Dear Mother's Day,

Sorry that I never took you very seriously. Growing up, holidays like you just didn't feel significant to my family. In all honesty, any holiday besides Chinese New Year's did not receive the attention it deserved in the Yi household.

Mother's Day was just a day for which we made crafts in our first grade class and to which we wrote poems in our third grade class. On the actual Sunday, my family would merely acknowledge the occasion with a casual "Happy Mother's Day" and flaky plans to head to Hoffmaster State Park beach later. These plans usually fell through due to the inevitable arguments that spurred up between my mom and dad. My family just didn't see Mother's Day as a big deal; one year, my dad stormed out of our Mother's Day lunch in a fit of anger, leaving my mom and I with the rest of the day and no plans (we ended up going to Rivertown Crossings Mall and sitting in Panera).

Rambling aside, I feel like my family has grown a lot since my childhood. After all, we've experienced more losses than we'd bargained for; this allowed us to see things from new perspectives. No longer do I fall asleep Saturday nights to arguing and wake up Sunday mornings wondering where each parent went this time. Because of the scarcity of occasions where my family is reunited, we have learned to cherish these moments; petty fights are seldom picked, because we know our time together is limited. In a sense, the Pacific Ocean acts like an aegis for my mom, blocking her from my dad's anger and, unfortunately, my physical presence in her life. As these past three years have went on, memories of old fights became regrets for my dad and foundations for my mom on which to forgive him. I've grown conditioned to the situation and my sense of loneliness; the knowledge of my parents' reconciliation is comfort enough for me.

I've been close to my mom since birth, always clinging to her like my life depended on it. Those 3 a.m. fights between my parents from my 2-year-old memories resulted in me choosing her over him; I would hop in the car with mommy and drive from our Grand Rapids home to the apartment in Fort Wayne, Indiana. I remember taking so much pride in my mom's new job at Gentex—more pride, in fact, than I had for my dad's identical job at a different company. I knew they worked equally hard and well, but I'd always been partial to anything having to do with my mom.

I loved everything that my mom loved. When she became obsessed with photography, so did I. If she liked tulips, I followed her to the annual Holland Tulip Festival. One time, 6-year-old me tried to walk three miles in the snowstorm from our Cascade apartment to Meijer to find my mom, because she had been gone for ten minutes and I missed her.

Time has really flown by. When she was pregnant with Leo, I made less time for her. I guess I was scared that another child would dilute her love and attention toward me; I tried to keep my guard up and cut my losses in advance by distancing myself from her. She would ask me to go on walks with her after dinner, warning me to take advantage of every opportunity of spending time together... while we still had the chance. I made excuses. I was too preoccupied with other, menial fifth grade tasks. I hung out with friends instead of my mom. I took for granted the idea that she would be by my side forever; though she tried to fulfill that, none of us had ever anticipated in a million years the change that came with the birth of my brother.

The first month apart was harder than anything I'd ever experienced. I cried every night, silently and by myself, because by the second day I'd learned that my dad couldn't handle my tears. My mom always thought this was because he was jealous that my tears were for her and not him. Learning to adapt to a "motherless" life in the past three years has taught me to be independent and assertive. I learned to pick my battles and cherish the ones I love. I learned to be confrontational about my love, even if it meant I would cry more. I learned to tell those people that I am thankful for their being in my life.

That's how I've coped with the 6,455 mile gap between my mom and me. I've conditioned patience and understanding into my calls when communication isn't clear and I have to repeat myself four times before my mom hears me. I've packed my own breakfasts, lunches, and dinners five days a week so I wouldn't blame others for me not getting the food I wanted. I've taken my life and made it my own responsibility, because I know my mom has enough on her plate without having to worry about me on top of all of Leo's issues.

I help her as much as I can. I spent an entire summer pulling her out of depression with pep talks on our strolls along the streets of Beijing. I talk to her every day, not only to help myself stay sane, but because she told me my voice helps her—it's her own method of coping. When I'm in China, I do her chores; I make my brother's medicine and pay for his treatment. I make sure she eats all her meals on time and gets fresh air daily, because she doesn't think to make her own health a priority while my brother's is in critical condition

She watches me grow in the pictures I send her; daily photos of my life for her are worth the weird looks I get from my peers when I take pictures of the sunrise through my zero-hour chemistry classroom window. In turn, I watch her grow and develop and become stronger. I've learned that no one is perfect, that not even my seemingly superhero mommy can balance all the weights on her life or realize that my grandpa's constant nagging is for her own good.

So, Mother's Day, I guess this year, you will just come and go like you have before. I mean, you did prompt me to write this stream-of-conciousness-filled article, and I guess this is more of an apology to my mom, as if a simple 1271 words can make up for all the times I've taken her for granted. Sorry that it takes a holiday for me to confront my past honestly and brutally. Sorry that I never used you as an excuse to fully cherish those I love while I had the chance. And sorry that I've tried to come to an epiphany (that still eludes me) through you this year. But thank you, because by being the recipient of this apology letter, you're helping me understand my relationship with my mom (and my dad!) a little more clearly.