I took a short trip to Northern California to visit my Mom the week or two before Thanksgiving. Before the trip, I co-facilitated a two-day leadership workshop at work. One of the ways we help leaders set aside their distractions for the two-day workshop is to talk about what’s most pressing for them in the moment. To start the dialogue, as a facilitator, I shared what was on my mind. I surprised myself by talking about how thinking about my trip “back home” was causing me to feel uneasy. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to spend time with my Mom. On the contrary, for several years now, I made a conscious effort to relate to Umma. With my first-grade level Korean language skills, I’ve tried to share who I am; hoping to give her a glimpse into me as an adult.
As I’ve opened up to her over the years, Umma has been my biggest cheerleader. With the passing of my Dad, she and I have grown even closer… having each gone through our grieving processes, but somehow coming to a silent understanding of the loss we’ve experienced.
As I faced the room full of leaders who would be spending two days learning about their leadership styles, I shared with them my apprehension about heading home to see my Mom. It was in that moment, I realized that thinking about my Mom triggers the feelings of loss over my Dad.
When I see Umma in person, I am painfully aware of the empty space next to her where my Dad once stood. I’m still not used to seeing her alone. I’ve only known my Mom with my Dad: they were a unit for many decades.
At the end of the two-day workshop, I made my way to the Sacramento International Airport late at night. While driving home, I took a wrong turn and ended up on a dark two-lane road for more than seven miles. Even with the high beams on, it was hard for me to see the road. I was nervous about the road and it was when I finally made it onto the highway that my palms stopped sweating.
Thirty minutes later, I eased onto the driveway of my Aunt’s house. When I shut off the engine, I saw my Mom slowly making her way toward my rental car. I felt my hands loosen up on the steering wheel. I was so relieved to see her, bundled up in her coat. She was alone and she was walking toward me. There was just the crisp, night air next to her.
I know that my Dad will never walk out of a house to greet me. What I know is that I have this time with Umma. She is here now and I’m grateful for her presence.
Umma and the Golden Gate Bridge.
Leave a Reply