The entire Beijing Allios are sitting down together for a Sunday night dinner which is by itself a bit of a miracle. The fact that I cooked the meal is further evidence. And just to prove the gods sense humor my kids are about to consume the meal I cooked. I take the first bite of the pot roast which I didn't cook in a stove top pot but in a crock pot. The meat tastes "ok" but not quite as tender as I had expected and certainly not as tender as my separate effort earlier in the week. The sauce, a spaghetti sauce meant to complement the accompanying bow tie pasta is bland. I say so out load. Yang, who is sitting to my left on this night says "It's great, tastes good" which is a lie; not the first. I notice her plate is filled with the Ayi's backup plan meal without a hint of pot roast or bow tie pasta to be found.

The production of the pot roast started early in the day with purchasing of the meat at my local Walmart. That Walmart sold the right meat was a bit of a find for me as I have had difficulty getting it in the past. The prep is easy, cut up some onions and carrots, add the meat, add the tomato sauce, add the spices, and then wait eight hours. The problem was the crock pot I has was too small for my ingredients which meant things did not quite mix right or cook down right. I was also reminded a little soy sauce would not have hurt. I enlisted Lydia and Elisa to help me, hoping to plant the seed so that they would make the same meal for their kids when they grow up. I sat next to Lydia on the coach and attempting for a moment of poignancy told her how my mom used to make me this meal, and that I now make it for her, and that one days she will make it for her kids. Lydia just looked up from the iPad and said "I know".

In the US about 15 hours later my siblings sat down and had the same meal as prepared by my sister Marianne with fixings contributed by the entire clan. I'm sure it was delicious, or "delish" as my mom would say. We made these worlds apart, family together, meal to honor my mom and to recognize that it's been a year since her passing.

I miss you Mom, I just do. In the past year the world did not stop and my life – good, bad, and ugly of it – just plowed forward not even taking notice that you had left us. Most of the time I just get caught up in that rush towards the next moment that I don't linger on your memory. So, here's to taking a moment now. You raised eight of us with love, hope, and ambition for love of our own. You believed in us; not to be presidents or astronauts or doctors or lawyers but to be ourselves. To be good people in the moment that we live in. For me, in October 2013 and a year after your passing that means being a good father, a good employee, and a good son. I'm trying and in the moments where I struggle with it, I think of you being there for me, accepting me and encouraging me. In those moments where I am making a positive difference I think of you smiling and being proud of me. You son.

I would eat the leftovers of the pot roast over the next couple of days. While it did get better after the flavors sunk it maybe it could have used a little bit of soy sauce.