It's not like Abraham leaving his homeland;
It's not like Moses leading the Israelites out of Egypt;
It's simply an exodus for survival;
With my Dad leading the way.

This year, it would be 40th year;
Since he left the country.
The Motherland did not cry for him;
25 years of dedication faded inconsequence.

This new year, he was no longer here.
He left for the real homeland.
He left for the real freedom;
He left for the Land Promised.

My Dad said goodbye in his traditional Vietnamese dress.
He closed his eyes forever only to see the Glory of God.
At the end, he denounced the earthly citizenships;
To be called: son of God.

Vietnamese or American mattered no more.
Line in the sand was replaced by the lineage of his seeds.
May the Lord God of Mercy;
Bless the sons and daughters of this leader unforgotten.

 

It's been 100 days, since my Dad passed away.
Everyday, I said at least one rosary in his memory.
I pray that God would save his soul and grant him peace.
I pray that God would embrace him and welcome him into His Kingdom.

Then I pray for the folks he left behind.
I pray for health and peace for my Mom.

I pray for love and comfort for my siblings.

And I pray for the day of our reunion in His Glory.

 

Then I ask God to make a guardian angel out of the old fighter.

To guide us and protect us from our own weaknesses.

To teach us to live a life worthy of His Sacrifice, His Mercy and His Love.

To boldly put up a good fight, to finish the race, and to keep the faith.

 

I light a candle in his memory.
I kneel down and offer a humble prayer.

I bow down and make the sign  of the cross.

Merry Christmas, Dad. This rosary is for you.

Hi Dad,

 

If you could know what goes through my head now, I want to tell you I remember your birthday.  It would have been your 83rd birthday today, only if you have lived long enough to ask Noah and Bradley to blow out the candles on your cake for you.  Yes, I remember today, but then... I really miss celebrating your birthday.  It has been 90 days since you left us. 

 

> Our family's last Thanksgiving was not the same.  Unlike previous gatherings, where you sat at the end of the table with mom, where everyone took turns telling you stories, there was not a lot of stories told last Thanksgiving when you weren't in that chair.  Dad, I didn't remember you ever said much at the table, it was mostly us talking.  But if you basically just sat there listening, how come we felt such a void when you were not there?  I think the person who felt it the most was mom.  She didn't even want to sit down.  At some points, we saw her eyes got red and her dabbing them.  I guess it was hard for mom to get used to not having you around after 60 years.  We kids went on like normal, or at least we tried to, knowing full well it will never be the same normal again. Yes, we all felt the physical vacancy as we wished there could be some kind of morphine to numb the pain in our hearts.

 

Each of us grieved and mourned your loss in our own way.  But I tell you dad, I thought I would never see the guys in our family cry,... until you died!  By now, we found out that the biggest cry baby of all was chị Vỹ.  As for me, I acted really cool when around people, but I missed you the most when I walked the dogs.  Sometimes I just sobbed, out of the blue, like a helpless orphan feeling so lost in the world or so full of self-pity for losing the most precious possession.  Isn't that the weirdest thing, dad?  I am 52, not a little kid, not a helpless orphan!

 

I got in the habit of saying rosaries for you while walking around the neighborhood.  But half the time, my mine was not on the actual prayers but kept wandering back to the time when you stayed at our house.  I missed waking you up for breakfast and doing little things for you.  I missed lingering around the dinner table listening to your stories about life back in VN.  I missed the positive vibes you brought to our lives despite the sufferings you had to endure.  As your body got weaker and weaker, your mind and your spirit became stronger and stronger.  Even when you knew your days were numbered, you didn't want to leave us.  You were so looking forward to the next chemo round, no matter how painful, hoping it would be the actual miracle cure.  You didn't want to leave us because you loved us so much.  You were willing to fight the leukemia battle at any cost,...just to stay with us.  I remembered your face when the doctor said there was no more effective treatment available.  That was clearly your saddest day.  To lose hope, for you, was worst thing ever!

 

Would you have a birthday party in heaven today dad?  Or would your new birthday be September 16th from now on in your new life?  Whatever it is, we want to celebrate your life and remember your death every year, for you not only gave us life, you taught us how to live, how to fight for your life, and how to surrender to God's will with grace and peace.

 

Happy Birthday dad.  We will always love you.

 

Huyen

 

Happy Birthday, Dad.