I remember waking up to the soft glow of sunlight streaming through the corner of my bedroom window.
The sky was painted in soft shades of blue, with wisps of white clouds drifting over the city—a beautiful morning that most would embrace, including me. But that morning was different. I was jolted awake by the sound of my phone ringing. It was my brother.
“Mom passed away…”
Three words no one ever wants to hear. Just days before, I had been sitting beside her bed at the hospice, watching as she quietly breathed through her CPAP mask, her eyes fixed on the TV. Several months earlier, she had been diagnosed with ALS—also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease—a relentless, fatal neurological disorder that gradually erodes muscle control by attacking motor neurons in the brain and spinal cord. As the disease progresses, so does the loss of movement, robbing the body of its strength piece by piece.
When she first showed symptoms in late 2016, we all thought she had caught a cold because her voice sounded stuffy. But as time passed, it became evident that something was far more severe. We searched tirelessly for answers, researching specialists, booking appointments, and navigating an endless maze of tests. After countless scans, blood work, and visits to multiple doctors, it was confirmed—our mother had ALS at the age of 65 years old.
My mom was always a fighter, no matter what the obstacles were.
My mom was a force to be reckoned with—never one to let a bully go unchallenged. She had an infectious laugh and a heart overflowing with kindness. She cared deeply for those in her life, even strangers. Though she spoke only a little English, she never let language barriers stand in her way, always finding creative ways to connect with people. Her generosity knew no bounds; she never hesitated to help those in need.
She often shared stories of her younger years in Hong Kong, where she spent her twenties hiking and swimming with friends, embracing adventure at every turn. She had a deep love for adventure and was always eager to learn something new, whether knitting, using a computer, or exploring different cuisines. Like her sister, my beloved late Aunt Stella, she loved to travel and experience the world.
As I grew older, I made it a point to take her on more adventures. Together, we watched Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark on Broadway, and we traveled to California with my brother and sister-in-law. Going to the movies became our little tradition, watching films like The Dark Knight and Godzilla. She was also the one who introduced me to Christopher Reeve’s Superman, and watching those films together became a cherished childhood memory. She loved to tell the story of how, when I was about five years old, she walked into the room to find me standing on the couch, a towel draped over my shoulders like a cape, arms spread wide as I declared, “I’m Superman!”—just before attempting to fly. Thankfully, she caught me just in time.
As the years passed, we created new traditions, including our Sunday night ritual—watching The Walking Dead after dinner. Since she didn’t speak much English, I would sit beside her on the couch and translate the episodes, making sure she understood every twist and turn. She was always rooting for Glenn to survive.
Like all mothers and children, we had our fair share of arguments and disagreements. But through it all, she remained my mom, best friend, travel partner, food companion, and ultimate movie sidekick.
Most of all, she is—and always will be—my hero.
However, less than a year after my mom’s diagnosis, she passed away on July 9, 2017.
“I will see you soon.”
Those were the last words I said to my mom as I slowly walked out of her hospice room. I turned around to wave and smile at her. She lifted her hand and waved at me to say goodbye. Had I known that was the last time I would see her, I would not have left her side that night.
The pain of losing her was immeasurable. The city I once enjoyed shopping and eating at with my mom suddenly felt suffocating. Despite the support I got from my friends and family, I still felt lost without her. It wasn’t until during one of my therapy sessions that my therapist suggested finding things to do that would honor memories of my mom. And so I started shifting my grief to treasure-hunting precious pieces of my mom that always brought me warmth, laughter, security, and motivation.
Time after time, I ended up circling back to her kindness.
When others had their voices suppressed, she would stand by their side and help amplify their voices tenfold. She always kept the dining room table stocked with food, no matter the cost or time spent cooking, because she wanted people to feel they belonged, happy, and fulfilled. If you are struggling in a crowd, even before you ask for help, she’ll already be in front of you to provide you with tissue, candy, bandages, or water. She was a guardian angel to so many people.
That is why I want to honor my mother by sharing her kindness with the rest of the world. I started by jotting down messages of kindness on 3 x 3 Post-it notes and posting them across random places in the city for people to find. Eventually, I added tiny jars of stars because, as a child, one of my favorite activities with my mom was folding paper stars.
Thus, Tiny Jars of Stars was born from a tapestry of emotions—heartbreak, sorrow, pain, happiness, hope, and gratitude. It is not a remedy for the permanence of loss but rather a beacon of light, much like the one I saw in my mother time and time again as a child, reflected in her boundless generosity and kindness to others.
We each have the power to brighten someone’s day, offer kindness without expectation, and be a source of comfort and hope in a world that often feels dim. Like my mom, we can all be beacons of light, proving that even the smallest act of kindness can shine brilliantly in someone else's darkness.
Turning to Kindness in Challenging Times
Published by Kindness.org
Several years ago, I had the incredible opportunity to collaborate with Kindness.org and share a deeply personal story about how my mother’s kindness shaped the way I live my life today. Her unwavering compassion and generosity inspired me to embrace kindness in all I do, and through this experience, I hoped to encourage others to do the same and #LiveKind.
I am beyond grateful to Kindness.org for providing me a platform to share my journey with the world. Your mission continues to make a difference, and I’m honored to have been a part of it!