Mom, yesterday was the Mid-Autumn Festival. The moon was full and bright. But somehow, I always feel that today—the day after the festival—is when the moon is fullest, because today is your birthday.
Mom, I started making mooncakes early this year because I wanted to send you some for your birthday—mooncakes I made myself. Five-nut mooncakes are the most troublesome to make, but they’re also the best. Don’t believe me? Have a taste. The other kinds are easier to make, and they’re good too. I’m sending them all to you.
Mom, autumn is here. I’m sending you some clothes, too.
Mom, here’s a sweater. It’s cream-colored. I chose a turtleneck so your neck won’t get cold, and you can wear it with one of the silk scarves you love.
Mom, here are some scarves. There’s a red one, bright and cheerful, and a blue one that goes beautifully with your pants. There’s another one with a little touch of America. When you see it, maybe you’ll think of me.
Mom, here are some pants. You don’t need a belt with these. You never liked wearing belts. I’m just like you—I don’t like them either.
Mom, here are some cotton long underwear for the colder weather.
Mom, here are some undergarments, too. They’re very comfortable. Do you like them?
Mom, here’s a winter coat. It’s quite pretty.
Mom, I’m writing to you by hand. My handwriting looks a little better now, doesn’t it? You always said my handwriting wasn’t very good. During the pandemic, while I was staying home, I started practicing. I think I’ve really improved a little. Can you tell?
I’m also sending you some jujubes—big, fresh ones. Watching them fall from the tree, pattering onto the ground one after another, makes me think of Grandma’s courtyard.
There were jujube trees there, too. When I was little and went back with you during summer vacation, the jujubes were still green. Grandma would cover the green jujubes with a bowl and warm them on the stove until they ripened. They were delicious. During Chinese New Year in the winter, we would also have the wine-soaked jujubes Uncle brought us. With one bite, the sweet flesh would release the rich fragrance of wine.
Mom, this is the season when jujubes are ripe. These fresh ones are so good. I’m sending some to you, too.
Mom, I’m also sending you some money. Buy yourself something you like.
And Mom, my eldest aunt passed away a little more than two months after you did. She must have found you by now, right? Share the mooncakes with her. Tell her I miss her, too. When I was little, she made new padded winter jackets for my brother and me every year. I still keep the cloth insoles she made. They’re so comfortable inside my shoes.
Mom, today is a day I miss you. The backyard is cold and quiet, but I treasure this time alone with you. For this little while, it belongs only to you and me.
A few years ago, when I went back to visit, the two of us sat on the balcony and talked. That day, you told me so much—about the hardships you endured when you were in school, how hard you worked after you started your job, the people you met and the things that happened to you, and what life had taught you. I remember that was the longest conversation the two of us ever had.
Today, I’m talking to you again.
Can you hear me?
Mom, I poured you a little wine, too. It’s a Spanish red, not too strong. It’s your birthday, after all. Have just a little, to celebrate.
Mom, today is a day I miss you. The truth is, I miss you every day. Because of the pandemic, I still haven’t been able to go back and visit your resting place. In that faraway country, on that faraway mountain, you are there.
Mom, wait for me. I promise I’ll come to see you.
Mom, I miss you so much.
