1/10
Yesterday's good night was the sweetest and most melancholic good night. With a sliver of white light aching in through the narrow crack between door and its frame, I lay in the dark, on the floor beside my mom on her bed, pillow appropriately plumped, mind ready to gradually fade into the womb of sleep and solitude.
But before drifting into that soporfic space, my mom sprinkled a noise into the night, "Erin?" It was like at a sleepover when there's only the tick of the clock keeping friends awake and someone breaks the silence, "Hey, you still up?" and I just replied, "mom?" She said, "I just wanted to say good night" (in Korean). I wasn't sure what I was hearing. She had never woken me up before in the recent times we've slept side by side together in these cramped Korean spaces. She hadn't done this nocturnal double take. But complex labyrinths of thoughts inundated her head and somewhere that night, the maze led her to think of me.
Because she knew if she could think of her daughter, she could at least get close to falling asleep. Her daughter was her last and only hope to rest.
The chaos that is consuming her body and life drowns all the strength and positively that characterized her. But she swings her thoughts toward me. she knows that God is with me. He has always been, in her eyes. for her, I am proof and a living hope that even in this darkness, there is a sliver of hope glinting through the doorway.
During the day, she groans, cries about how each breath is a fight. Each fight is a miserable loss. To eat, to sleep, to see hope in a next moment, to just live normally once more. But this night, she found assurance in that she has a daughter under the provision of God, protected by Him. She relayed to me, when she has raised a child like me, what else does she need. Solace rests with her because she knows I live and live beautifully in her and God's eyes. She send these words to my sleepy ears, but I think she was speaking aloud these honest beatitudes more for her own sake.
After brokenly and faintly sung hymns, she found sleep. The ebb and flow of her heavy breathing was life. She is safe somewhere in a world away from the stupid tantrums that implode reality. She is safe in sleep. And this makes me happy.
Each of her snores like bites of dessert. They bring joy, they feed the basic, human appetite for delight. she is happy when she is sleep. She is dreaming of me. And I lay awake, in awe of this kind of love, thinking about how beautiful it could be if she could sleep and stay in this place of peace forever. But I admit, I hope it isnt time for that eternal slumber just yet.
1/14
Apparently something good happened today, but why am I crying.
I have seen her go through so much. Every passing day a struggle, a fight. Every passing breath a memento of mourning and grief. But today something good
happened in this series of miserable events. I don't even know how to respond, I'm not used to her finding joy in any home anymore. I only find the words to say thanks to God
because that's what I know is
always relevant to say.
I've seen
her hurt so much. And in this moment where her drowning world found a earth, land, something to hold on to, no one celebrates for her. Just one joyous thing. She's
so excited that she even suggested champagne. She is so happy because
there is this action of hope in front of her face, a tangible visible piece of a dream coming to life. A breath
of freedom, of knowing herself for one second. Yet nobody else realizes
what a happy moment it is for her. Happiness, it's been so long. Happiness, why will no one celebrate with her?
Today she had
a spur of peace, and they respond to her surprisingly joyous call for champagne by telling
her to deal with it by celebrating in silence. Closed mouths, muted thoughts, another push
for mourning. Another day reminiscent of grief. What is wrong? Why is still no joy to sustain her in the midst of this rare jewel of hope? When can she finally find a community of love, where
each breath is expressed to celebrate her strength, to voice the love she deserves? When can we all sing the song that has so long been hidden in her
misery?
