Each time, it's fresh like hell.
The first day, a puppy I had been feeding for 2 weeks had died.
The second day, news of my half brother having less than 48 hours to live.
The third, a second puppy gone.
The fourth morning, my half brother had passed. For real this time.
Death. Death, all the dang time. And to think, just a day before the first puppy had died, I had been mingling with someone who opened up about his suicidal past. We were vibing and I was nervous and he kept teasing me for being nervous enough to describe a mall as a "market-store" and then after a round of League and more storytelling, I was given a fork-in-the-road situation of, "This is me. This may happen again. Is this something you're okay with?" He was honest. It was my first time hearing something like this. Given a choice like this. Someone you may want to date could take their own life again one day. And it wouldn't be my responsibility to keep him here, he wanted? And I wasn't sure, if I was ready to be ready to lose someone again.
Anyways... you're probably thinking. "She killed those puppies didn't she? Or she forgot to feed them for 3 days straight?"
So for the past 2 weeks, I fed my neighbors' six puppies every morning while they vacationed. Someone else would feed the puppies in the afternoon/evening.
At first, the puppers didn't really know me and would bark sooo loudly when they saw me at the gate entrance. Their little furry bodies would crowd against the gate and each other. I feared if I opened it slightly, one of them would deftly escape. Later, I would learn to throw my water bottle in the opposite direction. Have them chase that before I scrambled to open the gate.
That trick only worked 2 times though. They're freaking smart. Or water bottles are super boring toys. :(
Panda, the white and black puppy, would be the rowdiest of them all. She would jump and claw for me the most, leading the pack of puppies. Her excitement unmatched. When I brought out their food, Panda would be the first to snatch any stray bits I accidentally dropped.
Barto used to do that too. Though I know him to be the one to follow me back whenever I returned to scoop Abba (another pupper) her own separate food. He knew where the possible extras were and wasn't afraid to get it.
A few days before the owners had returned, I noticed how skinny Barto was. Even when there were plenty of leftover kibbles, he wouldn't touch any. In fact, he ate nothing for two mornings. I petted his ribs and asked, "Barto. Why don't you want to eat baby? Why are you so skinny?" He would look up at me with these incredibly sad puppy eyes. His head tilted down. His eyes wide and down casted.
I'd touch the other puppies' ribs to compare. His was the skinniest. I would go back and scoop him an extra scoop, just for him, and put it right in front of him. He would turn his sad little head and walk away. I was worried but apparently, not worried enough. I convinced myself maybe he would eat when the other person came around to feeding them. And I left, while the other puppies saw the extra scoop and ate it right up. Panda heading the front. I updated Sabrina, my neighbors' daughter, of this via messenger. "Barto didn't eat this morning. He's not eating lately."
On my last dogsitting morning, Barto still wouldn't eat. I was hoping that maybe my neighbors who would return from their trip that evening would know what to do. God, but that last morning, I remember how he followed me everywhere in a very slow, careful walk. Back when he was more excitable, he would follow me anywhere where food was. But this time, I would be cleaning and refilling their water buckets and he'd stay with and follow me instead of eating with his siblings. I would pet him, sensing that he wanted to be with me. I don't know why but I felt that he was very sad.... about something. A reason that I didn't understand. Couldn't understand.
I walked back and gave him an extra scoop still. "Hey, baby. Eat this at least."
He turned and walked away again. It couldn't be helped. I wish... I wish I could grasp the urgency of this situation had I turned back time. I wish I wasn't as confident as I was that Barto was eating his afternoon meals and that he'd be okay. I wish I hadn't biked away.
Because he definitely wasn't if he died the next morning.
Sabrina notified me through text. "Ngoc, are you awake? Barto died this morning."
I was 20 minutes away from an internship call. I didn't cry. My eyes were red but no tears came of it. I was numb with shock. Numb as I told Dad this. He had seen me bike out for two weeks straight for these puppies and I-- I had formed a bond with them. I felt so much at fault. I felt like hell.
He told me, "Let's go right now."
And so I biked out immediately. My left hand gripped three incense sticks and my phone. My right hand steered. My left knee ached.
My neighbors were outside. I greeted them awkwardly, feeling all this fault, but they never put it on me. I apologized over and over. I really didn't know. I couldn't foresee this. I'm sorry that they got back from their amazing family trip and one of their sweetest puppies died.
They took me out to where Barto was buried. His head faced the flowers. His feet faced the gate. I lighted the incense, chanted a death Buddhist mantra half in my head/half out loud, and planted the three incense sticks next to the flowers. I felt empty inside. I felt so fucking stupid.
Because I am.
And I biked back, right into my internship call as if nothing had happened.
The next morning, I naturally rose early. Part of my morning habit now from feeding the puppies heh. Mom was hovering over the sink as I greeted her. She turned to me, "Anh Luc only has only one more day or two. Your aunt called your Dad just now."
I know him as Anh Luc, or Brother Luc. My half-brother from my Dad's side. He's 50 and for months now, or has it been a year? He's been battling stomach cancer. He goes by Tony to his children and wife. To the government, he's Long Nguyen.
Anh Luc hid his cancer from Dad for almost a year, fearing that it'd do him no good knowing and when their relationship was never perfect. Far from it. Long story short, my Dad had disowned Anh Luc a long, long time ago.
"I want you and your kids nowhere near my body or grave when I'm dead!" Dad had vowed to Anh Luc. The reasons for this are damn complex. Dad had grown up with a military-like parenting style from my grandfather. No warmth. Just verbal and physical beatings, and if needed, punishment and fear to keep the kid from messing up. Dad was adamant about Anh Luc going to school, forcing him to only focus on education and almost nothing else. Anh Luc was Dad's sole male firstborn. The first kid that he was actively taking care of for the first time since the Vietnam War ended and since starting a life in America. In Vietnamese culture, the boy is valued hecking highly. They're the ones to continue the blood line. And that's that.
And Dad didn't want one thing out of line.
There was no room to mess up, Dad probably thought. This was his only son, so he was extra critical and controlling of Anh Luc. That, plus Dad's naturally macho parenting style led to them having a rift.
A person who grows up getting beaten is likely to be a beater themselves as an adult. "Beating breeds beating," according to 10 Negative effects of beating children | Wow Parenting. This is perhaps why Dad was a child beater himself. However, Anh Luc never beat up his own kids and ended the cycle there. He wanted to be anything but like Dad.
Anh Luc immigrated to the U.S. and only lived with Dad for one year. At 15, he left home, and according to Dad, joined a gang. No amount of convincing from Dad could get him to leave. Eventually, Dad disowned him once nothing could be done which led Anh Luc to leave home for decades. Or maybe Anh Luc had left home for so long that my Dad might as well have disowned him. They never contacted or met in that time. With Dad's harsh, controlling parenting style, Anh Luc probably yearned for freedom. He was probably searching for family he never felt he had in Dad.
I understand, heh.
Dad wasn't ever a warm person. You mess up once, you've messed up forever in his eyes. And it must have been fucking stifling to live under Dad's tyranny. That's certainly what it feels like in my life haha. Though... Mom did say Dad has greatly improved when he had Yen and I. If that's the case, I can't imagine how horribly Anh Luc had it with Dad.
About a decade ago? That's when Anh Luc started to call Dad. Once every few years or meet up with Dad once in a while. Dad's phone number hasn't changed in the last 40 years ha.
Dad is extremely judgmental. He hates tattoos and earrings on boys. Anh Luc had both. Later, Dad would discover that his grandson would also have both. Dad was furious and disowned Anh Luc a second time with a quick swoop of his unparalleled anger and his quick, angry mouth.
A mouth that had once uttered, "Kill me then, Ngoc. Shove this knife into my heart if you meant what you said. You think I'm the devil," as his large hands wrapped around mine and made me grip the handle of our kitchen knife, forcing the knife into his chest. "STOP!!" I had screamed, scared. Shaking, that my father would be so cruel as to force my 13 year old self to kill him. Relief as he let me go. I hated him so much that I could hate him forever.
My story here is very incomplete. It's just... I never got to know Anh Luc meaningfully because of this disownment. I only saw him 3 times in my life. Other than that, whenever uttered, his name was like a mistake in Dad's mouth.
- The first real memory of him was when he visited us. He was older than my mom by four years so they were always awkward with each other. I felt that awkwardness even as a child. I was nervous then, to see my half-brother for the first time in the flesh. He’s a shorter, younger replica of Dad. I had been playing some game on this fat, super old PC that a family friend had donated to us. Anh Luc noticed and asked me if I had Adobe Flash or CC Cleaner installed. I was 8 or so, so I definitely didn't haha. He was standing for half an hour or more, helping me install both. Telling me how it works and why they're both important. To this day, 12 years later, Yen and I still use CC Cleaner. An absolute essential we couldn’t have otherwise. Welp. Gods. It would be later, when Anh Luc's son, Adrian, came to visit us before his funeral day that we'd learn it was Adrian who introduced CC Cleaner to Anh Luc, who in turn, introduced it to us. Woah.
- The second real memory of him was when he visited us again. This time with his two grown kids. A girl and a boy. Dad had engrained in me how much of a sin it was for guys to have tattoos and earrings, how gangster that was. And so I wrote in my journal how disappointed I was that Anh Luc's son had both. I don't know why I felt like being cruel but 11-year-old me went and showed the boy my journal entry I had written about him. I was too cowardly to say it to his face, so I left my journal with him. When they left, I noticed that page was torn out. I instantly regretted doing that. I'm sure his son still remembers me and what I said and I hope he'll forgive me. I definitely don't believe in shit like that anymore but god, it was so wrong of me to write and share that. To this day, Dad still mentions that day as when he vowed he'd never want Anh Luc or Adrian near him even in his death because his grandson bore earrings and tattoos.
- The last memory I have of him was when my half-sister, Chi Minou took Yen and I to visit him at his small townhome. He was there alone. Barely 90 pounds. His long sweater hung loosely on his bone-thin frame. A walk so slow and calculated. Every few steps, he’d pause to catch his breath or re-angle his body against the pain. Stomach cancer. That’s what it was. It shouldn’t have been. “He’s only 50,” my mom exclaimed, “too young to go!” When my Dad first found out, he listened in disbelief, “he’s my son. He’ll make it. I’ll do my healing meditations on him and he’ll get better for sure.” So it was just me and Yen and Anh Luc in his living room. Chi Minou was busy for over an hour teaching a yoga class upstairs. Yen and I struggled to find the words to start. To say out loud to our dying half-brother whom we barely knew. It felt so awkward and every time he talked, he explained that it would irritate his recent stomach surgery. Had it not been for that, looking back, I'd have asked everything I could think of. Yen, who’s cute innocence is unparalleled, asked some of the silliest, shortest but possibly, one of the most important questions ever asked. “Anh Luc, what’s your favorite food?"
"Hamburgers. I love hamburgers," he managed painfully, before staring back at the TV screen where an animal show was playing. Another pause before he would return our question to us, "And what do y'all like?" That's actually a good summary of our conversation. We'd ask him questions that he could give short answers to. He'd look at us to respond, maybe comment more, and then return his eyes to the screen. A back and forth. He'd ask us questions too: "What schools do you go to? Does Dad still eat ramen every morning?"
I wonder if we ever laughed together. Perhaps we did laugh when Yen and I quickly nodded "Yes, Dad still eats ramen every morning." I do remember all four of us, Anh Luc, Chi Minou, Yen, and I taking a photo. I think we were smiling. I could see it in Anh Luc. I could see throughout our many short exchanges back and forth that he was doing his best. Trying his best to be there for the people that he'll see no more. Even if it ached, he had things to say. He is kind.
My half-brother is kind. That's probably the one thing I'll ever know about him and know so surely.
And like my Dad, he... he won't let it go.
It was both surprising and unsurprising that Anh Luc made sure Dad wouldn't get to be by his bedside in his last moments. Anh Luc didn't even want to see him. After all, Dad had disowned him twice and said the cruelest things he can't take back: "I want you and your kids nowhere near my body or grave when I'm dead!" In the biggest Uno Reverse ever pulled, Anh Luc did it. He Uno Reversed so hard with his last breath.
That's the thing about saying things that feel GOOD for that moment. Because feeling good doesn't make what you want to say right. And what you want to say? What you want? Why did you want that? Why would you ever want to disown your child? Why couldn't you have been more patient and given him the love and support he needed instead of letting him go and verbally abusing him and blaming him when he was trying to search for family that he never found in you? I've always wondered why I love you as much as I hate you. Why you say the nastiest things to the people closest to you and get away with it. Why do people who love you allow you to get away with it.
You never admit you're wrong. You never own up when you hurt anyone's feelings.
Your words, as you want to believe, are always right.
It felt good, right, Dad? To disown your kid for joining a gang or leaving first or whatever. But not asking him why he joined when he did. It felt good to do it again, right? When you found out your son and grandson have piercings and tattoos? Like that's all it took? You couldn't relent and see past their exterior? Or anyone's exterior in fact. You thought I was a whore for practicing walking on the treadmill in front of our home when I was 5 months out of ACL surgery, just because one of the neighborhood boys was biking back and forth in front of our house? You thought I was showing off my tits or something? You thought Yen was a whore for putting up posters of her favorite Kpop band and when she wanted to take brazilian jiu jitsu lessons more often, you thought she wanted to hug men. But that's part of the sport!
I get my anger from you. In the heat of any moment, I know that I'll know exactly what to say to hurt the people I love the most. I'm the most inspired, most powerful it feels sometimes, when I'm angry and I hate that I got it from you. It's a curse, a gift wrapped in one. I wish that you had wrapped Anh Luc's hurt and shown him you cared like the way you wrapped my right ankle countless times after I sprained it yet again. Maybe things would have been different if you had simply said, "I'm sorry, con" to Anh Luc.
Maybe he would have let you known earlier that he had stomach cancer. Maybe he would have let you come over to his place more often to take care of him and be with him. Maybe he would have called you more and picked up when you impatiently and worriedly called almost everyday after you learned of his cancer. Then again, he was super busy between all the treatments and you were impatient and worried that he could be gone at any moment, mid-treatment. Maybe he would have let you in to see him in his last days. Maybe he would have wanted you to be a part of the process of his burial.
Words open worlds. And just as quickly, words can shut you out of them.
He made sure, you weren't. He left you out.
To the point that we struggled and begged to get the name of his hospital. To get a time. To see him on the day he had died.
And when we finally did, our drive there was full of anticipation. A 50/50 chance of being able to see him according to Chi Minou. "Sometime around 3 PM today."
We got there at 4. On the way, I sneaked looks at you from the passenger's seat, holding the phone and navigating us there. I noticed how your eyes were rimmed red the entire time. Tears would discreetly snake down your cheeks but often, you would wipe at your eyes before they were visible. At one part, we drove past a dead dog on the top of the highway ramp. Dead on its side.
"Either it had jumped out or its owner had pushed it out. This is just-- carelessness. Evil either way," Dad commented. I shivered at the irony.
We practically ran in when we arrived. A young man greeted us at the entrance, masked and sitting behind a long table with a list of patient rooms in his hand.
"Welcome. How can I help you?" he asked in a kind, warm tone.
I struggled to find the words then. "Um, hi. So I have a family member who just passed away this morning in this hospital. My family, behind me, and I don't know where this patient is located in this hospital. Can you help us find his visiting room?"
"Ohmigosh, I'm so sorry for your loss. Condolences to you and your family. To answer your question, most likely they've been moved right away after they passed. I don't know if I can help you but what is the patient's name?"
"Luc Nguyen. Do you have anyone by that name?"
"Hm, we do not. Does he go by another..?"
"Er..He passed from stomach cancer. I just know that and that he passed this morning here. Is there anything else we could do to locate him?"
"I'm going to call my supervisor for this. Give me one moment..."
He converses with a walkie-talkie and after a few minutes, gets back to us while we lingered in the lobby.
"So according to my supervisor, we do have someone by the name of Long Nguyen who passed this morning. Stomach cancer. 50. That is him right?"
"YES. That is. Ohmigosh that is."
We looked up at each other, relief. Relief stolen from us when the young man finds through his papers that they're no longer allowing people into Anh Luc's room. I noticed many notes highlighted for that room as I glanced down.
''I'm sorry but it appears they're no longer allowing visitors for that room today. I'm so sorry. There's nothing more I can do from here unfortunately... And condolences again."
"Hello. I want to see my son. I am the father--" my father interrupts my conversation, pulling out his ID cards. Drivers' License, Insurance, anything else he had in his worn down wallet.
"I just want to see door. I just want to see door to my son's room. Please. Please," he communicates with his weak English.
His eyes burned bright red.
The young man behind the desk shifted uncomfortably but gave in.
"Let me speak with my supervisor again. One moment please. I'll see what I can do," he said kindly.
Moments passed.
"So Long has been moved to the morgue. The original visiting room is vacant right now. If you return here tomorrow morning, you will definitely be able to see him at the morgue. Today is.. not possible unfortunately..."
Dad so badly wanted to see him that he begged to see just the door. That's all he wanted... it broke my heart. I wanted to sob too. Sob that Dad was careless and cruel enough to say what he did to Anh Luc to be in a situation like this but also at how pathetic it all is. You can't even see your son the day he died. We were in the same building as Anh Luc. So freaking close. A 50-minute drive away from home. Dad pushing almost 70 versus his usual 55 mph. It was... awful to be there. To be there, be unsuccessful, beg and press this nice young man over and over again: "Is there anything else that can be done... my Dad really wants to see him today..."
"Unfortunately this is all that can be done today. I'm so sorry."
So we all departed. Heavy hearted.
On the way home, Yen brought up how hamburgers were his favorite meal, so we stopped by a McDonald's drive-thru to grab one. We placed it on our mini-shrine for him. The house was quiet that night. Dad looked on the verge on tears the entire time and for days afterward. I'd check on him more often, randomly hugging him if I notice his eyes especially red. My Dad isn't an affectionate guy but I know how much he loves hugs. Hugs help a little. He's still going through it -- living day by day. And...
the day before Anh Luc passed, I learned that Panda had died. Panda the puppy. Panda died 2 or 3 days after Barto died. My energetic, rambunctious pupper gone.
They had both died from Parvo and it was something none of us foresaw until it happened. Until my neighbors' took Panda to the doctor, worried too that she would die like Barto, and retrieved the diagnosis and a ton of pills for Panda to fight the onset of symptoms.
Parvo isn't curable and Panda died inside the home... her ashes today sit in a plastic bag in a brown metal container by their TV. It would be the next Friday that I would bike to their place to properly pay Panda my respects.
I think back about Barto and can't imagine how much pain, discomfort he was feeling that last day I saw him. Pain felt to the point of avoiding food altogether and his attempt at communicating with me that it hurt. And Panda, the one that'd overeat actually -- for her to eat no longer. It must have hurt...
That it hurt a lot, but I didn't see. I didn't and I --
That's the business of dying.
It becomes everyone's business. Whomever the deceased ever touched, even briefly, it's their business now. It's their business to take it in. To attempt to take in the whole life of the deceased. To recall and relive those memories. See the world new again. A world made new now that they're gone.
