i'm sorry, and thank you.

It's already been a year...It's only been a year. 

Dear Omma, 

It was a year ago last week that I got the message from Dad: "Your mom has pancreatic cancer, pray for her." I flew home the next day and when I picked you up to go to the gastroenterologist, you were yellow like an oompa loompa. I burst into tears on the spot, partially because seeing you like that made your diagnosis real, and partially because well...you looked like an oompa loompa! 

You didn't feel like a sick person, so after seeing the doctor, we went to lunch with Priscilla (your younger sister) and Lisa (her daughter), and I urged you all to go inside the restaurant while I called family members. Truthfully, I needed the privacy to be overwhelmed. I was crying so hard in the parking lot of Friendly Shopping Center that, at one point, a friendly stranger came up enquiring to see if I was OK. What other answer is there to that question, but "no, not really...and it will be alright"? I would receive an echo of that stranger's kindness, and give a similar response, months later on the NYC subway after learning of your metastasis.  

I'm Sorry...

Mom, just a few weeks before your diagnosis (over the holidays), we had hit another impasse in our relationship. For years, we had disagreed on lifestyle and values - you wanted me to marry, have kids and be a good Christian (not necessarily in that order). I wanted you to accept me for who I am - headstrong and more independent than a traditional Korean daughter, but capable and thoroughly alright. I'm sorry I made you cry when I tried to explain how your pressure to live our lives in a certain way was driving us away; I knew we were stuck in a pattern of constantly letting the other down, and I also knew that something had to give in our relationship if we were going to have one at all. 

...and Thank You. 

When we learned you were sick, suddenly our pattern of disagreements was broken, and the only important thing became knowing and doing as much as I could to take care of you the best I could. Maybe a part of me thought that taking care of you was how I could show you the good qualities of the daughter you raised, at least the ones not dependent on grandkids I have yet to give you! But truthfully, Omma, it was never a question, or even about being a good daughter...how could I NOT take care of you? This new relationship we have forged over the past year, I am so thankful for it - for the opportunities to get to know each other, for the times we've been FAI-ting(!) together for you to get better, and even for the overly involved conversations about your (lack of) bowel movement. 

The doctors say now that we're probably looking at one more year. Well wishers share stories of others who outlived their prognoses by months and even years. I don't wish many more years for us, Omma (although I would be grateful for them!). I only wish for as many moments as it takes for you to do and say everything you always wanted to, without having to suffer or be in pain a single moment longer than you need to. For all of these moments, for however many of them we get, I will do my best to care for you, get to know you better and show you as much love as I can...even as you say to me, "I'm sorry, and thank you." 

I love you, Omma.