Eulogy for Ba Noi (my grandmother)

On August 8th, 2006, my fathter's mother/ my paternal grandmother passed away. As the oldest son in my generation, I was asked to provide a eulogy at the service. Below is what I wrote. I hope that for those looking for help in dealing with these types of moments in life, that it speaks to you or assists you on some level.

Intro
My name is David Le, and I have the honour and privilege of being the eldest grandson to Mrs. Nguyen Thi Nhiem, my Ba Noi, our Ba Noi, our grandmother.

I have been asked by my uncles, Uncle Hong Le and Uncle Dang Le, and my father, Hoang Le to say a few words on behalf of my generation of cousins today.

First off, I am proud to say that all of our Ba Noi’s children are here today: Her three sons, Her three daughters-in-law, and all six grandchildren traveled from Vancouver, Toronto, North Carolina and Texas. Even her oldest great-grand daughter, three-year old Audrey is here. We believe that speaks volumes about the impact that Ba Noi had on our lives and our fathers’ lives.

(Now … about Ba Noi’s or grandmothers…)
To be honest, when I was asked to speak today, I was nervous and uncomfortable. Relationships with grandmothers and grandparents encompass a wide variety of experiences. Some grandmothers call once a week to see how you are doing, to tell you what they are up to, how many people they have beaten in card games or where they have recently traveled to.

In other cases, grandmothers are distant relatives that visit every now and then, that we have little in common with. We have vague recollections of them from our youth. All we know is that they smother us with extravagant (if unearned) gifts and love us a lot despite the fact that we’ve done nothing for them.

Most of my memories of my Ba Noi are from when I was a child. We never knew our Ong Noi (our grandfather). He passed away when our fathers were children much younger than us in Saigon, Vietnam. Growing up, we knew our Ba Noi as the strong, independent, and very particular grandmother that was passionate about her sons and wanted the absolute best for them.

Like my other cousins, Ian and I got to see our Ba Noi for approximately one-third of the year, as she jet-setted from one of her sons’ houses to the other. From Edmonton, to Mississauga, to Houston, Ba Noi seemed to drop in every so often as a house guest.

(Context of first memories)
I remember as a kid not wondering nor caring about bridging what was a large generational gap. We grew up not only in entirely different times, but in entirely different societies. We had very little in common with our Ba Noi.

· During family get togethers, you could always bet that Ba Noi would be sitting off at the “adult” table with dad, Auntie Thao, and Uncle Huy playing poker until the wee hours of the morning.

· When we would sit together and watch TV it was usually ANOTHER viewing of the Sound of Music. When I was allowed to choose the program, we would watch professional wrestling. I used to giggle at how she thought that wrestling was real and that the combatants were honestly in pain.

· And of course, being a kid I dreaded playing video games late at night when she was around. Ba Noi would come pestering into the living room multiple times late at night to say “DI - NGU” (meaning go to sleep), before she went on another tour of the house to make sure all of the doors were locked.

As I moved into my teenage years, my consumption with my own personal drama resulted in my lack of prioritizing time to bridge the sizable generational gap. Unfortunately, this was also the time that Ba Noi started to develop the symptoms for dementia.

(Transition)
I can honestly say that it wasn’t until the past year when our family went back to Vietnam that I truly saw the impact of how much my own life and personality AND those of my cousins were shaped by Ba Noi. Growing up as a first generation Canadian, we learned to take basic things for granted, from basic supplies like clean water and plumbing, to basic civil rights like freedom of speech and expression.

In the 1950s, during the political conflict that would lead to the Vietnam War, my Ba Noi displayed the kind of bravery and vision that would make us all envious. Seeing the future for her children, sons of a successful Mandarin in North Vietnam, and how much risk her sons were at if a communist government took over the country, she embarked on long and risky journey from a little town in the North to get to Hanoi and ultimately to South Vietnam. Because of the immense amount of Communist Patrol during those days, Ba Noi would be forced to travel with my father and my uncle only at night to escape detection. Moreover, main transportation roads were monitored around the clock, so many times that night travel was through dense forests. And when she had to, she would use her resourcefulness to coordinate the rare hitchhike ride until they got to Hanoi. When I imagine a trek like that and the amount of danger, I still stand in awe of the amount of heart and courage that took. We aren’t taking about a six-foot-four solider doing this, we’re talking about a five foot tall, light as a feather, mother of three.

Once in Hanoi, as they prepared to venture off to the South, her second oldest son (being the reckless child he was) was hit by a truck while in Haiphong and nearly lost his life. This of course did not damage her resolve. She delayed initial plans to travel to the south, nursed my father back to health and they eventually fled.

(Address Ba Noi: Be personal: One-on-one to her spirit)
Ba Noi, having traveled to Vietnam now and seeing Ha Noi and the ruins of the North, we understand so much more. We have flown and driven through the country to better understand the journey that you guided our fathers through. Personally, I now understand from whom my father got the strength to leave everything in Vietnam, a country that he loved so much that was his homeland. He left everything behind in Vietnam, like you did in the North, and risked everything be getting his family onto a plane only days before the Vietnam War ended. He came to Canada with no money or possessions, a wife who was 4 months pregnant, a brother in-law, and you. But to him, that was everything he needed to start a new life.

We were fortunate to have seen Vietnam, its incredible history and beautifully diverse culture, as we were able to see where we are truly from and how you have been instrumental in shaping us into who we are.

For myself:
· I can see how quietly competitive you were playing cards all those family nights, a trait of high-achievement and high-expectations that all of us share.

· I can see how your love for your grandchildren would have you watch wrestling to entertain us as you yelled “CHET - CHA!” every time Hulk Hogan hit a turn-buckle, or tried to show us how to appreciate music in the form of Julie Andrews and not just Michael Jackson.

· Most of all though, like a great grandmother should have, we now understand that all those nights that you wanted to get us to go to sleep and were double checking locked doors at night was your way of keeping us safe and healthy, so that like your sons we would be prepared, for the real world and REAL challenges came at us.


(The meaning)
Ba Noi, for you, Alzheimer’s or dementia was a cruel disease. Over the last five years, it slowly took away that which makes us human: it took your memories, your life’s work that you had built and wanted to share with us.

But even more cruel is that it robbed those of us that desperately sought to create more memories with you, the chance to fully experience them together. In its place left not days and weeks but years of lost opportunity. We were and are unable share our gratitude, our dreams, our questions about life, about family history, about your experiences … a person that was a major part of creating us.

(Ode to Ba Noi)
My Ba Noi, our Ba Noi. We know this about you. You weren’t the kind of grandma who calls once a week to ask us if we flossed and sent cookies and birthday cards. We saw you for one-third of the year for most of our lives.

When I saw you last, you looked at me and Geneva with cloudy brown eyes and a friendly smile but didn’t know who I was.

Ba Noi, we are your grandchildren.
· Angela has two kids, one of which is Audrey who is three years old and is here today with you.
· I am David, and my wife Geneva and I are expecting our first child in November (and no, I don’t know if it’s a boy).
· Ian is a successful surgeon and is happily married to his beautiful wife Katherine (and yes, he does look a little like Tiger Woods).
· Jennifer and Heather have grown up to be graceful, successful, independent young women that you would be proud of.
· And Christina is completing her university degree in a couple of years and is a wonderful person.

Ba Noi, we all love you very much. We are grateful for the strength, resolve, ambition, family-first values, and unconditional and unwavering love that you gave to our fathers that they in turn have given to us.

We know that you are in a better place now. We hope that you finally find peace, clarity, and tranquility in mind, soul, and spirit as you venture into the next life. We promise that we will double check our doors at night before we go to bed, that we’ll look after our kids and make sure that they are safe and nurtured always, and that Audrey knows the difference between a straight and full house.

We love you and we will miss you. Thank-you for everything that you have given to us. We will always be your grand-children and you will always be a part of us.
Good-bye Ba Noi and thank-you