A Little Bit of My Mother in Me

A Matchmaker's Reflections on Love, Memories, and the Little Ways We Care

A friend I've grown close to recently sends me songs from the 1970s and 1980s almost every day. I've started saving my favorites and listening to them on my way to work, while reading, or when I go for a run.

Music was never a big part of my daily life, but lately I've discovered just how many beautiful songs I've been missing. Sometimes it's the melody that catches my attention. Other times, it's the lyrics. I'll listen to a song I've heard before, only to find that the words suddenly mean something entirely different to me.

And sometimes, without warning, I find myself crying.

They say we become more emotional as we get older. I'm beginning to think there's some truth to that.

Not long ago, I was at work when I received a message from one of our members' mothers. She shared the wonderful news that both families had met and the couple had decided to get married. She mentioned that the two were discussing their wedding date and suggested I ask them directly.

It was a short, simple message, but it brought tears to my eyes.

I remembered when they first came to our office, the concerns they shared during our initial consultation, and the many conversations and introductions that followed. Knowing how their journey had begun made the news that much more meaningful.

One thing I've learned from working as a matchmaker is that you remember far more than someone's qualifications or personal background. You remember their stories.

You remember what they're hoping to find in a partner, what they've been through in previous relationships, and why opening their heart to someone new might not always be easy.

And somewhere along the way, you become personally invested in their happiness.

You wonder how their dates are going. You look forward to hearing good news. And when someone you care about goes quiet for a while, you can't help but wonder if everything is alright.

There's a female member of ours who works as an attorney in New York. She's extremely busy, and there have been times when I've had to follow up with her several times just to get a response.

One day, while we were exchanging messages, she jokingly called me "Mom."

Somehow, the nickname stuck.

Since then, we've shared plenty of laughs, and I've found myself saying things like, "Work is important, but you need to make time to meet someone special, too!" or "Did you have lunch today?" and "How did you end up with sore muscles?"

Before I knew it, I was nagging her like a mother.

At one point, I wondered if I was being a little too familiar. Was I overstepping? Was she simply being polite?

Thankfully, she seemed to enjoy our little exchanges as much as I did.

Then one day, I reread some of my messages and realized something.

I sounded just like my own mother.

Every year, as November approaches, I find myself missing her more than usual. November is the month she passed away, and no matter how many years go by, this time of year is never quite easy for me.

I can be going about my day perfectly normally when a memory suddenly comes back, and before I know it, I'm crying.

My mother used to say things like, "You'll do well in life," and "I hope you meet a good man who will make you happy."

She would also remind me to look beyond appearances. Was he hardworking? Did he have good character? What kind of family did he come from? How was he raised?

As a young girl, I heard these things so often that I barely paid attention.

Now, I understand what she was trying to tell me.

She simply wanted her daughter to find someone good and live a happy life.

Sometimes I wish I could hear her voice just one more time.

My mother was also someone who took care of others in countless little ways.

Every morning, she would prepare a homemade lunch for me. My lunch bag was often bigger than my school bag, and my friends would tease me, asking whether I came to school to study or just to eat.

But I never ate all that food by myself.

I shared it with classmates who didn't always have lunch to bring from home.

By middle school, I was beginning to understand that not everyone grew up under the same circumstances. Sometimes I'd save my allowance and quietly give a little money to a friend who needed it. I didn't know much about life back then, but I knew I didn't want to ignore someone who was struggling.

My mother often came to school to help with various activities and make sure I had everything I needed.

At the time, I sometimes wished she wouldn't fuss over me quite so much.

Today, those are the very things I miss.

As the years pass, I sometimes worry that her face and voice are slowly fading from my memory.

But then I'll find myself reminding a member to eat properly, to take care of their health, or not to put off meeting someone wonderful just because work is busy.

And in those moments, I realize that my mother is still very much a part of me.

Perhaps the people we love never really leave us completely. Their words, their habits, and the ways they cared for us become part of how we care for others.

In my work at DUO America, I meet people from all kinds of backgrounds, each with their own experiences, expectations, and hopes for marriage.

During consultations, we talk about education, careers, family backgrounds, and future plans. These things matter, of course. They're part of understanding who someone is and what kind of life they hope to build.

But once two people begin getting to know each other, I pay attention to something else.

Do they listen to each other? Are they willing to understand and respect their differences? Do they make time for one another, even when life gets busy?

A photograph or an impressive résumé might spark someone's initial interest, but those things alone cannot tell us what kind of partner a person will be.

That takes time, conversation, and a willingness to look beyond what appears on paper.

Some members need a little encouragement to take a chance on someone they might not have considered before. Others need more time to understand what they truly want.

Sometimes my job is to offer advice. Sometimes it's to listen. And sometimes it's simply to be patient and let things unfold.

Every member moves at a different pace, but my hope for them is always the same.

I want them to find someone who will treat them well, stand beside them through life's ups and downs, and build a happy life together.

Maybe that's why I get emotional when I hear that a couple has decided to get married.

And maybe that's why I sometimes send one more message to a busy member, even when I know she's probably too occupied to answer.

I suppose that little bit of motherly concern has become part of the way I work.

These days, I still begin many mornings listening to the songs my friend sends me.

Some remind me of moments long forgotten. Others bring back memories of my mother. And sometimes, a song that once meant very little suddenly feels as though it was written just for me.

Perhaps that's one of the things that comes with age. The more life we experience, the more meaning we find in the simplest things.

There are mornings when I cry so much that my face looks like a full moon by the time I get to work.

But I've stopped feeling embarrassed about it.

I'm grateful that I can still be moved by someone's happiness, miss the people I love, and feel so deeply about the lives of those who have become part of mine.

And to my friend who keeps sending me all those wonderful songs:

Thank you.

You've been making me cry quite a lot lately.

But I don't mind one bit.

DUO - Jennifer Lee