by Meredith (USA) | Oct 2, 2015 | 2015, Cancer, Childhood, Communication, Death and Dying, Family, Grandparent, Grief, Kids, Life, USA, World Motherhood, Younger Children
This summer, we found out that my grandpa has cancer in the bile duct of his liver. This word is not new to my family. In 2010, we lost my grandma to a five year battle with ovarian cancer. But, what is new is my children’s awareness of what is happening now as opposed to five years ago. They were only two and five at that time; almost still considered babies.
Now, they are seven and ten, and they question everything. The first question they both asked me was “Is Grandpa going to die?” (more…)
Meredith finds it difficult to tell anyone where she is from exactly! She grew up in several states, but mainly Illinois. She has a Bachelor of Science degree in Elementary Education from the University of Illinois at Champaign/Urbana which is also where she met her husband. She taught kindergarten for seven years before she adopted her son from Guatemala and then gave birth to her daughter two years leter. She moved to Lagos, Nigeria with her husband and two children in July 2009 for her husband's work. She and her family moved back to the U.S.this summer(August 2012) and are adjusting to life back in the U.S. You can read more about her life in Lagos and her adjustment to being back on her blog: We Found Happiness.
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by Dee Harlow (Laos) | Sep 16, 2015 | 2015, Death and Dying, Lesotho, World Moms Blog
The Basotho and me
In death we bond
The Basotho and me
On a glorious morning
I heard your scream
When the death bell tolled
The pain in your cries
As I rubbed your back
Connected us
Me a cultural stranger
You huddled in your tearful sorrow
A young life departed
A friend is gone
A colleague forever missed
A brother lost
A husband mourned
If I’ve seen him once
They’ve seen him a thousand
Still we mourned together
The Basotho and me
A fate granted so unexpectedly
I’m a cultural stranger to sorrow
The West easily detached
They suffer sorrow all too often
Enmasse they gather together
In hundreds or more
Through the wake in solidarity
I followed in footstep
I hugged and held hands
Offering what I can
Not much from where I stand
The hymns in unison
Lifted heavy spirits high
Tributes and sermons in foreign Sesotho
So genuine and heartfelt
Struck universal cords of grief
At the end of processions
The longest for me
A friend said
“You’re one of us now.”
We are all humanity
The Basotho and me
This is an original poem written for World Moms Blog by our mother of twins, Dee Harlow, currently living in Lesotho. You can also find her on her blog Wanderlustress.
One of Dee’s earliest memories was flying on a trans-Pacific flight from her birthplace in Bangkok, Thailand, to the United States when she was six years old. Ever since then, it has always felt natural for her to criss-cross the globe. So after growing up in the northeast of the US, her life, her work and her curiosity have taken her to over 32 countries. And it was in the 30th country while serving in the Peace Corps in Uzbekistan that she met her husband. Together they embarked on a career in international humanitarian aid working in refugee camps in Darfur, Sudan, and the tsunami torn coast of Aceh, Indonesia.
Dee is now a full-time mother of three-year old twins and continues to criss-cross the globe every two years with her husband who is in the US Foreign Service. They currently live in Vientiane, Laos, and are loving it! You can read about their adventures at Wanderlustress.
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by To-Wen Tseng | Sep 7, 2015 | 2015, China, Death and Dying, Humanity, Refugees, To-Wen Tseng, USA, World Motherhood
I have a story about being a mother and a refugee.
It was 1949, in the middle of Chinese civil war. A mother trying to escape from the war-torn China got on a refugee boat in Guangzhou with her 3-year-old and 1-year-old.
The boat was sailing to Kaohsiung. Soon after they left the port, the two children started to cry. People on the boat were afraid that the kids crying would attract the communist navy searching for refugees on the sea, and were going to throw the kids into the sea.
The mother fought against those people with all her strength, promising that she would stop the children crying. She took off her blouse, put the two kids under her arms, one on each side, and then put her nipples into the kids’ mouths. Comforted by their mother’s breasts, the children calmed down. The mother kept nursing her children until they arrived in Kaohsiung safely two days later.
The mother in the story was my grandmother. Those two children were my father and my uncle.
I heard the story from my grandmother when I was a little girl. It’s been such a long time that I almost forgot about it, or I never really paid attention to it. I was too young to understand what being a mom, or being a refugee is really like.
Then the #HumanityWashedAshore image of a 3-year-old Syrian boy lay dead on the beach shocked the world. It is reported the boy, Aylan, drowned with his mother and 5-year-old brother on a short run from Turkey to the Greek Island of Kos.
The image shocked me, too. I thought of my 2-year-old, more than that I thought of my grandma. For the first time, I tried to imagine what it really was like for a 20-year-old young mother to get on an over-loaded refugee boat with two toddlers and to continue to breastfeed them for two days in the middle of the sea to flee from violence, oppression and poverty. How hard, or how dangerous it could be? My grandma said, “we could have died.” Now I knew she was serious.
Aylan was not one person. Three more children died last night trying to cross that TWO MILES to safety.
Aylan could be my dad, or my uncle, or any of us. War was never very far away from us. It’s often just one generation or two miles away.
Aylan’s father told The Telegraph, “let this be the last.” I hope so but highly doubt it. History repeats itself. When will we ever learn?
Read more: Things we can do to help. Now.
This is an original post to World Moms Blog by To-wen Tseng of California, USA.
Photo credit to Europe Says OXI.
by World Moms Blog | May 14, 2015 | 2015, Awareness, Being Thankful, Celebrations, Child Care, Cultural Differences, Culture, Death and Dying, Expat Life, Eye on Culture, Family, Global Citizenship, Gratefulness, Guest Post, Home, Identity, Inspirational, International, Life Lesson, Living Abroad, Milestones, Motherhood, Moving, Multicultural, Parenting, Relocating, Respect, Responsibility, Singapore, UAE, World Events, World Moms Blog, World Motherhood, Younger Children
Two months ago, we had our first experience going to a medical clinic in a foreign country.
Come to think of it, we managed nearly four years in Paris without needing to do so. It helped that we lived across the street from a pharmacy (a distinct Parisian ‘landmark’). Those days, we relied heavily on self-medication and the advice of our friendly pharmacist.
This time around, these options couldn’t cut it. Our 22 month-old daughter had already been ill for a week and wasn’t getting any better.
Having only recently arrived in Abu Dhabi, we had no idea about which pediatrician to consult. Armed with a recommendation from a mum’s group, I called up only to find out with some panic that the earliest appointment was in four days’ time. After some frantic telephone conversations with my husband, we made a dash for a walk-in clinic which closed its doors at 1pm.
While this may be common in many countries, it is not something that we would have encountered back home. In Singapore, we could always see our pediatrician at short notice after a quick phone call. This was always reassuring, especially for first-time parents who made a big deal out of every rise in temperature or unusual cough.
Our experience at the clinic made me a little homesick and left me wishing for many things, big and small, that we often take for granted back in Singapore.
This feeling was further intensified a few days later, when news broke that Singapore’s first Prime Minister, Mr. Lee Kuan Yew, had passed away.
Amid the numerous news reports and posts on social media from friends and folks back home, I felt a keen sadness for the nation’s loss of the man who made Singapore what she is today.
Countless politicians, heads of state, journalists and media outlets inundated us with statements, commentaries and judgements on the life and impact of our “giant of history”. I leave this to them.
What I’ve been mulling over, what preoccupies me as a parent, is what Mr. Lee Kuan Yew’s legacy entails; it’s what he has left Singaporeans, our future generations and my daughter.
Every opportunity is available to my daughter:
- She has access to education from an early age and will never have to struggle for the right to go to school.
- She can run around freely in our neighbourhood and enjoy her childhood innocence in playgrounds.
- She can go out with her mother now, or alone in the future, without restriction or the necessity of being accompanied by a male presence.
- She can travel around our little island on public transport, and see marvellous skyscrapers and iconic buildings, all set amidst verdant flora.
- Her safety outside our home is not an issue that her father or I have to worry our heads about, neither does she need to be anxious over whether her parents will get home safely at the end of the day.
- She will have friends from so many different cultures and nationalities, and she can be proud of being able to claim heritage from multiple cultures.
Every opportunity awaits my daughter, for her to make something out of it.
For these and many other reasons, my heart hangs heavy and yet swells with pride for our tiny island and I long for the next time we arrive again at Changi Airport, to see the sign “Welcome Home”. It is a home and country that a visionary built. It may not be a perfect place but my daughter has so many things to be thankful for.
This is an original, first post to World Moms Blog from KC, who is currently stationed with her family in Abu Dhabi but born and bred in Singapore. This is their first international job posting with their daughter, TT, who is now 22 months old. You can read more about Singaporean-expat life through KC’s eyes on her blog, Mummy In Transit, or through her Facebook page at www.facebook.com/mummyintransit .
The image used in this post is credited to the author’s friend, Jacob O’Quinn, and is used here with permission.
World Moms Blog is an award winning website which writes from over 30 countries on the topics of motherhood, culture, human rights and social good. Over 70 international contributors share their stories from around the globe, bonded by the common thread of motherhood and wanting a better world for their children.
World Moms Blog was listed by Forbes Woman as one of the "Best 100 Websites for Women 2012 & 2013" and also called a "must read" by the NY Times Motherlode in 2013. Our Senior Editor in India, Purnima Ramakrishnan, was awarded the BlogHer International Activist Award in 2013.
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by Tinne from Tantrums and Tomatoes | Apr 20, 2015 | Belgium, Death and Dying, Life, Memories, Tinne, World Motherhood
Every once in a while I go on a decluttering spree.
The standard procedure is: open all drawers, cupboards and boxes in a room, dump contents on floor or bed, start shifting into piles, throw away and return what must be kept. Usually the stuff we keep is thrown back where it came from. But some things are removed from the general junk pile and kept separately in a special box.
The box is not fancy. Far from it! It’s a plain, stupid, light blue Ikea box. It is the content which is important, not the packaging. The things inside that box are the things that matter. It is a collection of random objects without any real value so to speak of. But each item represents a significant event or a milestone.
Such as our wedding invitations, the box that held our rings, an old locket with pictures of me and my husband dating from when we just met. Here are the hospital bracelets both daughters wore when they were born, their birth announcements, a pair of the tiniest socks knitted by my mother-in-law, my first Mother’s Day gift, my late godfather’s obituary.
I’ve only started the box recently. December 2014 to be exact. It was a difficult time for me, right after death of my godfather. I was sad and depressed, with a giant hole in my heart. I constantly wanted to return to the past but couldn’t because the present laid its claim on me and there was little time to reminiscence, let alone grieve. I had so many feelings, yet couldn’t channel them.
And then, during my last clean-up round, I started putting these thing into a box rather than tossing them back into the drawer where they had come from.
It felt cleansing.
There was no master plan involved. It was just stuff I wanted to keep with me, but not within arm’s reach. It stored my memories and the accompanying feelings of hope, joy, grief and despair.
Every once in a while I look through the box or add something. The content makes me smile and cry at the same time.
Just like life.
Do you keep a Memory Box? What does it contain?
This is an original post to World Moms Blog by Tinne @ Tantrums & Tomatoes from Belgium. Photo credit: Antara. This picture has a creative commons attribution license.
Born in Belgium on the fourth of July in a time before the invention of the smart phone Tinne is a working mother of two adorably mischievous little girls, the wife of her high school sweetheart and the owner of a black cat called Atilla.
Since she likes to cook her blog is mainly devoted to food and because she is Belgian she has an absurd sense of humour and is frequently snarky. When she is not devoting all her attention to the internet, she likes to read, write and eat chocolate. Her greatest nemesis is laundry.
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by Cindy Levin | Jan 13, 2015 | 2015, Death and Dying, Family, International, Travel, World Moms Blog, World Voice
Maracas Bay Beach, Trinidad & Tobago. Photo by Lazette Nichols
Looking out of the plane window onto an endless ocean below, I thought about how long it took me to make a journey back to my father’s home country of Trinidad and Tobago, a pilgrimage long overdue.
It had been 30 years since I set foot on the island. My dad grew up in Trinidad and Tobago in the 1930’s when it was still British and roads doubled as donkey trails. The last time I was there at age 13, I was grieving over dad’s sudden death the year before and my cousins took us to see the American comedy hit Ghostbusters. This time, I was racing to Trinidad with my mom because of an email telling us that dad’s sister, my Aunt Cynthia, was in the hospital after a stroke and things looked dire. She had even received last rites. No one expected her to last until Christmas. My phone rang and Mom unexpectedly asked: “How do you feel about going to Trinidad…like, right now?”
As far as I know, there have been only two women in the world ever to be given the name “Cynthia Chang-Yit”: my aunt and me. A typo in an immigration office somewhere between China and Trinidad inadvertently gave my grandfather a unique last name.
Sharing the name made me proud that she was my special aunt and godmother. She always visited us for major family milestones…weddings, graduations, memorable Christmases, and – of course – Dad’s funeral. She seemed elegant to me, appearing every few years in our Minnesota winters bundled in the same fur coat. (Why buy a new winter coat when you live near the equator?) Her eyes crinkled when she smiled at my childhood silliness. I loved how my room held her powdery scent during and after her stay. I liked to usher her to my room so we could sleep in matching twin beds. The super-glued sign on the door back then read, appropriately, “Cynthia’s Room.”
It’s rare in life when one is actually faced with answering the rhetorical question: “If you knew you could see someone you love for one last time, how much would you pay for that chance?” I still don’t precisely know, but it suddenly became clear that it’s way more than the cost of a last-minute plane ticket to the Caribbean.
I boarded with luggage containing black funeral clothes as well as a swimsuit. I didn’t know what would happen. Would I attend her funeral? Sit for hours in a hospital? End up at a beach playing in the surf or staring pensively in grief? The only thing I knew for sure was that I wouldn’t have to wear snow boots.
My family has a very global history and I personally speak out to Congress about global concerns regularly, so why did it take this long to get me back to the islands? How many years went by as I dithered over when a “good time” to go to Trinidad would be? Lack of money, lack of vacation days, exam schedules, babies, a general unease with international travel…there was always something in the way. I’m reminded of the saying, “If you want something, you’ll find reasons. If you don’t, you’ll find excuses.” I eventually have to admit that I didn’t want it bad enough because – let’s face it – there is never a “good time” to go. Like all things in life, it simply has to be a priority or not. When I look at my list of excuses, they’re only the protests of someone not wanting to step out of her comfort zone. I have American friends who travel to see their families in Japan, Brazil, and Malaysia with babies and toddlers. These folks are neither particularly wealthy nor adventurous. They just place a higher value on the bonds of family and showing children what it means to be from the places where their families began.
‘Aunt Cynthia’ with the author’s daughter. Photo by Cynthia Changyit Levin
I’m happy to tell you that my mom and I were able to see Aunt Cynthia. As of today, she is at home and still hanging on. She could not speak nor move much when I saw her, but I was rewarded with the recognition on her face that I had finally come to visit. Her eyes crinkled a bit when I held a puppy up for her to see, knowing our shared love of dogs. She gave me exasperated looks when I asked if she liked the current Prime Minister or told her I hadn’t yet tried the local beer. I got the chance to sit by her side to read her the paper, put lotion on her hands, show her pictures of my daughters, give her flowers, sing her Christmas carols, and – above all – tell her I love her.
So, what is my takeaway from my long-overdue trip? Will I become a world traveler now? Will I visit my Trinidad cousins every year with my kids? Honestly, no. I’m still basically the same person who needs a push to use her passport. But I think I can find a happy medium between recreational globetrotting and never going at all. It’s in that middle ground where I found the beautiful experiences of standing on a beach with my mother where my father brought her as a newlywed, consulting with my cousins about our shared family recipes, and sitting at the side of someone who needed me.
Did you ever have the chance to say goodbye to someone you loved before they died, or missed the chance by not making the trip when you could have?
This is an original post written for World Moms Blog By Cynthia Changyit Levin.
Cynthia Changyit Levin is a mother, advocate, speaker, and author of the upcoming book “From Changing Diapers to Changing the World: Why Moms Make Great Advocates and How to Get Started.” A rare breed of non-partisan activist who works across a variety of issues, she coaches volunteers of all ages to build productive relationships with members of Congress. She advocated side-by-side with her two children from their toddler to teen years and crafted a new approach to advocacy based upon her strengths as a mother. Cynthia’s writing and work have appeared in The New York Times, The Financial Times, the Washington Post, and many other national and regional publications. She received the 2021 Cameron Duncan Media Award from RESULTS Educational Fund for her citizen journalism on poverty issues. When she’s not changing the world, Cynthia is usually curled up reading sci-fi/fantasy novels or comic books in which someone else is saving the world.
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