Wednesday, January  1 4 , 2 0 0 9

This is a long essay written for all other cousins and relatives that cannot make it to Houston to pay respect to Cậu Năm while he is still alive.

Huyền and Thu were right. It was difficult concentrating at work. The issues of work all of the sudden seemed so unimportant, as I was thinking about Cậu Năm all day. And also about my Mom and Dì Bảy.

Modern medicine of the most advanced country on earth and the minds of the greatest oncologists had failed Cậu Năm. They had given up on Cậu Năm and are now moving Cậu Năm to the Hospice, where there will be no more treatments, no more saline solution for intravenous injection, just oxygen and perhaps occasional pain killers. They are moving Cậu Năm to the final resting place of modern medicine. They put a purple band on his right wrist that says DNR for Do Not Resuscitate or Revive. Once his lung failed, they will let him go.

The email about moving Cậu Năm to the hospice blipped up upon my computer screen, and I was grateful for Anh Quốc for sending it out. I grabbed couple of empty boxes for moving and rushed to the Memorial Hospital. I got there at noon and saw Cậu Năm was resting. In the room were Anh Quốc, Chị Dạ Thu, my sister Hà, Sơn con Dì Bảy, Cô Lisa and two of her sons. All solemnly stood watch over Cậu Năm. Anh Quốc cracked a tired smile welcoming me into the crowded room. He was so exhausted. His earlier email described a horrific battle with Cậu Năm during the night. His sleeping of couple hours a night on a two by five cot under a cold window for the past ten nights had taken a toll on his body. Unshaven, shuffled, and the strain in his blood-shot eyes said it all, and I wondered how this little man can have such capacity of strength and love.

And then, just as though someone reached out and turned off the switch for air supply to Cậu Năm. He exploded into a panic frenzy. He sat up and moved his arms around violently, as he was fighting some unseen enemies. His eyes opened wide but focusing elsewhere and nowhere. His expression was that of pure fear and panic. He tried to breathe and there was no air. He tried to yell but there was no sound. And he tried to grab but there was nothing. Yet he fought with all the strength he had left. He must have seen Death, but not yet wanted to go.

Anh Quốc rushed to his side and tried to calm Cậu Năm down, but Cậu Năm was too powerful. Chị Dạ Thu was holding down his right arm amid her tears and kept saying, "Ba, ráng thở đi Ba" Dad, please try to breath; Hà jumped in to keep the oxygen mask on Cậu Năm's face, while saying, "Cậu Năm không thở, Má con sẻ rày" If you don't breathe, my Mom will be upset. All the while Cô Lisa was standing right next to the bed next to Anh Quốc crying and panicking. Her two sons were standing there crying as well.

 

Dr. Sơn, the son of Dì Bảy, rushed out of the room and asked the nurse for some pain killer. The short little nurse rushed around and came back with a giant syringe full of God-know-what medication. Sơn fought to hold down Cậu Năm, so the nurse could administer the drug. I left the room to say prayer for Cậu Năm and call Dung.

I told Dung that Cậu Năm had seen Death and his last flicker of strength was not much. I told her that he might not have much time left, if any, and I could feel her heart tightening. Dung was all choked up, "Are you OK?" she asked. Only then that I realized that I too was crying. I didn't know if they were tears of fear or sadness, but I knew that I needed her more than ever. I told Dung that I love her.

I got back to the room, and all were calm. The drug Sơn (the Doctor) ordered took effect immediately and Cậu Năm was out cold. His chest rose and fell laboriously, but there were no more fight in him. Anh Quốc, still shaken, quickly wiped his eyes and told me it was much worse last night. He did a lousy job trying to hide his feelings of scare, lost and panic. His eyes declared loudly a desperate need for some shoulders to cry on. I was afraid that he would burst out crying at any moment. Cô Lisa sat sniffling quietly in the corner. The tiny woman seemed so small, lost and lonely. There were no ways to comfort her. Just give her space and respect her pain, I told myself. The ever-present smile on the face of Chị Dạ Thu had gone, as she stood silently by Cậu Năm wiping away her tears and finding comfort in patting away the sweat on Cậu Năm's forehead.

 

The Ambulance Transport guys got there at exactly 1PM. Two big all-American men handled Cậu Năm with ease, as they loaded a passed-out Cậu Năm onto the gurney. Anh Quốc automatically went into organizer-extraordinaire mode and gave instructions to everyone as where to go and what to do. I left to go pick-up my parents and Dì Bảy, as Anh Quốc left with Cậu Năm in the ambulance.

-

Hà had called ahead, so my parents and Dì Bảy were all ready by the time I pulled into the driveway. Dad was waiting for me in the garage; before saying Hello, he asked, "How's Cậu Năm?" His concerns for his best friend and the pain on his face caught me all tearing up again. I told my Dad about what happened at the hospital earlier. He listened tentatively and silently turned the other way to wipe his tears. It is difficult to see one old man walking out of the hospital weeping for his best friend still there.

In the car, I related to my Mom and Dì Bảy what transpired earlier in the day. My Mom sobbed uncontrollably and Dì Bảy too was sniffling. I missed Dì Bảy for being such a good sister to my Mom. Unlike my Mom who is always strict and reserved, Dì Bảy is sweet and gentle. Her presence was so comforting. At the new hospital, I parked in the wrong parking lot, and we had to walk quite a way to the hospice. It was a beautiful but cold day in Houston. I walked briskly carrying in the baggage and belongings of Cậu Năm and Anh Quốc from the old hospital. Behind me, the two sisters walked hand-in-hand hurdling together against the cold wind that was between the buildings. Further behind was my Dad pacing slowly, but as fast as his heart would let him. I said a simple prayer and thank God for families.

Upon our arrival to the hospice room of Cậu Năm and when she saw Cậu Năm laying there on the bed helplessly unconscious, all of the reserved manners disappeared; my Mom completely succumbed to her heart. She wept violently and hold on to Anh Quốc, as though she would faint. Anh Quốc had to take my Mom away and sat her down on the sofa trying to calm her down. Meanwhile, Dì Bảy was all broken up as well. Her eyes that were already reddened by tears were filled up again with waves and waves of more tears. She was holding on to my Mom comforting and getting comforted. After I helped the nurse changed the soiled linen below Cậu Năm, I went out to the living room to fetch my Mom, who at this time, could not even walk by herself. The grief for Cậu Năm was so intense and overwhelming for her.

In the hospice room, Cậu Năm was still unconscious and struggling for every breath. He looked old and dried-up. Lonely. Mom and Dì Bảy sat on the sofa crying their hearts out. Dad sat near the windows, his lips moving slightly as he prayed. Chị Dạ Thu, Chị Dạ Thão, Anh Quốc, Sơn and I hovered around not knowing what to do, but just being there. Huyên (Tí) came in the room and wanted to start a prayer vigil. Thanks God for Tí. As they started the rosary, I sneaked out to go pick up Mợ Năm (Cậu Năm's ex-wife), who was coming at Hobby Airport. Chị Dạ Thão wanted to go with me, but I just could not take her away from her Dad. And besides, I needed to be alone.

In the car, I called Anh Hùng and found out that he had just arrived to the hospice. I called Chị Vy and she said she was still having the flu and cannot come to visit Cậu Năm. I then called Anh Hưng to let him know and he said that he would get there as soon as he can leave work. I didn't know why I called them, but I did. Perhaps I just wanted to make sure that the bonds between us siblings are still strong as I have witnessed those between Mom, Dì Bảy and Cậu Năm. Perhaps I just wanted to hear their voices and to know that they are still there OK.

-

Mợ Năm was short and tiny. She walked slowly out of the gate at the airport and her eyes lit up when she saw me. Even though we had not seen each other for over thirty years, something inside me told me that this tiny woman is Mợ Năm. Mợ Năm smiled gently and said, "Con Ông Chính, phải không?" (Mr. Chính's son, right?) and she proceeded to tell me how much I look like my Dad. She walked slowly and hold onto my hand as we went out to pick up her luggage.

On the way to the hospice, Mợ Năm talked non-stop. She was nervous and anxious, yet she chatted incessantly for an hour while we were in traffic. She talked about God, religion and her recurring dreams; then she talked about her family and her church. She became more agitated when we arrived at the hospice. She quieted down walking the hall of the hospice and finally asked me, "How's Cậu Năm?"  I told her Cậu Năm is in a very bad shape and that I am most certain that he and her children would be so happy to see her. She was not pleased with my reply, but resigned. Mợ Năm was cool, calm and collected, as she walked into the hospice room. She was quickly overwhelmed by Chị Dạ Thão, Chị Dạ Thu and Anh Quốc; yet she must have felt awkward being with Cô Lisa in the same room. Noticed that my parents and Dì Bảy had gone home, I quickly and gladly left to go to the IAH Airport to pick up Anh Kiệt and Anh Bé.

-

Dung was happy to see me when I picked her up on the way to the airport. I love this woman. She was by my side everyday for the past two weeks visiting and comforting Cậu Năm. Cậu Năm even noticed this and thanked her for letting me visit and going with me to visit Cậu Năm everyday. He said that he will remember this and bless both of us once he gets into Heaven. Dung just nodded and smiled showing her dimples. God, I love her.

We stopped by a Vietnamese restaurant on the way, so that I can gulp down some "cháo lòng". I have not even noticed, but I had not eaten anything all day while running around. We ate quickly and made it to the airport in time to pick up Anh Kiệt and Anh Bé.

They both were tired from travelling, but just as Mợ Năm, Anh Kiệt chatted away hiding his anxiousness, while Anh Bé was quietly weeping. Everytime, Anh Bé tried to strike up a conversation, he could only mustered several words before being choked up in tears. Anh Bé kept reminiscing about growing up in Vietnam with Cậu Năm taxi-ing him around on his Vespa after work. He just came back from Vietnam and still carried with him its sensitivity, I guessed.

-

We ran into Chị Vy and her husband Anh Sơn at the hospice's parking lot, and I was surely happy to see both of them. I knew Chị Vy still got some remnants of a cold, but I was overjoy to see my older sister wanted to pay respect to Cậu Năm while he is still alive. We all got back to the hospice to a grand family reunion. Mợ Năm, Dạ Thu, Dạ Thão, Anh Quốc, Anh Vũ, and now Anh Kiệt and Anh Bé. Cậu Năm was still out cold, but a crowd was gathering around him. Sơn, con Dì Bảy, Huy-Hoàng, Hà, Tí, Huyền, Anh Hưng and Anh Hùng were all there. Anh Kiệt took lots of pictures of everyone. He said that they did not have a family picture or a reunion for such a long time; and then proceeded to click away. Anh Be got deeply emotional. But Anh Vũ was quite alone and distant.

Anh Dzuy and his wife Chị Chi arrived around 10PM. We all gathered around Cậu Năm and tried to wake him up. My sister Huyền, who had spent lots of time with Cậu Năm, got some responses from him, as he tried so hard to wake up. I whispered into Cậu Năm's ear that Anh Dzuy is here and wants to talk to him, but all we can get out of Cậu Năm were a slight acknowledgement by the squeezing of the hands and the trying to open his eyes. Anh Dzuy, Anh Bé and all of Cậu Năm's children talked to Cậu Năm, as our family (members of Dì Sáu's family and Sơn) recessed to the Quiet Room nearby to give Cậu Mợ Năm and their children some privacy.

Seven of his ten children were by his side. Anh Tân (Father Tân), Chị Lan Anh and Anh Hào were in transit. There were laughters of joy and tears of sadness, and then there was togetherness. Cậu Năm's family was finally coming together. I wished that Cậu Năm was coherent enough to see this. Perhaps he would rebound, perhaps he would laugh and cry, and perhaps he would finally go in peace.

Again Anh Quốc stayed with Cậu Năm in the hospice room overnight, and we all gradually departed. Anh Kiệt and Anh Bé came and stayed at our home, and we stayed up to one o'clock in the morning catching up. Such good people and such good family.

 

May God bless Cậu Năm and Cậu Năm's family.

Vui

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