Ninety-Nine Years Blessed

My cousin Nguyễn Lê Hùng wrote a poem for my mom after her passing. I read it at her memorial service.

To Bác Hoạt, a Beloved Vietnamese Mother, Ninety-Nine Years Blessed

Today I offer my last wish of honor,
With gratitude, remembrance, and love,
For a Vietnamese mother blessed with ninety-nine full years,
Now gently resting in the heaven peace above.

I remember in the summer of 1975,
When we crossed the sea to a new homeland;
You and your children shared the same condominium,
Beside my family and nephews, hand in hand.
In the early days, we built our immigrant homes from hope,
And your presence made that new beginning kind.

You were a Vietnamese mother of enduring grace,
Tireless in labor, selfless in every care;
Through weary days, you comforted your children,
Giving without measure, always there.
Your love reached far beyond the family doorway,
Across the vast ocean, steadfast and deep;
Even the wind, the waves, and distant shorelines
Seemed to grow still when your memories spoke.

We celebrate your blessed and enriching journey—
A life rewarding, fulfilled, and complete;
Ninety-nine years of family, faith, and giving,
A harvest of love both abundant and sweet.

Though you have gently left this earthly home,
You remain forever in our hearts and stories.
May heaven welcome you among your loved ones and friends,
Where radiant landscapes shine in endless glory.
Dance lightly upon the rainbows, dear Vietnamese Mother,
In joy, in beauty, and in peace evermore.

With Love and Cherished Memories,

Cháu Hùng

I'm So Sorry For Your Loss

Lan's poem for her grandma

That’s very nice of you.

But you don’t understand my loss.
Some grandmas grew up in a nice church family.
Some could turn a house into a home.
Some might have, on occasion, made a jello salad for a potluck.

Mine ran her own business and left it all behind.
Mine brought her family to this country at the end of the Vietnam War.
Mine took college classes in her second language.
Mine could beat you at chess.

My grandma lived with me for the last three and a half years.
She had dementia, and it only continued to progress.
Dad doesn’t want her memory to be reduced to how she was at the end.
But that’s what I know best.

That’s what I’ve grown to love, and it’s what I miss.

I miss her wearing her stupid pink jacket when it was too hot outside.
I miss her telling Mom that she had been brushing her teeth for two whole minutes.
I miss waking up because she was sneaking around in the middle of the night.
I miss her stealing the cookies that were meant for my clients.
I miss seeing her rifle through the mail.
I miss having her push the shopping cart with her sunglasses on.
I miss seeing her pretend to box with Drakeson.
I miss hearing her laugh at Lucille Ball eating too many chocolates.
I miss braiding her hair.
I miss her recitations of Vietnamese poetry.
I miss noticing that it was beautiful outside, but only because she had told me so.
I miss that every outing was a field trip.

Every outing was a field trip.

Dad remembers an elegant, classy, and determined lady.
I remember the one who made every outing a field trip.
At age 48, she got onto that boat.
At age 99, she changed her little shoes and sat patiently on her little table.
She was too busy that day to not go push that cart.

But here's the thing.
It's all the same.
Her strength never wavered.
For the ladies who make the jello salads don’t steal the cookies.
They don’t pack their bags for secret trips.
They don't scale the balcony.
They don’t win at cards.
Or put their money where their mouth is.
They hardly ever make it to 99,
They lose at chess,
And they never, ever make every outing a field trip.

I want you by my side for every field trip.
Sit with me in the car again and laugh at the traffic.
Push the cart. I promise not to walk too far ahead.
I'll help you get buckled.
I'll hold your hand in the parking lot so we don't get lost.
And you'll hold my hand.
I'll need you to, because you've always been, and always will be
Braver and stronger than I am.
And together, we'll see all there is to see.

My Mother-in-Law

This was what Tom said at my mom's memorial service.

She was my mother-in-law for nearly 47 years.  I don’t think she was that happy about it at first. She had just uprooted her family from her home country, and her beautiful daughter was marrying a big dumb American who didn’t speak Vietnamese.

For almost all of those 47 years, we lived fairly close to each other and saw each other quite often. She always impressed me as a very strong, very classy individual. She was certainly dealt a pretty tough hand to play. Forced to flee her home country in her late 40s, she escaped with her family to a strange cold country where nobody spoke her language, and with very little money. But with unending energy and determination, she played that hand beautifully, learning the language, getting a job, and buying a house before moving to Virginia in 1989 to be closer to us.

Until 2022, we lived close to each other in Virginia, and we got together many times. I got the feeling that she grew to like me or at least to be happy that I was on the scene. She was always kind to my parents, and I think they grew to respect each other and enjoy each other’s company. I’m sure that our marriage was not what either set of parents had imagined, but I know that my parents grew to be very proud of their daughter-in-law and her parents. When my mother could no longer travel, my mother-in-law always told me that she missed my parents. It seems to me that both my own parents and my in-laws grew from tolerance or acceptance, to something close to pride and love for their in-laws and their in-laws’ parents.

My mother-in-law reached her 90^th birthday before she slowed down and even then, she was in no mood to sit around. She was always very energetic and ready for an outing, and this is one of the biggest of many things about her that I will miss. Even when dementia robbed her of so much, so much of her spirit was still evident and her abundant energy showed through until the last few days. She was a dynamic woman and one of the joys in my life was to know her.

Mom's Celebration of Life

I had planned Mom's 99th birthday to be on a bat watching sunset cruise on Lady Bird Lake. In October. Even though her real birthday was in January. Because her paper birthday was in October.

Mom had a different plan. She left us three weeks prior to the party.

To borrow my dear friend Jane’s words, my mom left this life peacefully on the wings of angels. What a lovely transport supporting her. My mom left at 2:17pm on Tuesday October 6th. Lan said my mom left at that time so she could attend the Mad Hatter/Alice Party that evening. But I think also because that’s when all people who were living with her were with her at her bedside (and that window was so tight), plus my sister and brother from out of town. Mom’s 99th Birthday party will be a Celebration of Life party. We’ll pay tribute to my mom and share stories about her and you’re invited to do the same. We’ll raise our glasses in her honor. We’ll laugh and cry and hug each other. We’ll take pictures for her memory book.

The party was held to celebrate the life of a remarkable woman who took her five children out of Vietnam at the end of the Vietnam War to the land of opportunity. I owe my existing life to her. The following was what I shared about my mom.

Hello everyone,

This was supposed to be Mom’s 99th birthday party. The angels came to take her on a trip away from this world three weeks ago on a Tuesday. I had prepared this speech before her passing, not knowing I’d have to change many present tenses to past tenses.

My mom turned 99 on January 13th. My friend said my mom was already 100 years old, because in Vietnam, we are 1 year old at birth and gain a year of age at each Lunar New Year. But my mom was actually already 101 because she was born on Dec 10, 1926 (lunar calendar). She was 1 year old on the day she was born and turned 2 on Jan 1, 1927 (Lunar New Year) when she had been in the world for a mere 20 days.

Thank you for being here to celebrate my mom’s life, a remarkable life that began in Ninh Tảo Village in northern Vietnam, wound its way south to Đà Lạt and Saigon, crossed the Pacific Ocean to Arkansas, Illinois, Virginia, and ended in the heart of the Texas Hill Country.

I’d like to share a few things about my mom.

•      My mom loved to learn and loved to travel.

She came to the US when she was 48 years old, starting out working in a factory. She took ESOL classes and attended community colleges where she earned straight A’s and obtained a degree that landed her desk jobs at a publishing company and at a doctor’s office.

She had whitewater rafted, cruised the ocean, hiked on steep or snowy mountain trails, posed with buffalos and elk and wild horses, gone to Europe, survived wars, and more.

•      My mom had a sense of humor.

When George told her that it was her turn to mow the lawn, she retorted “That’s a man’s job.” Then he said, “You should cook and clean,” she replied “That’s also a man’s job.”

•      My mom loved poetry and literature

She read and recited poems. She memorized poems from famous poets as well as folk poems. She had her own poems and essays published in Vietnamese magazines. She used to sit at her computer each day to read the Vietnamese websites, correspond with people through emails, and make comments on FB posts.  

•       My mom had a sweet tooth.

When I asked if she wanted more food after a meal, she would say “No, I’m already very full.” Then I asked “Do you want ice cream?” She would laugh “Yes.” She was known to consume a whole box of chocolates in a single day.

•     My mom prided herself as a good walker.

She used to walk from one village to another to buy and sell cloth in her youth. When she was 90 years old, we had a family reunion in Outer Banks. While visiting the Wright Brothers National Memorial, I asked my mom where she’d like to explore next. There was a group of us (mostly adult males) heading to one location. I asked my mom if she wanted to follow them or to explore another part of the park. She told me to go to another part, because “those people walk too slowly.”

•     My mom loved her independence.

She balked at being transported in a wheelchair. She told her home health caregivers not to come the next day because she could take care of herself.

A nurse came to assess my mom to see what she needed help with. My mom told the nurse “Thank you very much, but I am fine. I do not need help.” My mom spoke in Vietnamese and I didn’t translate “I do not need help” to the nurse.

•     My mom loved to go on car rides.

She would ask Tom “Where are you going?” and it didn’t matter where he was going, she’d say “Take me with you.” Once when Tom was going swimming, she told him that she would sit and watch him swim.

•     My mom loved the game of tam cúc, a Vietnamese card game – even more than car rides

We were playing one day and Lan was leaving to pick up her children from school. I asked my mom if she wanted to go with Lan. Normally she jumped at the chance, but that day she said “No, I’m playing tam cúc.” The same thing happened other times when Tom or George headed out and invited her to go with them while she was playing tam cùc. We played with pennies, dimes, and nickles. I kept a box full of them. After each game, my mom didn’t want to put “her money” back into the box. She’d put the coins in her pocket for safe keeping.

I had planned to ask people to take pictures with my mom. Mom is not here, but please do allow Drakeson to take pictures of you or take selfies tonight and send them to me. I’d like to put them in a memory book for my mom. Let’s celebrate and honor this woman who had earned the respect and admiration of the people who met her.