For Mom

Four months have passed since I’ve lost my mom to stomach cancer. I find myself replaying those final moments—on June 9th—of me and my dad, each one of us on the left and right side of the bed my mom was laying on, as we tried everything to console her when her vitals started to become undetectable—but in the back of my mind, I knew. But a part of me wasn’t willing to accept it. How could I? To imagine how life would be like without her; to not hear her tender voice; to not see her sweet smile; and to not have the chance to share anymore stories with her. All of this would have been devastating. On that day, however, I just knew that this would be it—the end of our 5 year journey fighting cancer together. And when the moment came, she passed away in dad’s arms. My dad lowered her body, crossed both her arms, and—with a deep sigh and heavy heart—he told her to rest easy.

A lot happened that day; so many things happened too fast, too soon. It was a day where I couldn’t really put into words. I was choking back tears; dawning a tired and weary disposition as I tried to maintain composure; and trying to rationalize a juxtaposition of denial and acceptance all at once. I felt frozen. But as the day wore on, I remember walking around multiple rounds around the neighborhood, just to make sense of what had just happened. I tried to find solace by listening to the brushing wind grazing across the trees; observed the butterflies and bees fluttering around the flowers; and saw a couple of white egrets flying across the clear, open sky. Deep down, I wanted to believe my mom was somehow still here—watching over.

When my mom had her funeral service, I didn’t get a chance to read this out loud. I spent the night before writing and re-writing this sort of eulogy. Thankfully, my dad was the one that spoke on our family’s behalf, accompanied by his own and truest words. Still, also had my own message to share:

For anyone who knew Mrs. Thanh Thi Ho, many would describe her as being kind, gentle, giving, diligent, caring, compassionate, and loving.  All of these traits are, in fact, true.  But to me she was just mom.  She was the person who would pick me and my brothers home from school when we were younger.  She was the person who reminded us of the customs of how to arrange the dishes and utensils whenever it was the Tết Festival.  She was the person who made some of the tastiest Vietnamese food I’ve ever eaten.  She was the person who, through her actions, made everyone feel included, even if she’s only met them in passing.  She was my first friend.  She was everything.

During the past 5 years, my mom had been battling stage 4 stomach cancer. Throughout this entire journey, she had shown such strength and resilience.  She had gone through so many surgeries, blood tests, infusions, CTs and MRIs, and just a litany of other procedures.  And as challenging as everything was, we were willing to fight with her and for her.   Hence, we are so incredibly thankful for everyone who has helped us along the way, however big or small, for without the support and encouragement, we cannot even imagine we would be otherwise. Every single day that she was with us was a gift.  

Alas, I’d like to share a poem by Frank L. Meyskens:

“Don’t ever say farewell

Never wish me a goodbye

   Adieu

   Au revoir

For it’s in your eyes

I see the forever and amour

Don’t ever say goodbye,

in the darkness of your night

For the courage of your hope

Brings miracles at dawn

Wait until the morning comes”