My mother’s oldest sister passed away this morning after a long suffering caused by a severe stroke fifteen years ago. Since then she had been paralyzed and spent most of her time in bed. Not only she had never recovered from the stroke, her condition was getting worse and worse. The last time I saw her, which was two weeks ago, she could barely sit in the wheelchair. The only way to communicate to her was when she blinked her teary eyes to let me know that she understood what I said.

Before the stroke, auntie 2 was a strong woman with a business mind. After migrating to the States, she rebuilt her business from nothing. She started out making bean sprouts. Then she owned a small Asian grocery store. Then she owned a Chinese restaurant with a full bar and liquor store. On the second level of the restaurant, she converted the building into small apartments. We lived in one of those apartments for several years when we first moved to the States.

As the head of the household, auntie 2 led her children into building a successful family business. Although the business was growing, she did almost everything herself. She still planted her own bean sprouts. She made hundreds and hundreds of egg rolls and wontons almost every night. Whenever I was bored in my apartment, I would come down to lend her a hand and she would tell me stories about how she helped my grandfather with the family business in Viet Nam and taught herself business skills. Those stories always inspired me.

Auntie 2 was also a great cook. She used to make killer Kimchee, bún riêu (crab noodle soup) and my personal favorite canh mồng tơi (malabar nightshade soup). The sweet combination of home-grown mồng tơi (malabar nightshade), mướp (luffa) and corn made the soup delightful. Just thinking of canh mồng tơi makes me miss and love her so much.

Even though her children, specially chị Phương and chị Hoa Nhỏ, had done an extraordinary job of taking care of auntie 2 all these years, it was heartbreaking to see her lived in a deteriorating condition. Leaving behind all the tubes, machines, pain and suffering seems to be better for her. Auntie 2’s spirit is now truly free. May her soul rest in peace.

My mother’s 8th sister passed away yesterday at the age of 65. She was another victim of cancer. Only two months ago that she found out she had stage-four breast cancer. The diagnose came too late. The cancer cells were already taken over her liver.

Less than two weeks ago when American oncologists recommended hospice, her husband took her to Mexico for an alternative treatment. Unfortunately, that method didn’t work. On her way back to the States, she was admitted to the hospital in San Diego because she couldn’t breathe and that was where she drew her last breath.

In my mother’s family, auntie 8 was the first one to migrate to the States. She then filed all the paperworks and found sponsors for the rest of the family members. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be here today. That is something I would never forget.

Goodbye auntie 8. May your soul rest in peace.

Nghìn trùng xa cách người nhạc sĩ đa tài, đa dạng và đa tình đã đi rồi. Tuy Phạm Duy đã rời xa thế gian nhưng ông sẽ vĩnh viễn sống mãi trong tâm hồn những người yêu nhạc Việt Nam. Theo lời ông từng tâm sự: “Tôi không bao giờ nghĩ đến chuyện tôi sẽ chết vì tôi sẽ không bao giờ chết được cả. Tôi có chết đi chăng nữa thì nhạc của tôi vẫn sẽ hiện hồn trên môi những người ca hát.” Đúng thế vì tôi liền nghỉ đến ông mỗi khi nghêu ngao câu: “Tôi mơ thành triệu phú cứu vớt gái bơ vơ.” Cám ơn ông đã để lại cho người Việt trên khắp thế giới một kho tàng nhạc thật quý báo và tràng đầy “Kỷ Niệm.”

Lại thêm một nạn nhân của ung thư. Căn bệnh hiểm nghèo đã cướp đi một giọng ca hiền hòa của nền âm nhạc Việt Nam. Mông anh trọn một kiếp đam mê.

May your soul rest in peace. Although we’re missing you madly, we know that you’re in a better place. The deadly lung cancer claimed your life, but not your spirit. I could see it in your eyes. You battled it to your last breath and I respect you deeply for that.

In fact, I had great respects for you even before we met. When I dated your little girl, she had always spoken highly of you. The first time she introduced me to you, I had nothing but admiration for a man who would be my father-in-law even though I almost blew my chance. By the way that I was holding the wrench, you knew that I had never done any fixing around the house. Not only you didn’t hold that against me, but you also took me under your wing. I still wish I had a tiny bit of your craftsmanship.

Thank you for being a loving father to me in the past few years. Life won’t be the same without you. I will miss those dinnertime moments when we rolled fried tilapia, sipped wine and chatted about Vietnamese culture. I loved our little discussions on music and lyrics. These last few days, Trịnh Công Sơn’s “Ở Trọ” reminded me of what you had explained to me. These lines have become clear to me: “Tôi nay ở trọ trần gian / Trăm năm về chốn xa xăm cuối trời.” You’re just leaving this temporary place and eventually we will see each other again.

As my wife and I are trying to refinance our mortgage loan, I decided to give Susana, our realtor who helped us purchased our house, a call to ask her for a few tips. Her phone had been shut off so I called her office. The frontdesk guy told me that Susana had passed away a few months ago. Cancer claimed her life.

The chill ran down my spine. I was shocked. After a year of house-hunting together, Susana became more than just our realtor. We considered her as a friend. She was a hard worker who never said no to us when we wanted to look at the houses. She was such a lovely lady with two adorable twin girls and a very nice husband.

Even after we purchased the house, we kept in touch and invited her family over for dinner every once in a while. I actually was a bit sad that we didn’t get to go look at houses with her anymore. Then the last two years had been crazy for us. All of the sudden, Susana is gone. Life is just way too short.

Kara Lynn, a dear friend and former designer at Vassar, passed away last Friday after a long, heroic battling with Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS). Kara was an awesome designer, a loving mother, a technologist and a fighter.

I met Kara through an interview for the web design position at Vassar College. At the time the group was made up of four women; therefore, one of the questions was, “How do you feel about working with four women?” Although I didn’t know if I said the right thing, but I replied without hesitation, “I love it.” Kara lid up a big, beautiful smile and that was the moment I knew I wanted to be part of the team.

On my first day at the job, I was assigned to create a welcome back homepage banner. I wanted to come up with something nice to make a good impression, but I was stuck and didn’t know what to do. I came to Kara and she immediately gathered a number of people in the office and we headed to the front building to make a photo shoot. Kara helped me cropped the photo from the waist down just to show feet walking into the building as a welcome back banner. The banner was not approved because it was showing some butts so we went back and cropped out the butts as well. That was when I began to learn about Kara’s sense of humor. Working with her and absorbing her elegant design helped me out tremendously. I had many fond memories of Kara. She was strong, independent, articulate and very artistic.

When she took her maternity leave to give birth to her adorable Aiden, Kara never returned to work even though everything in her office remained the way it was when she left. Later when I found out that she was diagnosed with ALS and her blog about that topic, I followed her writing. Her personal accounts, particularly on her daily struggles with everyday life, broke my heart. Sometimes her words almost put me to tears. She went through a lot and life didn’t even give her a break. She not only fought for her life, but also for those in similar situation. She raised the awareness of the disease and challenged insurance companies for speech-impairment remedy.

Rest in peace, Kara. You will always be missed.

Another colleague of mine had passed away. I didn’t realize that I hadn’t talk to him for weeks. Ever since we launched the new design, I basically lock myself in my office and focus on migrating the all contents to the new design. The news stopped me cold. The last time we were on the phone Fred asked me to help him set up some Macs for some faculty members. I agreed.

Fred was an IT for the School of Business, but he is a PC guy. Although I am not an expert, Fred was my go-to guy regarding to Mac. In return, Fred always responded to my requests as quickly as he could. In the School of Business, Fred was the PC and I am the Mac. On a more personally level, Fred was a jazz aficionado and like me Fred was also a Miles’s fan. I just found out that from another colleague that Fred had gone “In a Silent Way” a few weeks ago. Rest in peace, my man.

In just six months I had lost three people I had the pleasure working with. Witnessing the people around you just leave makes me think about life and death. It could just happen to anyone. It’s a sad reality, but it teaches me to not to worry too much about death. When it is time for me to go. I’ll go. While I am still here I want to make the best of it for the people around me, especially my lil Duke. He gives me the reason to live.

Although we only knew each other for a short period of time, you left a deep impression in me the very first time we met. You mesmerized me not only with your fantastic designs, but also your deep thoughts behind them. You drawn me in with your soft-spoken words, knowledge of the web and intelligent views on design.

Your purpose to become a designer is something I will never forget: “Life is depressing so I try to make things beautiful.” Your work speaks for itself. For me personally, what inspires me the most was your ability to strike the balance between simplicity and attention to details. I always refer back to your work when I need some design solutions.

Work aside, you were a very private, humble individual. I had learned a great deal from you: only talk when you have something to contribute. Thank you for your wonderful recommendation on LinkedIn. Come to think about it, I have a feeling it was your way of saying goodbye without letting me know what you were going through. I thank you whole-heartedly and may your soul rest in peace. You’re in a better place now and I am sure you’ll make things even more beautiful up there.

One of the coolest colleagues at GW School of Business had left us early this morning. Larry Layne worked as a specialist in the Office of Special Events, but he was the man to go to for anything around the school.

For me personally, Mr. Layne was the one who took great care of me while I am at work. I locked myself out coming to work several times, he was always there to let me in. At the school’s functions, he hooked me up with drinks (Hennessy and coke or cranberry and vodka) that only him could ordered from the bartender. When there was food leftover from any event, he would holler at me to grab some or he would just save me a plate. After a fancy or formal event, he would put away a centerpiece for me to give to my wife.

Best of all, Mr. Layne was always bringing a positive vibe around us. Whenever I felt stressed out, he was the man to go to. His energy and sense of humor were always appreciated. Unfortunately, cancer had taken a great man away from us. I will miss Mr. Layne enormously.