This story is dedicated to my mom, Dr. Margit Lassen, who passed into the spiritual world on June 30, 2023.
Mom did not teach me moderation. She was extremely driven, prone to taking drastic steps to reach her goals. Unable to complete her physics PhD in 1960s Sweden (because the government refused to invest further in the education of a 35-year-old mother of two), she packed up her 9-year-old son and 6-year-old daughter (me), rented out her apartment, and moved to America. After a year in St. Louis, she decided to make it permanent, sold her apartment and shipped over the furniture, settling us on the East Coast to complete her degree at one of the top universities in the US.
Mom was what we'd call today a firecracker, but her charm veiled the fire. When I asked her (as a child, when she graduated) about her unusual decision to compete in a man's field, "How many women were in your program?" she cocked her head to one side so her blond locks swayed perfectly to the side, smiled, and responded, "About three, I think." Then her eyes twinkled and she added, "In a class of 800."
(modeling at 16)
That was my mom, power behind the charm. Daring behind a veneer of living a quiet, well-reasoned life – grilled chicken and a sensible salad, served in fashionable teak bowls, classical music playing on LPs in the living room. While she suggested something wild.
When I said I wanted to serve humanity by moving to South Korea in the 80s, she helped pay for my education so I could go sooner. When I decided to marry a Korean man (unheard of in the 80s) she gave me her blessing and arrived in Seoul with a suitcase full of beautiful clothes to attend my wedding. (She complained in the hotel that the electrical outlets didn't match her curling iron, thereby ruining her 'look', but that's another day's story.) When my husband and I moved to New Hampshire with our first baby so he could go to grad school in America, she offered to watch my baby so I could work.
(Swedish dress on our little Korean-American)
Mom doesn't feature strongly in my upcoming adoption memoir, "Hope Diamond," but if you know her, you'll feel her influence throughout. She is the current that runs underneath, the spirit that keeps the breaths (sometimes held breaths, suddenly exhaling in relief) giving life.
In the book, you may notice she spent nine months of the year in Korea at that time. She wanted to serve too, and she met with students on my campus in their English Circle, encouraging them to discuss subjects such as world peace and the elimination of prejudice. She studied the Korean language, too. But most of all, she helped me with my kids. My driven, PhD mom, came to my apartment every morning after I left for work and did my dishes. She washed my kids' (endless) piles of clothes and hung them up on the rack on the balcony so all I had to do was put them away when I got home. She swept the floor. She wiped the tables.
Because Mom knew that achievement isn't just about the big stuff – the final exams, the walks down the aisle. Great achievements are attained from the small, daily steps, the simple acts of living that take our lives slowly, slowly, toward our goals. Thanks to her efforts, I was able not only to bring up my children and work, but we also opened a Bahá'í Center in Gwangju and offered classes to the neighborhood children and families. None of that "big" stuff would have been possible without that tedious, daily "small stuff."
When I say Mom was the underlying current and spirit, I also mean her simple guidance. Thanks to her, I dared to adopt Heejong. She didn't blink, didn't tell me to back off when I was in a rocky marriage with three other children. Thanks to her, I later also adopted my son from Ethiopia, called Bobby in the book. I was so unsure about adopting him, telling her, "But Mom, what if people think I'm just showing off by bringing home a child from Africa instead of here in Asia?"
Mom said two things. First, she laughed at my insecurity and said, "There are lots of easier ways to show off!" Then she became more serious and said, "I think you should adopt whoever YOU want to adopt."
(in Gwangju, shortly before me moved to America)
So here we are.
In math, a radical is the root of a number or expression. Mom understood that much better than I do. She also understood how to be the root of all I have ever achieved in building a family. Her radical love, and her courage, form the root of all of it.
My newest book, “Hope Diamond: when love challenged destiny to a fight” will be out in November. Check future newsletters for a chance to get your advance copy and maybe feature in the “advance praise” front page of the book (if you liked it - lol.)
Warm greetings to you, my friend.
Anna
This was such a beautiful story Anna!
Lovely piece, Anna. So much resonated about having a mom who forged her own path and supported those around her to do the same.