No one ever wants to talk about death. It’s such a morbid topic. It makes people sad and uncomfortable. As I sit here in total darkness because the little one fell asleep, I wonder if we’re meant to be happy all the time. I can probably relive most of my day and recount all the emotions I had just in a few hours. Partially so emotional lately because I miss my dad. I’d have to say I am an emotional person. I like to experience all emotions and live my life passionately. I’d like to think I’m not as emotional at work but still passionate (yes it’s possible). I’d like to think I’ve somehow inherited my dad’s calmness when he passed. Maybe he heard me when I prayed to him to help me be as calm as he ever was in life, calm but passionate.

I remember way back, a long long time ago because I’m getting old. I was sitting in my dad’s beat up rusty Toyota truck. It was a super simple truck. Petite in today’s terms. I could never tell if it was originally white and faded and yellowed or if it was originally yellow and faded to white. He called it his MR-10. I have so many memories of this thing. Dad would drive it on Mykawa all the time to get to 610 or 45. He would take my friend home from some after school function sometimes. We would take it on the backroads before Fite Rd was a road between McClean and Veterans. This guy would make his own roads taking a left on Broadway before the light at Main St. and drive in the alley until he got to McDonalds. That truck saw us go through so many things in life.

My Dad never really talked much but we always had good conversations. So I’m sitting in my Dad’s truck and he’s driving us home. We somehow started talking about death. Mom never let us talk about it but she wasn’t there. She said we shouldn’t talk about that kind of stuff because it was unlucky and not good. But this day, I remember he told me to just burn him, “don’t worry it!” I remember thinking… yea Dad! What’s the point of getting buried anyways? I’d never want to be in a box and buried. I don’t remember how we started talking about it and what else we said but I remembered that he wanted to be cremated. It made sense to me so I never questioned it. Toss my ashes back into the ground and let the earth keep living. My spirit will always be with those I love most. Or I was getting reborn as a monkey or alien. It could happen. No one knows.

Fast forward, my dad passes, and I’m trying to decide on his memorial. My Mom asked my Dad on his death bed if she could bury him. She wanted to have a place where she could go visit him whenever she wanted. She also wished to be next to him when that time came. Obviously he agreed. Happy wife, happy life, even in death. My dad? He understood the assignment. I visit my dad sometimes. It’s very calming at the cemetery. I don’t go often. I know his body is physically there but I also know his spirit is with me. It’s really for my mom and probably my sister too. Why not make those still living happy? Sometimes it’s just not about you.

I think the long time notion of not discussing death and sadness is crippling society. Pushing the thought that we should overcome whatever it is and just be happy is not dealing with the problem. Death is a part of life. Sadness and grief are a part of life. Being emotional is part of life. Speaking about it comfortably needs to be the norm. Because we don’t discuss things even amongst friends, people have a false notion of what life truly is. People have a fictional idea of how people actually live. It’s not kittens and rainbows all the time. It’s dirty and ugly too. Sometimes, it’s cleaning an overflowing toilet that won’t stop.

Specifically this relates to a hot topic right now, abortion. If people really know how badly abortion needs to be healthcare, well, we wouldn’t be arguing over it. But also, allowing the government to make laws on what we can and cannot do with our bodies is opening a can of worms that should be left alone. It may be abortion today and mandatory vaccines tomorrow. Don’t doubt it! If they come for me today, one day they will come for you.

Mental health is a thing. Is it uncomfortable talking to someone who isn’t happy? Sometimes, but don’t make that person feel bad for not being happy. It’s ok not to be happy all the time. It’s ok not to be yourself all the time. It’s ok to be sad and depressed. It’s perfectly fine to sleep the whole weekend and allow yourself to reset. It’s ok if you just want to be alone. Whatever outlet you have, embrace it and allow yourself to be human. It’s also perfectly ok to talk to someone about your feelings and emotions. Everyone needs an outlet.

So I leave you with this last piece of calm “ahhhhh” moment. Obviously I love BTS. I think true Army fans are very supportive, friendly, and have positive vibes. I just want to add that Disney is also a positive vibe. We recently visited Walk Disney World. My MIL before she passed wanted us all to go to Disney World. She didn’t make it so we thought we would go this year. It was amazing. The trip was fantastic. There is a Facebook Group “Walt Disney World Tips and Tricks” that is amazing. I’ve already gone to Disney World but I like to read the posts and comments. So many people post about their experiences. It’s amazing to see so many supportive people on there. It gives me hope that not all people are lost. If you ever need positive vibes, not that you ever need an excuse to go to Disney, I highly encourage a Disney trip. I’ve gone to Disney various times throughout my life and I just cannot get enough Disney vibes.

Last last… if something were to ever happent to me, I hope it doesn’t happen until I’m way way old, I’d prefer the burn versus the bury. BUT if my loves really wanted me to be buried then burn me then bury. It’s a compromise.

All my life people would ask me, “What are you?” Honestly, what kind of question is that? I’m a human. What are you? “Where did you come from? “My mother.” I swear, people ask questions worded in the most ridiculous ways. But, I digress. What’s my ancestral background? It’s taking me a lifetime to figure out because some of it doesn’t make sense. Life is complicated… more so than I’ll ever know. I’m so grateful my parents survived through it all.

I’m Chinese but mixed mainland Chinese. Dad is Hokkien. Mom is half Hainan and half Cantonese. Do I have a Chinese name? Sure do! When I was kid, we had this project at school: What does your name mean? I didn’t have that book of names and meanings. The internet probably existed but I didn’t have access. This was pre AOL dial up era. Googling meant going to the library and searching through the library catalog for books on subject. So, who better to ask than the two people who made me. It went like this:

Me: Um, so how did you come up with my name? What does it mean?
Dad: Ask your mom. She named you.
Mom: Hmm… I don’t know. It just came to me. What does it mean? See the hanging fruit basket? It sounds pretty.
Me: You called me a fruit basket?

(Face palm)

You’re asking what I did for my project right? It’s a no brainer. I drew that gawd damn hanging fruit basket. FML. For added details… it was metal and two tier. Fancy, I know. Lina also means palm tree.

I thought I was named after Lena Horne but my parents didn’t really know who she was.

Many many many years later, Dad passed. I asked Jake to give me Dad’s life story. He’s younger than Dad so he only knew so much but he knew enough. He gave me a lifetime of information. We went down the list of all Dad’s siblings and their full names. Dad’s oldest sister then Dad then his younger sister, Le Na (Lee Nah). I looked at Mom with a WTF look. Lady! Mom said she had no idea. All her life, Mom called Dad’s little sister, Jay, which means older sister to her since she was older than Mom. Up until this glass breaking moment, all that I knew about my aunt was that she was a doctor, Dad adored her, and she died during the Khmer Rouge.

My aunt’s name was Le Na. She was newly ish married to some guy. She wasn’t just any doctor, she was a surgeon. She spoke English, French, and Cambodian. Dad put her through school as he did the rest of his younger siblings. Rumor is she studied abroad. She studied and worked amongst French and English doctors. I heard she was a good doctor. Mom only had a few meetings with her so she really couldn’t speak about her. Dad never talked about her. What I know of her is from Jake. I wish I knew more.

When the Khmer Rouge took over, fear swept the country. Everyone knew what they were about and you were either with them or getting the fuck away asap. The Khmer Rouge were all about self sustainability. Basically everyone farms the shit out of the land and they don’t need help from any outsiders. If you didn’t read any of my previous posts, well, the gist of the Khmer Rouge is, if you don’t agree with them, you die. Or, you run.

Word spread fast that the Khmer Rouge were evacuating everyone into the country. It was 1974 and Olympic Market just got bombed. Dad was in Ream. Mom was on her way back to Ream from Phnom Penh. My aunt, however, was still in the city (Phnom Penh). They told her to run. It was dangerous. My aunt is educated, a surgeon. She’s a threat to the Khmer Rouge. They don’t like people like her. A lot of bombings started. One of the bombs killed my mom’s uncle, my cousins’ from Vietnam’s grandfather, my grandfather’s older brother.

From Koh Ta Kiev, Dad escaped to Thailand with his mom, youngest brother and his two friends’ kids. Mom escaped soon after, both on a boat. They eventually end up at a refugee camp in the Khlong Yai District. Dad would take his boat looking for his siblings at every camp he could find. He would talk to everyone for any word about his family and the two kids’ families. After a few weeks, he would find Jake in Trat.

After so many weeks, I’m not really sure how long it took but Dad finally got word about my Suy Gau or younger aunt. Rumor had it, she went back to her home and waited for her husband to come so they could escape together. Her husband never came back home. The Khmer Rouge found her. My guess is she refused to “escape” to the countryside to be forced into slave labor so they shot her. Her husband supposedly is still alive living in Cambodia somewhere with his second wife and family.

Dad never talked about his Moy Moy or little sister. I was told they were close. They would walk around shopping and such with his arm around her shoulder. I can see him smiling too. This isn’t normal pda. Asians are super conservative meaning no touching the opposite sex. I think it broke Dad’s heart that he couldn’t save her so he couldn’t ever talk about her. There was just one time during my life that all Dad’s siblings were at the house visiting. My brother and I snuck part way down the stairs and we saw them all crying. They were speaking in Cambodian so we couldn’t understand anything. It was the first time I ever saw Dad cry. The second and last time was when I told him to open his eyes, so I physically opened his eyes and he cried because he couldn’t see me after he had that big stroke. That was a week before he passed.

There was one period of time that Dad’s mom moved in with us. She had Alzheimer’s so she didn’t know where she was half the time. I remember at one point, I just came home and everyone was eating dinner. She looked at me and said something really nice in Cambodian. She told Dad that I was the best one. Now seeing everything and putting pieces together, I really do think she meant my aunt. I’m pretty convinced she was. My grandmother didn’t think too much about me nor did she know me very well.

I can’t tell you why Dad never told me that his Moy Moy’s name was Le Na. I can’t rationalize why he never told me more about her. I really wish I knew how she was and what she was like. He told me once she was a doctor and he was proud when he said it. I know why he didn’t tell Mom about her name. Mom is superstitious and naming a baby after a deceased person is either bad luck or bad karma. Maybe it was his way of having her live a life he didn’t get to see her live? Hopefully they’re catching up in the after life.

I love the meaning of names. Mom said my name came to her in her sleep once. It only took most of my life to confirm I’m not a fucking hanging fruit basket.

That one night a year ago was the night that would be the beginning of the end for Dad. I wasn’t there. I remember telling him the day before that he needed to be good because I wouldn’t be around to take him to the hospital if he needed. I said it jokingly because that’s how we talked. Daddy’s girl. We spoke mainly light heartedly, with a little sarcasm, a little making fun of something serious, a little honesty and a little serious. But he said ok in that same jokey tone.

A day or so later, I got a text from my brother telling me Dad wasn’t feeling well. I called Dad asap. I wasn’t too worried because my brother was home helping me keep an eye on him. But honestly, I should have been there for him. I’m the only one who could ever get Dad in the car to go to a doctor check up. Dad wasn’t feeling good. I told him he needed to go to the ER now but he wanted to wait for my mom to come home. So I called my mom and told her she needed to go home and take Dad to the ER. I should have left and drove home but I was half a day away. I should have flown back home. I don’t think I could have saved him but I want to think I could have though I feel like it would be the same outcome. There are so many worse case scenarios so I should be grateful I was able to be with him until his last breathe.

Dad ended up having a stroke. Mom told the doctors he was having a stroke but they didn’t believe her. How is that possible? It doesn’t make any sense to me. Not until he transferred to Neurology ICU was it discovered that he did indeed have a stroke. They actually uncovered that Dad had many strokes. It makes sense why he started forgetting things. Supposedly discovering neurological strokes is difficult to find. He would faint without reason. The first time I saw him faint it was like someone slow-mo’ed my vision and I couldn’t get up and run to him fast enough to catch him. I should have had his head examined. I never thought about it. I’m lucky Dad stuck around as long as he was able with all those strokes he had. People with diabetes… strokes are a big issue along with heart attacks.

I had a feeling this was it because I wasn’t there. My worse fears actually coming true. Once I had confirmation that things were not going as routine with previous ER visits with Dad, I drove back home as fast as I could. I think I cried most of the way home. When I got to the hospital, he was hooked up with all these things all over his body. He was ventilated. He had these electrodes all over his head. I quickly went to him and held his hand. I told him I was there and that I was sorry it took so long. He squeezed my hand. It was the only way he could communicate now. I fought the tears hard. He didn’t want me to worry. He didn’t want me to cry. He’d been in the ER before having a big accident after Hurricane Ike. He told me not to cry then and not to worry. No matter what, he said he was fine. He was fine with whatever came. “When it’s time, you have to go” he would always say. Who knew his last words to me would be that he doesn’t feel good.

Dude…. FUUUUUUUUUCK!!! That fucking sucks so bad. SO FUCKING BAD. FUCK!

A few days later, we were informed of his future. 10 days and he was done. I stayed with him as much as I could. That last day came so fast and yet so slow. Mom, my sister and I were all there when he took his last breathe. It was heartbreaking but relieving. I didn’t want him to suffer anymore. I’d take the burden if he ever let me. But, he’d never let me. I can hear him already, “go home and take care of your kids. Don’t worry about me. Nothing you can do it.” He’d say it like that, just like that. C’est la vie.

It will be a year now since Dad passed. He’d say, don’t worry about him. He’s fine. I miss him so much, obviously. Grief… there is no clear cut plan to over come it. You kind of just maneuver it as best you can, caving into moments or triggers you can’t control. I guess those long drives have become so therapeutic that I don’t even think about how long they are.

Dad was always happy to see me. If he didn’t hear from me or didn’t see me come over enough, he would call me and check to see if everything was good. Eventually when the kids showed up, he would say I needed to bring the kids over. I miss his goofy hellos. I miss seeing him play with the kids and miss the kids being with him. If ever you can be that one person in someone’s life that is ALWAYS happy to see you, be that person. There is never enough people like this and they aren’t valued enough.

When Dad passed, I just wanted to be where he was, everywhere he had been, engulf myself with anything connected to him. I didn’t want to forget him. He always smelled like car grease, gasoline, or fresh cut grass. I wanted to trap all my memories of him in one place and just run through it somewhat fast forward mode but on replay. Now, it’s that that time of year that will forever be those unavoidable days where I internally test myself to see if I still remember him, every moment of him. I want to remember everything forever. Right now, I want to say I remember every moment of his last days, but truthfully, I don’t. I remember his last day was a cold day.

I pray Dad is at peace and happy just watching over us. I miss him dearly. My forever happy smiley face. My goofy hello guy. My carefree dude. I hope I can be what you were to me, to my kids. Peace be with you, Ba Ba. Love you a looot a lot a lot!

I kind of had a feeling last year’s birthday would be my Dad’s last birthday with us. Seems so pessimistic but he was so frail. I could see it in the pictures from the beginning of last year to his birthday. He had lost so much weight. I should have taken more pictures. I wish I could relive our moments together in a fast forward kind of way. But my mind doesn’t work like that… it skips memories from last year to way back in my early childhood to really quick flashbacks of his smile whenever he saw me come visit (which was a lot and often).

Growing up, we didn’t have much and for the most part I was fine with it. It didn’t stop me from asking my dad for everything. I begged him for a trampoline. I told him I’d never ask him for anything ever again (lie). I actually don’t remember asking him for much after that… other than a car. I never really cared for anything brand new (maybe some clothes but even Walmart clothes were fine with me). Most of everything was hand me downs or used. The trampoline lasted until he passed. We only got rid of it because the dogs had put two huge holes in it. I mean, to my credit, that was a really good ask, right? The kids loved it so I can’t complain.

Celebrations and Holidays were quite simple back in the day. Mom and Dad worked like crazy during the weekdays so weekends were their chill days. Since we lived far from Chinatown, we would spend all day eating, grocery shopping and just browsing. Dad loved to browse. We’d buy our snacks like steamed peanuts, visit the bakeries, stop by the gift shops for those little poppers. I think at one point, I started collecting these Japanese figurines.

So a little Houston history lesson… Milam downtown and St. Emanuel’s was the original Chinatown area. Kim Hung Market is still there although not as busy as it once was. I’m not even sure what’s there any more. Our favorite restaurant was on Rusk and St. Emanuel’s. They were always so busy. I wish I could remember the name. It was definitely our go to. There was a Chinese Theater on the southwest corner of Leeland and St. Emanuel’s. We always wanted to go see a movie there. You could see the movie posters on the outside of the walls. There was also a really popular “mall” on Travis and Dennis. These are the places where I spent with my dad helping him with ideas for meals, trying to get stickers or candy, buying dried cuttle fish and beef jerky. Chinatown was our quality family time.

Today has been… emotional. I miss my dad. I miss saying our silly HELLOOOOOO. I miss his grin… no cares in the world, just pure happiness. At least I have that burned into memory at any given point. I can find comfort in his face. I miss the way he smelled… grass or gasoline, he was always outside working. I miss his cooking. I probably will never eat some of things he made again unless I attempt it… trial and error. That may be scary to even think it. But sometimes those dishes seem to be only what Dad and I eat.

Today, we went to see him. The kids sang him happy birthday. My kid wanted his birthday balloon and I can see him say just give it to her. Don’t make her cry. Yea, I should of let her have it. He would have wanted it that way. Today, we went around Chinatown doing things we would have done if he was still here. Seems so trivial to anyone else who would ask what did I do for my dad’s birthday to hear that we just browsed the stores, shopped the grocery store, picked up desserts and drinks, and took dinner home (you know… pandemic and all). Who would take off a day just for that? It meant everything. That’s exactly what we would have done if he were still here. It was a great day!

Love you, Dad! Wish you were still here. Then I could ask you again, are we Chinese? Or, are we mixed? Because that is still out for debate. (I’m pretty sure I’m mostly Chinese). You’d probably tell me we are Chinese. Miss you so much. Love you A LOT A LOT A LOT! Happy Birthday!