes are my own. But my successes are because my parents insisted that we always punch above our weight class and accomplish something.
Mum didn't have any internet connection, so has never seen any of my videos on YouTube showing Ayumi and I exploring the beauty of the nation in our yellow car with the top down. I did send printed compilation books every Christmas, but static pictures can't convey Ayumi's quirky personality or the joy of having the wind run through your hair. However, on Thursday night as I drove home from work, I smelled her cigarettes. The top was down and the music was up. Hopefully this means that her spirit came for a ride before heading off to whatever is beyond this world.