Writing things about the moment everything changes using time, senses, location, and emotion.
This is the first time I tell the story of Ba Minh, a long-time and close friend of my mother. Ba is father in Vietnamese and Minh is his name. I have been writing this blog for a long time. I have been covering so many things that happened to me from the past until now. I have known Ba Minh since I was 7 years old. He was an important figure in my family but I edited him out from every single entry. Thinking about you painting a picture of your family and erasing one person completely all the time. No wonder I always feel that I have a big empty hole inside my chest. Never whole!
Today I decided I would tell my story that included Ba Minh. It is not easy but is a must!
If you do not know where to start, begin in the middle. (Andrea Cagan)
8 years ago, in 2015, I got a message on Facebook from my Vietnamese friend, Nhung, “Chau, Ba Minh passed away. Please let your sister and brother know.” Looking at the day she told me when Ba Minh died, I was confused. I asked her, “May 12 or May 13?”
She confirmed, “May 13”.
I got mad suddenly.
May 13. That is my sister’s birthday. How dare he? That was what I thought. I told Nhung that I would inform my sister and brother. I did not. Two days later Nhung followed up with me asking if I had let my siblings know yet. She texted, “They will bring him to the burial site tomorrow. He will be buried at An Binh (peace in English) cemetery”. I said that I would. Again, I did not.
I remember feeling my blood boiling up for a few days after I received the news, and I did not know why. I just knew that I got so mad and angry. I had been doing meditation for a while up to that point. These couple of days everything inside me fell into chaos. I kept it cool. I kept the information to myself for a while. I felt mad and then felt sick inside the stomach but eventually, guilt was too overwhelming to bear.
After a few months, one day, both my husband and I drove to Sewer Park at Lake Washington for a walk with my dog, Happie. Suddenly, out of the blue, I disclosed to my husband that Ba Minh died on May 13, and I did not inform my sister and brother.
I busted out crying with my guilt. My siblings should have known so they could show their respect to the dead at the funeral. They love Ba Minh very much. I used to love him very much. Because of my anger, ill intention, and madness, I did not allow that to happen.
For the first time in my life, I told my husband that I hated him. My husband kept driving to the park, silent. He let me cry and asked why I hated him. I cried out, shaking uncontrollably then managed to share that “he kissed me on my mouth with his tongue. That nasty guy now I think about it.” My husband stayed quiet, but I could hear his long sigh.
Finally, after 1 hr. 30 minutes of walking the loop mostly in silence, my husband told me,” When you are ready you should tell your siblings.”
I do not remember when I managed to call my brother and sister to do so. Both gently asked me why I announced the news that late. They could have come to the funeral. I told them that his passing was on my little sister’s birthday. I did not want to share.
My siblings apparently were more mature than me. Right away that weekend, both came to the An Binh cemetery to pay the proper visit to Ba Minh at his fresh grave site. I guess it was several months old by that time.
After that, they shared that it was hard to locate the burial site in the cemetery, but they did and placed fruit offerings and burning incense for Ba Minh. They also burnt one incense on my behalf. I stayed silent.
The day Nhung told me that Ba Minh passed on May 13 was the moment that changed everything upside down. I felt cold but the ground underneath was shaking. For years, people have been gossiping here and there that my sister does not share the same father with me and my brother. There were so many hints and clues to prove that my little sister was Ba Minh’s daughter, the result of my mother having an affair with him. The affair was one of the reasons that my parents got divorced. I would never allow myself to believe that.
When she was alive, my mother constantly reminded me that the three of us came from the same parents. I faithfully and blindly believed that. I love my little sister dearly and would never ever allow that truth to be revealed in my mind. My brother and a little sister suggested things that they would know the truth and I would shut both down.
I remember someone raised it up; I would snap my eyes at them violently to stare him/her down as well. I remember chasing one lady down and out of my apartment when she tried to blackmail us, threatening to reveal the truth. I was 8 months pregnant with my son. I almost put both me and my baby in danger by running down from my apartment on the fourth floor on foot, yelling and screaming, and kicking on her moped. In my mind, I knew that I could stab that lady to death if I had a knife in my hand.
My father, my mother and now Ba Minh died. No one could tell us anything. Everyone kept silent to ignore the big elephant in the room. The fact that he died on May 13 the same day as my sister’s birthday triggered my madness and anger toward him for the very first time was the last clue the universe sent to me to reveal the truth.
Today I realized that I grieved Ba Minh’s passing with hate and anger. No dead person would deserve that treatment. Grief is love (David Kessler)
For the exercise, I will write a letter to Ba Minh to share all of my feelings for him.
I will continue to remind myself that I will be gentle to myself and to Ba Minh
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