Mom

Today marks the sixteenth anniversary of my mother’s death. While she was nowhere near New Orleans, her passing coincided with the onslaught of Katrina. Even as we mourned her loss, my family was acutely aware that Mom had lived a very full and rewarding life, while thousands of other families were struggling to come to grips with very different ends. The same holds true as I write: In the wake of Hurricane Ida, the ongoing devastation of COVID-19, and the unimaginable losses in their wakes, my heart goes out to those in our country and others whose lives have been so violently disrupted.

My mother, Margaret Noble Appenzeller Huyler, was born and raised in Seoul, Korea, the daughter and granddaughter of Methodist missionaries. She left Korea at the age of sixteen to attend UC Berkeley and was not able to return to her homeland for the next thirty-six years. When she and I landed in Kimpo Airport in the fall of 1969, Mom’s eyes brimmed as she witnessed the Korean flag flying on Korean soil for the first time in her life. In the decades that followed, I had the privilege of returning with her on several occasions as her Appenzeller and Noble families were celebrated in extraordinary ways. The legacy they created remains profound.

Mom had an astute sense of people, of privilege, and of things beyond personal control. Some of that came from her childhood and from a deep faith that was founded during those same years. I rarely heard her complain; she had a sense of generosity and selflessness that I wish I could emulate more. She had a brilliant way of asking questions that made one reflect non-defensively. Her queries ran along the lines of, “Have you thought about how someone else might be feeling? How a decision now might play out in the future?” When I remember to do that — which is not always, unfortunately — it is so much easier to have productive conversations.

She was also a beautiful woman, though she never appeared to be aware of that beauty. After she died, I was both touched and amused by the confessions of former students of Dad’s – and by extension, hers – of their lifelong crushes on Mom. She managed to be both unreachable and respectful. Those stories were endearing.

In our 57 years together, my mother taught me to recognize and appreciate that our lives are filled with many blessings and to try to empathize with and respect the perspectives and experiences of others. She asked questions designed to make me step back and think. At the same time, the notions of honesty and integrity were essential to her decision-making. My brothers and I knew the only thing that could possibly diminish her support would have been if any of us had been dishonest or not protected others. It took me years to be able to stand up for myself — there was never a question that I would stand up for those who could not do so for themselves.

Since Mom died, both of our daughters have found and married wonderful men. We have a granddaughter who is in first grade. While Johanna and her great grandmother never had the opportunity to meet, they will always be connected. JoJo has already heard stories and seen photographs.  She will see and hear more. They share a similar sense of humor and a spirit of adventure. I miss Mom every day, even more so at this time of year. I will always be proud to be her daughter.

In the wake of Ida and the pandemic, I am not sure what Mom would have done in terms of distant outreach. I do know that she would have gone to great lengths to protect others and to remind us to be grateful for what we have. She would have tried to appreciate the fears and sensitivities of those around her. She would have made clear that, convenient or not, serving the Greater Good was always a priority.

Thanks, Mom, for the heart and soul you shared so generously with so many. You were loved. You are loved.