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stevenmuses · 6 years

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An Unspoken Eulogy from a Grandson and Funeral Summary

The past five days have been a whirlwind. The afternoon of Wednesday, November 7 we received the news. Ba Ngoai had passed away earlier in the day with my mom by her side - causing a massive ripple throughout our family. Many weeks ago, we had received the notification that Ba Ngoai’s condition had turned for the worse - and in the back of all of our minds, we knew her time was nearing its end.

La Thi Tran was born in 1928 in Nam Dinh in North Vietnam. In her younger years, she moved first to Hanoi, and later, to Saigon. She fostered 5 daughters and 2 sons, caring deeply for her family of 9. Like many Vietnamese families at the time, she ran a storefront with mostly dry goods and food. During the Vietnam War, her husband lost his legs - leaving her to be the sole provider of the family. In these conditions, all of the children helped her run the store, hustling and selling what they could to help the family make ends meet. With the living conditions becoming poorer in Vietnam with the rise of communism, several of her children fled Vietnam on a small fishing boat, escaping to a refugee camp in Malaysia. After spending time in the refugee camp, eventually immigrating and settling in Edmonton, Canada. After her children had settled, she and her husband were sponsored to rejoin her children in Edmonton. Her husband passed away in 1996, more than 20 years before her eventual passing in 2018 in Calgary, Canada. In her years, she raised 5 daughters and 2 sons, 15 grandchildren, and even a great grandchild. It’s crazy to think that without her, not a single one of us would be here now.

In the later years of her life, Ba Ngoai spent her time the George Boyack assisted living facility. Rushing to the nursing home after hearing the news - I saw Di Hanh and my mom hovered around my grandma’s lifeless body, choking back tears. Nine years after enduring a severe, crippling stroke, my grandma’s struggle was finally over. La Thi Tran passed away on November 7, 2018 at the age of 90.

I never got to know Ba Ngoai as a person - not really anyways. The language barrier always kept us apart in communication, and later, the stroke made it even more difficult. Like many of us in the second generation, I grew up with Vietnamese in my brain and on the tip of my tongue - but that faded away steadily and surely as time went on.

While I was never able to get to know Ba Ngoai as a person, I definitely knew Ba Ngoai as a mother and grandmother. I was told that Ba Ngoai had always taken care of me when I was younger - that my parents used to drop me off at Ba Ngoai’s house and she would watch over us. Unfortunately, none of those memories ever stuck in my mind - I was just too young. But I know what she stood for - I think we all did. She stood for her family. She loved her children and grandchildren dearly. Even though she was growing old, she was at every family event she could make, supporting her children and grandchildren, even during the worst of times. Even when she was wracked by her stroke, I still remember her trying to give us whatever money she had in little red li xi envelopes.

One recent story that I wanted to share was just a month or so ago - when I visited her after hearing that her condition worsened. She was shaking in her bed, saying things to herself that no one could understand any longer. She hadn’t been eating very much recently - she was incredibly thin. She had a permanent look that seemed like it was already fixated on the world beyond. She had become indecipherable and clearly in a great deal of pain. When I approached her bed, my dad said to her in Vietnamese, “Do you recognize him? It’s Steven!” I held her hand - and I was surprised by how incredible ironclad her grip was. Her face lit up when she looked at my face and she gave a minuscule nod, mumbling to herself in indistinct Vietnamese. While we couldn’t understand most of what she said, there were two words that we all could decipher - the clearest two words that we had heard her speak in many months. “...map qua!” She had called me chubby! She fought through her pain, recognized who I was and compared me to how she remembered me in the past. Through all the pain and the suffering, she was still fighting to be a mother and grandmother. That’s a memory that I won’t ever forget of Ba Ngoai.

Upon her passing, family members made their way home from across the world to join each other in the mourning of the matriarch of the Hoang family - from as far away as Saudi Arabia and Taiwan. For the first time in what must have been 10 years or more, the family was back together, reunited to celebrate the life of a dear mother, grandmother, and great grandmother.

Day 0 (The Day of Passing) - Wednesday, November 7

The nursing home is an incredibly depressing place - filled with exhausted nurses, the stench of poor quality food and unchanged adult diapers, and silent, addled seniors, waiting for the inevitable next step. In that environment- it felt so surreal. I just felt unemotional - but philosophical about the whole thing. Sitting on a couch in the nursing home common area with my uncle and dad, watching the other seniors being force-fed food by the nurses, I couldn’t help but think about age, mortality, and what the point of it all even was. All of these seniors led full, eventful lives - only to be left waiting for death in that environment. That was the case for Ba Ngoai.

Or was it?

Cau Tuan returned from Vietnam just a day earlier - which she knew. She was so upset when she heard that he was going on a long trip to Vietnam - perhaps she had the sense that she was close as well? But - she held on for him until he could return.

My mom came to visit and feed her on Wednesday. After days with little eating, this day, Ba Ngoai ate some wonton soup, Ensure, and even some ice cream! My mom had a sixth sense that day - she had felt that Ba Ngoai didn’t have much longer to live. Calling my dad, she had planned to cancel the vacation that she was going to take the following week, just in case.

She returned to the room with Ba Ngoai’s favourite nurse at the home (my mom said that Ba Ngoai loved that woman so much - that she made her laugh so much during her time at the nursing home) - and I think they both knew that the time was near. A few minutes later, Ba Ngoai quietly passed away, with my mom and her favourite nurse at her bedside.

After the funeral, it was planned that each of the families would contribute money for Ba Ngoai’s funeral arrangements and burial. At one of their meetings to discuss money, it was revealed that Ba Ngoai gave money to Cau Phat to hold for her, secretly, that none of the other siblings even knew about. Even from beyond the grave, she was still taking care of her children.

I had written the first paragraph about Day 0 a couple of days ago, when I felt like reflecting on what the end of life meant for all of us. Upon talking to my mom about Ba Ngoai’s last hours, one thing became so abundantly clear - it wasn’t her that was waiting for death, death was waiting for her. She was still taking care of her family in any way that she could, even while bedridden, until her last day.

Day 1 (Casketing, Prayer Day 1) - Sunday, November 11

The funeral of Ba Ngoai took place over three days at the Mountain View Memorial Gardens & Funeral Home in east Calgary. In the days prior to Sunday, people had begun to return to Calgary. Rachel, Patricia, Albert, and Cristina had returned from their work and schooling in Toronto. Di Mai and Chu Chau flew in from Saudi Arabia and stayed with our family. Kacey, Jen, Vince and Cau Tai’s family drove down from Edmonton. Cau Phat returned from Phoenix. Everyone was trying to play their part in organizing the funeral - ordering the food for the reception, talking to the Chua Bat Nha, organizing with the funeral home, ordering flowers, putting together programs and memorial boards, writing and practicing eulogies and poems, and other innumerable but equally essential tasks.

Entering the funeral home for the first time, we were stunned by beautiful photo and story boards and breathtaking flowers. In the chapel, there were an astonishing array of flowers, a beautifully crafted wooden casket, two incense altars (one for Buddha and one for Ba Ngoai), and the body of Ba Ngoai, wrapped in a beautiful red and yellow Buddhist funeral blanket. Everyone took turns paying their respects to Ba Ngoai, with tears in their eyes. One of the most powerful images I saw that day was Cau Tuan on his knees at Ba Ngoai’s body, head down, saying words that only Ba Ngoai’s could hear.

Many people connected to our family came to the prayer - coworkers and family friends alike. Some of these people I hadn’t seen in 10-15 years - but many of them came up to me to tell me how much I’ve grown. These little interactions really made me feel a sense of warm, community and continuity - even though I may not even recognize these people.

Monks from the temple Chua Bat Nha led us in a melancholic prayer. The children (immediate descendants of Ba Ngoai along with in-laws) stood in front of the chapel seats, while the grandchildren stood behind them within the rows of the chapel’s seating. All family members were given white headbands to wear.

Somber in tone, the prayer was led by the three monks from the temple. Other Buddhist members of the temple joined in the prayers. Together, their voices felt purifying and cleansing - as if they were coaxing Ba Ngoai’s spirit through to the afterlife. We continued to stand for the prayer for an entire hour, while the adults were constantly standing and bowing down to the ground. One of the children even momentarily passed out and fell during the prayer due to exhaustion, smacking his jaw on the bench in front of him.

After the prayer, we gathered in the reception hall to eat banh mi and desserts, mingling with the friends and family that had come to pay their respects.

In the evening, we were made aware of a vote that was occurring the following night. The first generation was trying to decide between:

(a) Burying Ba Ngoai’s ashes immediately in the Edmonton cemetery next to Ong Ngoai, whom she has expressed intense longing for.

(b) Wait 49 days (7 weeks) as per Buddhist beliefs, allowing for the spirit/consciousness to transition to the afterlife. Store Ba Ngoai’s ashes in an urn, (illegally) held in the Buddhist temple for the 49 days, and then buried with Ong Ngoai after.

The vote was contentious and was split between both options.

Day 2 (Prayer Day 2) - Monday, November 12

The prayers continued again into Day 2. We arrived at 5pm, burned incense and visited again with Ba Ngoai. The hour of prayers began at 6pm. Once again, the monks from the temple Chua Bat Nha led us in prayer, with the direct descendants in the front and the grandchildren behind.

Soon after the prayers began, Jen and I went to the airport to pick up my brother, who had cut his vacation short to return home. Upon returning to the funeral home, we met with our parents, who had tears in their eyes, and together we paid tribute to Ba Ngoai with incense and prayers as a family.

Immediately after, we reconvened with everyone else in the reception hall and ate dumplings, spring rolls, banh mi, and more dessert.

Even though initially the vote for what to do with Ba Ngoai’s urn was initially split - the vote was almost unanimous after discussion - Ba Ngoai was to go into Chua for 49 days, before being buried with Ong Ngoai.

Day 3 (Funeral Ceremony, Cremation) - Tuesday, November 13

Early Tuesday morning, we returned to the funeral home for the final time. We prayed for the final time. At 9:30AM, we began the “official” funeral ceremony, with myself and my Dad as the English and Vietnamese hosts, respectively. We began with our final Buddhist prayer sessions. The vibe felt distinctly different than the two previous days - it felt like everyone was somber and tense about the day ahead, knowing that by noon, this whole funeral process would be over.

After the prayer session, we proceeded into speeches. With tears in their eyes and wavering voices, Cau Phat, Cau Tuan, and Bac Duy all provided their own speeches - all saying how much they loved and how thankful they were for Ba Ngoai.

After, Albert, Nathan and myself went up to the podium to share a few words from a grandchild perspective. Albert spoke in both English and Vietnamese, sharing about how he got to know who Ba Ngoai was as a person from the quality and tightness of his parents and our family. Nathan delivered a heartfelt poem “It’s Only Been a Few Minutes,” and I shared a recent story about Ba Ngoai in the nursing home.

And then that was it.

The funeral procession. We walked out of there, single file, into our cars. Then, we drove to the crematorium in our cars, single file. The images and videos speak for themselves.

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What an incredibly sad and moving experience. The melodic and repetitive prayers felt like they were boring their way right into my soul - and you could tell that it did that for everyone. Christian, Catholic, Buddhist, Atheist or whatever we were - I think that during that time, we all believed together it was helping Ba Ngoai’s spirit move on. There, in the funeral home and in the crematorium, it really had felt like we all had come together as a family to celebrate Ba Ngoai. I think that’s truly what family is - people tied together by common experiences and relationships that are there for each other, regardless of the last time they saw each other, or where they live. I don’t think anyone needed to say anything - but I think we all understood each other, united in our grief.

You know - it was the end of a marvelous and long life for Ba Ngoai, filled with incredible ups and downs, separations and reunions, health and sickness. Her passing is not only a cause for grief - but a cause for celebration. Without her, none of us would be here, living comfortable and wholesome lives filled with love, family, and fun.

Thank you - from all of us.

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