After a recent tear-filled recording, we decided to dedicate a small digital campaign to our moms/mother-figures in honor of Mother’s Day. They are often the unsung heroes in our lives BUT their love, hard work, and sacrifices do not go unnoticed and should be celebrated every single day.
We asked our listeners to write a letter to their mothers/mother-figures, in hopes of providing them with a space to reflect, heal, love, or honor these relationships. These are their letters, along with ours! We hope you enjoy them. Happy Mother’s Day!
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A Letter to Kuv Niam
Katie with her mom and dad
Mom, I’ll start off with the hardest words that have never been said between us. Most people would think that it’s some sort of untold secret or an apology of regret, which I do have plenty of during our time together. But the words that are the hardest and most tender for us are, “I love you” or “kuv hlub koj.” I really do love you, Mom, for all that you do and continue to do. I don’t know why normal words for others are unspeakable words for us. It’s not that we don’t love each other, but maybe we just don’t know how to verbally express it yet.
I think it may stem from your childhood trauma and the void of love you experienced as an orphan. But now that I am capable of taking care of you, I just want you to know that I love you and will continue to do so. You can depend on me and I won’t go anywhere. I will show you love with my action and ability as you showed me. When I was young, I wanted to hear those words so badly but as I grew older, I realized that it was actions that spoke louder than words.
Your love came in the form of having breakfast, lunch, and dinner ready for us as we spent our days not feeling hunger. Your love came in working double shifts, mornings at the cucumber fields so we would have new clothes for school. Your love came in lectures and teaching me life skills like cooking and cleaning. Your love is still in your weathered hands who spend your days at the garden to bring me fresh vegetables. It comes in the form of an old lady playing hide and seek with my children and laying in their fort bed waiting for me to come home from a late night at school. Your love never came in words but in the actions that spoke to my heart and soul.
Mom, I love you and am so thankful that you showed me love and not just words that could be empty or forgotten. Happy Mother’s Day to my mother and all mothers.
Also, thank you to my mother-in-law who played such a big role in shaping and forming the woman I am today. She loved me like I was her own daughter and that is no more than what a daughter-in-law could ask for. Thank you to my children, you made me a mother and taught me how to enjoy all the little wonders of life and the value of time. You are all growing too fast. Mommy loves you all!
Letter to Pog/Grandma
Paj (Liz) with her Yawg and Pog
The ability to bear children is one of the most coveted skills that you can find in a Hmong woman - or so my mom has warned me.
It’s very ordinary, but coveted because if you cannot have children, you’ll never find a man who loves you, my mom has warned me.
In Hmong lore, women who cannot have children are either witches, and/or they have been cursed, or so Hmong folks warn their children.
Why might lacking the ability to bear children be so bad? The uneducated sociologist/anthropologist in me suggests this is because we were an agrarian society and more hands meant the ability to harvest more rice and vegetables. If you couldn’t bear children for your husband, you would not be able to survive.
Also, women need to bear children to carry the family line in a patrilineal society. Considering the environment that our ancestors were in, child mortality might have been high. Hmong children are precious because there were already so few of us - for Hmong folks to continue, children must survive.
As a woman, you must bear children. Otherwise, you are not a worthy bride to your family, nor your future husband's family. And because it is such an ordinary task, to be unable to bear children meant other people thought you were broken, or so extraordinary you were cursed.
This letter is for my grandma, the woman who raised me, but never bore children.
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Grandma,
I’m sorry. We were just kids; we didn’t know anything. Sorry that we, your grandkids could not love you like you wanted nor deserved. Sorry.
Thank you for raising me to be the woman I am. Thank you for teaching me how to do cross-stitch. Even though you were losing your sight, every time my parents asked you to watch us, you did.
And thank you to you and grandpa - even though you didn’t have much, every time we asked for something, you were so generous. You two would search for change to buy us candy and popsicles to make us happy.
I still remember the time when we went to Kmart to get Grandpa’s prescription with Uncle. I was devious and convinced Grandpa to convince you to go with me into the store to get candy. Grandpa probably got fed up with me, so he told you to quickly go into the store to get me candy before Uncle came back with Grandpa’s prescriptions.
I was able to convince you to give me 50 cents. We went in quickly, and I saw a bag of Cheetos and knew I had to be quick. So I took it and we went to pay for it.
The woman at the register said it would cost 50 cents. I didn't even know how to count money! But I knew that the coins with the eagle - quarters - were worth 25 cents each! I just didn’t know how many of those coins I needed. So I asked the lady, she pressed a button, and told me we needed 2 quarters.
After she told me “two,” I translated that into Hmong for you, and you gave me 2 of your quarters so that we could buy the pack of Cheetos.
As I reflect now, as an adult, I am extremely embarrassed at how silly I was. I realize that even though you didn’t know how to speak English, you loved me so much you were willing to trust me and follow me, and allow me to translate English for you to get me my candy.
As kids, we don’t know and consider anything but our wants. I’m sorry if I made you scared or embarrassed. When you’re a kid, you don't think about anything - just what you want. I’m sorry.
I miss you a lot. And I hope that now that you’re no longer with us, you’re not sad anymore that we don’t love you enough. Now that you’re with Grandpa, I hope you are all happy.
Letters to Mom’s
From us and our listeners
Dear Naam,
Thank you for your unwavering love and support. I am so blessed to have you as my mom. I am 100 times more blessed my children have you as their grandmother. No words in Hmong or English can describe how much I love and appreciate you.
I can’t thank you enough for being my umbrella and feet. You continue to show me what confidence, love, happiness, perseverance, and strength looks like. You are living proof that Hmong women can do anything if they put their minds to it. I love being your daughter despite all the challenges and barriers.
I love you, Mom. Happy Mother’s Day. You deserve everything.
Love,
Koj tus Ntxhais
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Dear Mother-in-law,
Thank you for finding space in your heart for me. Thank you for making me feel included. Like me, you also left your family to be here. Thank you for loving and guiding your son, grandchildren, and me.
I love you. Happy Mother’s Day. You deserve everything.
Love,
Koj tus Nyab
Dear Niam,
Monica with her mom when she was a baby
When you were 5 months pregnant with me, you, dad, and uncle got into a really bad car accident the year grandpa had his first heart attack. That car accident and pregnancy left you with years of back pain. Yet you still carried me to term and somehow delivered me: a healthy baby that has turned into the woman that I am today.
When I was a toddler and you had to go back to work, I would scream and cry and apparently pull your hair until you consoled me and calmed me down, but you never once complained.
When I had picture day in the first grade, you did my hair with all these cute barrettes but I was angry for some reason or other, so I took them all out before I took my photo. You were super upset with me but you still let me have my way.
When it was cold and time for new winter jackets, you went and got us new jackets from the Salvation Army. You sewed us gloves and mittens to go with our jackets and after a couple of years of wearing it, I hated my pink jacket and refused to wear it. You must’ve felt so bad, but you tried your best to appease me anyway and got me the purple jacket I really wanted.
When we had to go back-to-school shopping before my 4th grade year, I really wanted a new pair of windbreaker pants because it’s what everyone else was wearing and I thought it was so cool. You said it was too expensive so I cried and cried for it until you bought it for me. I’m pretty sure this is why Liz says I’m the most spoiled (that is until Frank and Bina came along). I think it was around this time when you started taking up gardening and selling clothes, toys and nick-nacks at the local flea market. But I loved watching our stall with you because I got to see my friends and got to see all the pretty clothes and accessories that other stall owners had.
When I got my first phone call in middle school, you scolded me but let me talk on the phone anyway. You turned a blind eye and pretended like I wasn’t dating that boy. Don’t worry, though – I didn’t really like him anyway, but you may be a bit sad about that because he was probably the only decent Hmong boy I ever dated. This was around the time you started cleaning office buildings on the side, and we would all sometimes go with you late at night after homework and dinner so that you could finish early.
When I got to high school and became friends with mostly boys (as I typically did), you let me stay out late with them anyway despite your never ending lectures about what could happen to me. Or maybe you just got tired of scolding me and grew to trust me – who knows. By this time, you stopped cleaning buildings but took up more of gardening so we could sell your crops at the farmer’s market.
When it was time for me to start college, and you and dad asked me to live at home instead of campus to save money and to probably help with home chores, I obliged. You and dad later got a new car for me after 2 years so that I could commute to campus easier, even though you incurred more debt for it. By this time, you had reduced your garden plot dramatically and only gardened for our family’s personal usage.
When I graduated and turned down my job offers for my OCA internship in DC, you and dad didn’t even question me. It was probably one of the harder decisions I’ve ever had to make, but you and dad made it work anyway. During this time, I think you started up a floral garden plot to see if it would be good business but stopped after a year because it didn’t make yield much profits.
And when I decided to move to California, you let me go and said I could always come back home whenever I needed to if things didn’t work out.
Throughout my life, you’ve been our clutch and biggest support system, even when I didn’t deserve it. Looking back, and as everyone will probably see, I was such a spoiled brat. I wish I could say I knew better, but I didn’t until I was much older. Sorry it took me so long. And while we could never say “I love you” to each other until much later in life, I’m so thankful to still have the opportunity to do so today. I’ll try to say it more often to you.
This Mother’s Day and every future Mother’s Day, I hope you know your love, strength, and journey to America was worth it. You did everything right. You had the cards stacked against you from the getgo, but you never let it bring you down. I promise to pay it forward and pay you back with every inch of my soul.
Thanks, Mom. Here’s to you.
Dear Mom,
Mai Nhia with her mom and sisters
It’s always been easier to say – “We love you” instead of “I love you” for all the reasons we know. It took me a long time to understand and appreciate your strength as a Hmong woman, but I know that the woman that I’ve been striving to become has been you all along – kind, determined, and resilient.
I used to think that your patience meant that you weren’t strong because over and over again, you chose to stay with someone who didn’t value your worth.
I used to think that your kindness meant that you weren’t strong because you continued to put everyone’s needs above your own, even when you were tired, in pain, or suffering.
I used to think that your tears meant that you weren’t strong because your prayer for Hmong sons was only answered once.
I used to think so many things, mainly that I wanted to be stronger than you and stronger than the life choices you made, yet your strength gave my sisters and me so many lessons learned and most importantly, hope. Your strength, time and time again, taught us that we can choose the life that we want, that your trauma isn’t our trauma, and that we can always be kinder to ourselves and learn how to love ourselves authentically.
This snippet of the poem from Maya Angelou is for you – Still I Rise.
“Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.”
I’m so glad you’re mine – my mom, the love of my life. Like Aleyna always says, “You’re the best mom ever!” Happy Mother’s Day!
Soft hands, rough hands
by Tong Thao
Tong’s mom at her garden
Strong hands till the soil,
Making room in gardens for mustard green boil,
Short handle spoons, pork belly, lemongrass, and skimming the scrum oil,
Leaf tunes, and dib kaus after the day’s toil,
Bruised hands till the soil,
Irrigating deep roots with the slow drop of words that help kids grow,
So when hot soot, or monsoon clouds make your tears flow,
Or when owls hoot, and dad thunders, lashes, and throws,
Clay plates and old boots, you’ll remind yourself of the garden you’ve sown,
Calloused hands till the soil,
For pumpkin squash flowers and bumblebee tails,
Substitute sours, or cucumber quab, and laughter sounds from new tales,
Chicken coop tarp towers, swap meet and supermarket sales,
Late hours, early morning, and three layer pastries smells,
Old hands till the soil,
For life’s seasons, new winds, autumn leaves when time is borrowed,
Yesterday is gone, today God lends, but none is promised tomorrow,
Every dawn, I pray for you and wonder if time mends the sorrow,
These old songs, your eyes ball when you think it’s all your fault,
Frail hands till the soil,
For a good home, that heals the soul with chicken noodle soup,
Plastic domes, to protect the ground and protect deep roots,
For the soul always comes home, and saplings grow from small shoots,
Saplings turn into trees that shelter bees and help returning birds recoup,
My hands till the soil,
For birds know and will be on their way home in season,
Being sure without doubt, crossing seas, without reason,
Familiar voices, old streets, I’m not wondering where you will be in,
Light through the door at the corner where two roads meet, your smile beaming