Multitudes

The bookends of grief in our month of joy

On Valentine’s day— the very last day of Tony and I’s honeymoon, while we were in the Ecuadorian Amazon rainforest— I found out that my grandma had passed away.

It marked the end of the 6 weeks she spent in the hospital, cycling between the ER, ICU, internal medicine floors, and nursing home.

It marked the end of her suffering, and a new phase in our grief.

It begins a new chapter for my mother, who has been the primary caretaker of my grandma for the past 15 years.

This last month has been one of the longest of my life.

Celebrating Diana’s 2nd birthday in July 2023.

***

Saturday, January 20th: Tony and I were supposed to fly to Panama City. We had grand plans to show my dad the Panama City Canal — one of the great engineering marvels he has on his life bucket list.

It was a much anticipated start to our wedding week, in Cartagena Colombia! 🇨🇴 

That is, until we got a call that my grandma — my mother’s mother, my Bà — was in the ER at the hospital. Turns out she had actually been in the hospital for a few weeks, which my mom had decided to keep from me so as to not stress me out before the wedding. 

We scrapped our Panama plans, and instead Tony and I flew down to San Diego, for what felt like the last time I might see Bà alive. 

The timing of it all was startling.

I didn’t expect to be possibly saying goodbye to my grandma the week of my wedding.

I didn’t expect that there was a chance my mom would miss my wedding to stay behind with Bà.

I didn’t expect my mom would still try to take care of me, even when she herself was in an impossible situation.

I didn’t expect to deal with mortality and dignity and end of life care exactly one week after I had finished reading Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters in the End (a must read, by the way).

I didn’t expect any of it.

Neither did Tony, my poor husband-to-be. What a way to start the wedding week. There was so much uncertainty and heartache to navigate, but Tony was the support I needed to stay resilient, grounded, and present.

***

Saturday, January 27th: Tony and I get married! 🎉

We left for Cartagena the previous Wednesday, hearts heavy and minds running endlessly on loop. It was extremely difficult for me to get my head and heart back into the idea that we were having a wedding in Colombia with 90 of our friends and family in attendance.

I wondered if I should try to keep things to myself — after all, talking about a dying grandmother certainly doesn’t scream LET’S GET MARRIED! And I wanted our guests to enjoy themselves, not be burdened with such news.

But those first few days, I was in such a spiral I had no choice but to send out emergency texts and bat signals. I’m beyond thankful for the family and friends who were there for me that week. I’ll never forget the cousin huddle on beach day where I just started crying about Bà. And all the check-ins and hugs from Dom, Irene, Alissa, Jenny, Vron, David, Kiet… and so many more throughout the week and the weeks since— an absolute lifeline.

With everyone’s support, we were able to hold enough space in my head and my heart for all the multitudes of joy, sorrow, excitement, uncertainty, love, guilt, and fears of life, marriage, and death.

P.S. Whoever said “weddings are fun” is absolutely nuts, I never want to do one ever again :P

***

Wednesday, January 31st: Tony and I begin our honeymoon in Ecuador 🐢

After the wedding, we had some incredible decompression time with some friends in Medellin for a few days. These few days were what really helped me de-stress (who ever said having a wedding is fun??), and it was so lovely to be able to connect more deeply and 1:1 with a few friends.

But then Tony and I began our honeymoon — which was slightly nerve-wracking given the news of the War against the drug cartels and the President’s declared State of Emergency. Would Tony and I be kidnapped as we made our way across Ecuador??

Turns out all of our anxieties were unnecessary. Ecuador is amazing. The country is gorgeous, the people are kind. It felt safer, cleaner, and more well-run than Oakland :P

Our adventures across the Galapagos, cloud rain forests, mountain hot springs, and Amazon Rainforest have been PEAK HAPPINESS and adventure. Tony and I have seen so much incredible wildlife, and have had so many wonderful moments and memories each day. Day by day, I found myself relaxing and enjoying the moment more fully. 

My mom even sent pictures of Bà looking stronger and stronger in the hospital. She sent videos of Bà doing her squats in physical therapy. I found myself relaxing and thinking about her less and less. I thought to myself, she’s going to make it.

I let myself relax.

I soaked up the equatorial sun.

And then on the very last day of our honeymoon, we received the news:

Bà passed away this morning. 

***

My mom is now an orphan. Do you still use the term orphan for adults who have lost their parents? I can’t imagine that the pain isn’t as deep, that it doesn’t still displace your sense of self and relation to the world.

My heart aches for my mom’s grief. And for my uncles and aunts and cousins. And for me. Death is painful for those that are left behind.

I’m no longer a practicing Catholic, but yesterday I found it comforting to imagine my grandma and grandpa reunited in heaven. I don’t know if it exists, but it’s never felt more real or more needed until now.

My mom has been my grandma’s primary caretaker for the last 15 years. This will be a huge, huge adjustment for her. If you have tips and resources on how to support a loved one while they grieve, please send. 

***

Thursday, February 15th: Tony and I watched a few episodes of Atlanta on our flight home. In it, a character says, “how do you know you’re living unless you’re close to death?”

Other quotes I’ve found in the last day that are comforting:

"In the midst of life, we are in death." - Book of Common Prayer

"Joy and sorrow are the light and shade of life; without light and shade no picture is clear." - Hazrat Inayat Khan

"The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain." - Kahlil Gibran

To have such joy and life bookended by such grief and mortality is a whiplash I haven’t experienced often. I know there’s nothing in this month that hasn’t already been experienced by millions of others, daily. But this expansiveness of the human experience has humbled me.

I’m thankful to have a support network to lean on, and to help hold space for all the multitude of emotions.

***

I can’t quite wrap my head or heart around all that Bà was and is to me. She’s a link to the motherland, although one that was often choked by language barriers and missed translations. She taught me about skincare, and what it meant to take pride in your appearance. She taught me about very old-school, outdated gender norms of Vietnam, circa 1930-50s. She taught me manners. She taught me how to make bánh bèo, and about the simple joy of an afternoon ice cream.

She showed me how to adapt, how to be resilient, and how to maintain resolute optimism and core values despite massive change. Bà has lived many different lives — each chapter an almost complete 180. First, she grew up wealthy, but learned how to remain generous. Next, she started a family with my grandfather, which was quickly turned on its head with the Vietnam War. Then, she survived the War with her five children while my grandfather fought in the army. After the War, my grandfather was interned at a concentration (a Communist “re-education camp”) for almost 20 years— once again leaving Bà alone with her adult children, the oldest of two who made the treacherous journey to the United States via boat. Next, she started a new life in the United States in her 50s. A new country, a new language, a new environment, a new way of being in the world. And lastly, the years after my grandfather died, as she lived with my parents in our home. Throughout it all, Bà remained a constant source of strength, optimism, resolve, and insanely amazing skincare (lol).

My grandma was a woman of few words, and oftentimes, the words that did come out were scathing (but well-intentioned) remarks on my appearance. Later in life, she softened her words, resorting mostly to stern nods and devious winks.

It wasn’t until my last visit over Christmas where I started asking her more about her life. Who was her mom and dad? What did she remember from childhood? What did she do with her brothers and sisters? These questions weren’t spurred by thoughts of imminent death. Bà was relatively healthy then. I mostly asked because I found it remarkable that in just a few short decades, time can completely erase your family tree and any stories that may come from it, unless you have a family historian working to document.

I learned that her mother, my great-grandmother, was a smart businesswoman with a drunk (and useless) husband. She was the biggest rice distributor in their small town, but she was generous. My Bà cố fed the hungry regularly. Bà herself grew up with servants and nannies, which meant that later in life, during the Vietnam War when the family lost all their money, Bà had to teach herself a lot when it came to domestic duties.

I regret I never asked her more about her life.

***

I’m headed back to SoCal next week. The Phamily is celebrating Emily’s 5th birthday on Saturday, and my grandma’s life on Monday.

Four generations of women in the family (Nov 2023)