At the outset let me be clear that Hing Sue Young was not my birth mother. But for the many remarkable show of kindness, respect, understanding, and maternal affection she had bestowed on me as someone trying to belong to a tight-knit family, she might as well be my own mother.
From the very first time daughter Susan introduced me to her, I bowed, took her hand, and placed it gently on my forehead. It's the traditional sign of respect in our homeland. I noticed she was a little bit shocked by the unexpected gesture, then smiled. I explained later that it was meant to show deference and esteem to the person receiving it. From then on, every time we see each other, I'd do the same.
Our culture may be different and our language disparate, but those Hing Sue Young, who I call Mom endearingly, bridged and overcame by just being herself - hospitable, caring, attentive, and generous to a fault. Her generosity was inherent as I found out during the few times she, Susan, and I shared some time and accompanied her shopping at the supermarket.
There's a mischievous streak in her if I might say that, just to illustrate the fact that she was bighearted. On a pretext of going to the bathroom while we were in the middle of a meal at her favorite restaurant, she would secretly ask a waitress to hand her the bill and then paid for the food. No fussing over who got the cheque, period.
Once at the supermarket, she bought mooncakes in those distinctive red tin cans and gave them to me, apparently after learning from Susan that mooncakes are one of my favorite desserts. Other times, she would ask me to bring some fruits, or whatever's available in her kitchen, in case I get hungry while in transit on the way home after visiting her. That's how thoughtful Mom was.
Mom felt uncomfortable sitting on the passenger seat of Susan's truck knowing I was stowed in the back trying to be convenient on our way to a restaurant in Markham. She repeatedly volunteered to take my place, never mind if it was unsuitable for her. She was unselfish and quick to sacrifice her own comfort for others - that's how Mom was!
Despite the language barrier, Mom and I understood each other, most times with Susan's help. While she struggled to explain things to me, I also labored hard to expound what I meant. With hand gestures - hers and mine - we would get the sense of what we wanted to convey. And we would just laugh once we knew we succeeded in telling the other what our hearts and mind wanted to express. That's plain and simple determination Mom had.
I did not have the chance to know Mom better than in those scattered times she, Susan, and I ventured out into parks for a change of scenery. I believe she was overjoyed (her smiles showed it) to smell the flowers so to speak and pleased to be able to absorb what the outdoors could do for health. That's the genial Mom I knew at her natural best.
Mom had a deep appreciation for the performing arts. It may be late in the day to say that, but she had a particular interest in the dances and music of ancient China. I discovered that - and probably to Susan's surprise - that she loved to watch dance and hear music brought to life again at a concert at Roy Thomson Hall by the Shen Yun Performing arts company. Mom adored that moment very much! Yes, she's proud of her culture!
On the day I learned Mom had a stroke, and passed days later, my heart sank. It was as if I lost my mother again. But the pleasant - and amusing - times with her will continue to be treasured.
