June 12, 11th Sunday in Ordinary Time: Luke 7:36-8:3

When I gave birth to my first children—twins—my mother came for six weeks to help us shell-shocked new parents by cooking, cleaning, and sharing the burden of caring for two babies. While she was there, I spent a lot of time thinking about her. As I nursed, burped, and changed the twins in an endless cycle, I was transported to another time. It was like an aerial view of my parents’ lives when they arrived here in the United States with me, when I was one year old.

I saw them navigating not only parenthood but a whole new language and culture, trying to find a balance between making space for what they understood as their former home and what they knew would be home for us from then on. I observed what it was like to toil and love and cook and make a life for the sake of your children. I saw my parents lose sleep worrying and wondering if we would make it the next day. I could see what it was like to carry around such a mixed bag of emotions all the time—fierce love for your children, grief over the loss of a life now so far away across seasons and oceans, and a determination to make it all work out.

All these things came to mind during my postpartum recovery, as my mother spent hours massaging my hands and feet. Our lives overlapped and blurred together. It’s amazing what one sees when life shifts so dramatically.