The Better Mother

Eleanor Yang Su

Jacques Louis David, 1775

Word Count 1120

One of the most memorable moments from my wedding happened when my mother-in-law wrapped me in a hug and whispered into my ear, “Now you have two mothers.” It took me years to recognize the significance of her words.

My relationship with my own mother was complicated. Before she passed away last year, she often told me that I was a “mistake,” and that the only reason she went through with the pregnancy was because my father begged her. She already had two kids. “Nobody wants three,” she told me, virtually every time she visited. 

Over the years, I could see that she was just being honest. She resented the extra work I created for her. She had been a talented student, near the top of her class. In her early 20s, she had visions of a high-profile career as a diplomat. But months after immigrating to America and starting graduate school, she got pregnant and dropped out. She had a shotgun wedding and gave birth to three kids within seven years. Instead of pursuing a prestigious career, she became a sleep-deprived stay-at-home mom. 

My mother-in-law also immigrated to America in her early 20s, as part of an arranged marriage. She enrolled in a graduate program to study plant pathology, and had dreams of a career in research. She also dropped out of her program when she got pregnant. But she relished the role of mother. She doted on her three kids, driving them to and from school every day, hosting their birthday parties, and making home-cooked meals. 

When I came along, my mother-in-law treated me as one of her own. Early on in our relationship, she patiently taught me how to make her signature Taiwanese dishes – sticky rice, taro cake and scallion pancakes. She showed me how to use the weekly grocery store ads to bargain shop. She demonstrated, on her hands and knees, how to use household products like baking soda to clean the gunk in my bathroom.

What felt remarkable to me was how she did it without criticism or judgement. Oftentimes, she would casually mention an errand she had run, such as rotate her car tires. She would tell me how she didn’t realize it had been so many miles since she last rotated them. Naturally, it prompted me to think about the last time I rotated my tires and ask her where and how she did it. She got giddy when she shared her experience with me. 

When my first child started to eat solid foods, my mother-in-law gave me a set of her favorite washcloths. I cannot count the number of times she has bought me a bag of bok choy or persimmons on sale at the Asian market, because they looked fresh. In the past few years, she has hosted most of our extended family gatherings in her home, accommodating 15 of us between her three adult children’s families. 

I was deeply touched by each of these gestures because they stand in contrast to the way my own mother treated me. When I suffered a miscarriage, my mother scolded me: “How could you be so reckless?” It was my mother-in-law who came to take care of my older son, so I could fly out-of-state for IVF treatment.

When I sent my mother gifts for Christmas, Mother’s Day or her birthday, she typically criticized and returned them. “The flower bouquet is too tall,” she once scoffed. “It touches my chandelier!” Virtually every time I gave my mother-in-law a gift, she would exclaim, “I love it!”

My mother often complained about my cooking. “This doesn’t taste anything like chicken katsu,” she told me on one of her final visits. “Your brother makes it much better.” When I host my mother–in-law, she thanks me profusely for cooking and often asks for recipes.

In hindsight, I recognize that my mother was simply repeating the model set for her. She grew up with a demanding and perfectionistic mother. On top of that, she was deeply unhappy in her marriage. She worked incredibly hard raising us kids largely on her own. She never gave up on her goal to complete her graduate degree. It took her eight years, but she graduated with an MBA and spent several years working in accounting and property management.

My mother did her best. She just didn’t seem to ever want to get to know me or my children. When she visited, she spent hours venting about my father. When I showed her my writing, she criticized it as “simple.” When my children asked for someone to play with during her visits, she often talked over them, as if they weren’t there.

Meanwhile my mother-in-law moved 500 miles south, and bought a house a couple miles down the street. She told me that spending time with her grandchildren gave her purpose. When my boys would act headstrong and refuse to do something, she would talk to them playfully about the importance of being flexible. She baked and cooked alongside each of them, teaching them to make Chinese steamed buns and dumplings. She spent many months meeting weekly with each of my sons to speak Mandarin with them when they refused to attend Chinese school.

Over the years, I worked to reconcile the fact that I would never gain the approval or unconditional love I sought from my mother. Yes, she gave me extravagant gifts of money. She gave me jewelry and handbags that she no longer wanted. But what I yearned for was a relationship based on mutual respect, curiosity and unconditional love.

I didn’t think I’d ever get that from a maternal figure. Then my mother-in-law came along, and kept showing up for me. She offered to help watch my boys so I could take a nap. She would drop off a bowl of braised pork to ease my cooking load. It wasn’t just the thoughtful gestures. It was the way she accepted me, from the very beginning. 

One of the first times I went to my mother-in-law’s house, she served red bean soup, a traditional Chinese dessert. It was earthy and syrupy sweet. I lapped it up, until I bit into a large chunk of pungent ginger. Before I knew it, my mouth had spewed everything out onto her kitchen floor. I was standing in a tight circle with extended family and their eyes widened, their jaws dropped. An awkward silence filled the room, until my mother-in-law spoke. “Don’t worry,” she said, chuckling, as she wiped up my mess. 

I was at my most sheepish and awkward, and my mother-in-law showed me grace and love. I felt like I had won the mother-in-law lottery.

Eleanor is a journalist who has reported for The San Diego Union-Tribune, The Los Angeles Times, Chicago Tribune, and Baltimore Sun, among other publications. She has written several biographies of immigrant families and others who have lived a vibrant life. She lives in San Diego with her husband and two sons. Connect with her at www.eleanorsu.com