Thriving 30, Volume 05: What happens when you lose someone special?

I think most of my friends know that I lost my dad my first year of college, but here is me reflecting on it 10 years later.

They say, “You’ll never appreciate what you have until it’s gone”. Unfortunately you can never prepare for this lesson, and everyone has to experience this in his or her lifetime. Either through romantic relationships or family, from my experience the most painful is family. I want to dedicate this post to the nicest, most handsome man I know, my Ba.  He was educator. He taught math, ESL, and led after school activities. He taught in the daytime, and then delivered SF Chronicle newspaper at night because we were so poor. He needed to have two jobs in order to feed our family. At most, I think he would sleep for 4-5 hours each night. He did all of these things, and yet he still would be able to pick me up and drop me off at school each day. On the weekends, I wouldn’t let him sleep in because I needed him to help with homework or take me to dance practice, let alone his responsibilities with my other siblings and mom. He did all of this… and yet he is not even my biological father.

My family and I are refugees. We escaped Vietnam in 1988, my biological father had the choice to leave with our family. He chose to stay in Vietnam because he couldn’t leave his country and live in a foreign land. My mother escaped the slums of Vietnam, refugee camps in Philippines, and a winter in east coast with 1) absolutely no English 2) 40 bucks and 3) being pregnant. In 1989, we finally made the move to sunny Oakland, California and met my dad at a church. The church was known for helping and reaching out to a lot of Vietnamese immigrants. My mom being Buddhist, joined because she wanted to be engaged in the Vietnamese community. My dad also had a previous family before my mom. In retrospect, I don’t know what kind of connection they had because they are complete opposites. Somehow, some way either fate or pure love got them together. I grew up calling him dad, and knowing that he was dad. I don’t think I was old enough to understand what step-dad or biological dad meant.

He died in 2008 because of a heart attack.  It sucks that I can remember that evening so vividly. We just picked up my first Apple laptop. He promised me he would help me pay for half. I was so excited to get the matte black Apple MacBook since I was upgrading from a COMPAQ (who am I? who is COMPAQ? We actually got that laptop from Circuit City. Who is Circuit City?) I was setting up my computer while my dad was making his black tea. He grinned as he strolled in his room when I heard a grunt. He walked out crouching… I thought he ate something bad and was being dramatic. But he held on to his heart, and fell. My brother rushed over and caught his hand and walked him to a nearby chair, but he was screaming in pain, “My heart, my heart…” he cried. That’s when we called 911. The time span from worrying about my dad and the time it took for the ambulance to come was in a blink of an eye. There was so much commotion in front of our block. Mind you this was during the Christmas holidays…. Everyone was home. All of our neighbors rushed out to see why an ambulance and a fire truck showed up in a residential neighborhood.

He was rushed to Alta Bates while my brother was right beside him. One hour later, my brother made the most difficult call he has ever made in his life. He called my mom’s cell and gave us the news. We rushed to the hospital and there my dad laid with his face as pale as sheets, his hands as cold as stone, and no longer grinning at me. I held his hand, all I can think about was how sorry I was for not telling him how much I loved him.

The most painful part of this was 4 years later when I graduated Cal. I had flashbacks of every time I was a terrible teenager, rude, hormonal, unappreciative, unloving and undeserving of this man that entered my life with no expectations. I was so sad that he didn’t get to know me as an adult, as a woman, and some one who grew up to be a kindhearted, compassionate, and intelligent person.

They say it does get better within time, but no one really talks about is when the holidays come, birthdays, father’s day… it still hurts a little. The Thai commercials do not make it better either. Somehow I like to feel pain and torture myself by watching hours these videos to remind me of my dad. I would sob until I fall asleep. I think if we were adults, we would be really good friends. I think we would have jam sessions and get ice cream together. They odd thing is that he has never been extremely protective of me as most dads are. He has always trusted me to make the best decision and somehow that instilled confidence. He reminded my siblings and I that we were brought up by hardworking and courageous individuals and to always trust our instincts. Now I try to value my siblings more, to value my mom more, because one day I might not be able to see them and the thought of them living 20 minutes away should never be taken for granted. Although there are moments where my mom nags too much, or my brothers can be a little cold, and I can get frustrated, I just think I am so grateful to have a family that cares about my well being and love me. It’s odd that we are so friendly to strangers, but we often treat our family poorly. It’s not until something so drastic happens, we run back and appreciate family when they have been there all along.