Dear Grandma—thank you.

David Dat Nguyen
Jul 21, 2017 · 5 min read

Earlier this week, you left this world.

Mom barely left your side for those final days in the hospital. She sat there, she slept there, and she held your hand the whole time. Mom said that you simply closed your weary eyes, took one deep final breath, and gently left this world. We all knew that this day would come, but it still broke my heart to lose you.

You left us with so many beautiful memories. As I look back, tears are trickling down my face and my heart is beating a little bit faster—I cannot help it. I miss you already, Grandma.

I have to speak at your funeral tomorrow morning and it is dark outside. The sun rises in a few hours and I still don’t know what to say. What should I say? How can I condense your many wonderful years into a few words?

Dear Grandma—thank you.

You loved us

It was always the five of us: You, Mom, Dad, little sister Angeline, and me. You lived with us and made our home feel like a smaller version of Disneyland—safe and magical. And just like Disneyland, I always looked forward to coming home because you were always there. I cannot imagine a life without you in it.

We saw you every day. Mom and Dad both worked. You were our mom when Mom wasn’t there. You were our dad when Dad wasn’t there.

Angeline and I would come home from school and knock on the door. Every time you would run to the door, open it, and welcome us home with a hug. When I was far away from home, I would call home and within two or three rings, I would hear your warm, comforting voice.

When my baby teeth started to fall out, you’d wiggle them with me. When I was sick, you made soup and ate it with me. When I had a fever, you’d have a cool, damp towel to put on my forehead. When I would cry, you’d give me a hug. When I had to study late into the night, you’d cut fruit for me. When I had a big test the next day, you’d wake me up early. Anytime I needed help, you were there.

It was always the five of us. And you loved us.

You loved our backyard

You loved our backyard—the trees, the flowers, the fresh air. It was your happy place. Every day, you would tend to the plants just as you would tend to us.

I remember this one afternoon when I saw you in our backyard; I don’t think you saw me.

You were making your rounds through the garden. Suddenly, you stopped, gently held a bright red flower in your hand, examined it closely, leaned in, and smelled it. Then you saw its leaves were dirty; you took a damp cloth and gently wiped the leaves with such care until they were glistening in the afternoon sun.

When you were done, you sat down in your favorite chair that was just a little too high. Your feet wouldn’t touch the ground; they would dangle and you’d kick them back and forth. Just like a little kid so full of joy.

You loved being out in our backyard. These past few years, we’d push your wheelchair out there so you could enjoy those moments again.

You loved that soccer ball

You kept getting older, Grandma. The day came when you got a walker, your legs started to grow weak. The doctor recommended that you do leg exercises every morning.

One day, I saw you doing your leg exercises—it looked like you were kicking an imaginary soccer ball. So I printed out a picture of a soccer ball and stuck it right outside of your bedroom.

You’d wake up every morning and do your leg exercises—firmly holding on to your walker and gently kicking that little soccer ball printout.

I’d see you some mornings and joke about it. You’d stop kicking for a brief moment, look up, and smile. It was silly; we both knew that. But then you’d be back to kicking that soccer ball. Your body slowly weakened, but you remained strong, Grandma.

You loved french fries

Not just any type of french fries, they had to be McDonald’s french fries.

Before Angeline or I would leave the house, you’d wave for us to come over, reach into your pocket, take out two dollars, and ask us to come home with your favorite treat—a large order of McDonald’s french fries.

There were times when we’d pull into the driveway, realize that we forgot to get the french fries, and back out again. We always wanted to make you happy, Grandma.

And you never disappointed us. Upon getting the french fries, you’d pour them onto a plate, carefully squeeze out the ketchup from the little packets into neat little piles, and slowly eat them; smiling with each bite.

We’d quietly sit next to you watching as you savored every moment. Maybe you ate slowly cause you knew we wouldn’t leave until you finished. It was such a nice pause from our hectic days.

You loved every new year

Ever since I was a child and could speak Vietnamese (which you taught me), I would look forward to Lunar New Year. You made sure that we would eat very well on the first day of the year. You insisted that we start every new year strong and with a full stomach.

Then, to see how lucky we’d be this coming year, we played your favorite game “Tam Hường.” You were always lucky, Grandma, and you’d capture Ông Trạng Anh, the most valuable piece. We would roll dice until the early hours of the morning.

But I would look forward to your red envelope the most. Your red envelope was always the thickest one probably because you also put the most money in your envelope. I would bow deeply, gleefully take your envelope in both hands, and wish you many things including the following sentence:

Kính chúc Bà mạnh khoẻ và sống lâu trăm tuổi.
(Grandma, I wish you good health and may you live to be 100 years old.)

I’m now 33. Every year from the age of 4, I said that to you, Grandma.

Every. Single. Year.

You were 96 years old when you passed away earlier this week.

And I’m going to round up to 100. You did it, Grandma—you granted a young boy his little wish.

My favorite photo that I took of you, Grandma. This is how I will always remember you.

And we love you, Grandma

Today, as I write this note to you, those tears are streaming down my face. I lost the rock in my life; I lost my ultimate cheerleader; I lost my lovely Grandma.

I don’t know if there is an afterlife, Grandma. But if there is, I only want one thing—to be your grandson there as well. If only we could be lucky to do it all again one more time.

I love you so very much, Grandma. You held my hands for only a brief moment, but you’ll hold on to my heart forever. I already miss you dearly.

Your Grandson,

David Dat Nguyen
July 20th, 2017

Photo from my 5th birthday party. I love you, Grandma.

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David Dat Nguyen

Written by

Co-Founder & Chief Experience Officer at Sonix. Pro photographer, emoji enthusiast, part-time pyrotechnician, fitness fanatic, alliteration aficionado.

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