I’m embarrassed to say that the whole thing started because of stuffed animals.
I had a collection of plush dogs that I kept on a drawer in our living room. They were all about 6 inches long, with beady black eyes and soft fur. Each one was a different breed of dog. I had imported them one by one from Japan.
One day a friend of my mother’s came by to visit her. My mother was dying from cancer, and she was always giving things away to people.
The friend, who was also dying of cancer but a little slower than my mother, said, “Oh! So cute dog!”
“Take!” my mother exclaimed. “Take with you!”
“It’s Minami’s, isn’t it?” the friend asked, surprised.
“Minami not mind!”
“Uh,” said my brother. “Mom. I don’t think — “
My mother shushed him.
When I got home, the dogs were gone. I went to my mother’s room, thinking maybe she was playing with them.
“Mom, have you seen my stuffed dogs?”
My mother blinked at me. “Oh, I give to Pam Yim. She thought so cute, so I told her ‘take!’ I told her you say okay.”
I stared at her.
She immediately sensed that I was upset. Just as quickly, she went into a rage. “Why you mad? Pam Yim do so much for us! So not thankful!”
I tried to explain. “But you never even asked me — “
“You not good person!” my mother screeched. “No gratitude! Why I’m dying, I’m good person, and you gonna be alive? You my enemy! You bad person!”
“Mom — “
You should be one dying!”
I tried to speak, but couldn’t. I left the room. My mother continued screaming. I could hear her from her room: “Bad person! No gratitude — so selfish!”
I knew she was right. Pam Yim had recently given me a check for $1,000 to help take care of my mother. She had always helped our family whenever we were in trouble. It was selfish of me to make a fuss over the stuffed dogs when she had done so much for us.
And from when I’d first found out my mother was dying, of course I’d wished it was me instead. It just hurt to hear her say it like that.
I went to work the next day dejected. I got ready without going to my mother’s room to see her and left. During the day, my mother sent me a text:
Do you want me to ask social worker to move me somewhere hospice facility? You seems like you cannot stay with me.
I replied:
You said I’m your enemy, so I felt like you wanted me to stay away from you. If you don’t want to live with me anymore, that’s your decision.
A message came back quickly:
When and how I said you are my enemy? You made yourself my enemy. I really do not want to go anywhere but want to stay home. But everyday you give me hard time to kick me out of here. I do not know what to do anymore. Did I not said I’m sorry?
I had never once in my life talked back to my mother. If I or my brother had even looked at her sideways, she would go ballistic. But now, separated by distance and with only text between us, twenty-five years of frustration and bitterness poured out.
What do you mean ‘when and how’? You said very clearly yesterday that I’m your enemy. Remember?
How exactly am I giving you a hard time? Or trying to kick you out?? You never said sorry for any of those things or for lying. And I don’t want you to say sorry because I know you’re not. You lied telling Pamela that I said it was okay. That’s what I’m most upset about. That you lie even though you always say you never lie.
But you think I’m just mad about the toys, so go ahead and think that. I don’t care anymore.
I don’t mind you staying at home. Like you said, you deserve to live and I deserve to be dying instead. You’ve always told me that since I was little anyway.
There was no reply after that. I went about the rest of my work day feeling emptied and exhausted.
When I got home, I crept over to the bedroom and peeked in. My mother looked at me, forlorn. I could see how weak she was and felt ashamed.
“I’m sorry, Nami-chan,” she said.
She had never said this to me before in my life.
She continued, “I don’t remember say those bad thing to you. I so angry, I don’t remember. Will you forgive me?”
I couldn’t speak. I went to the bed and hugged her tightly.
“I try not yell at you anymore, okay?” she said. “I try really hard.”
My mother lived one more month. She kept her word. She never yelled at me again.
