Growing up, Ông Ngoại was a symbol of strength for our family.  Even in my earliest memories, he was ever-present.

I remember coming home from school one day after my mom had picked me up from our bus stop only to find a snake had somehow gotten into our house and had slithered into my bedroom. I was petrified. I crawled up onto the kitchen counter to hide and stayed there, convinced the snake couldn't possibly Get Me if I stayed out of reach. The next thing I knew, my mom had made some calls and Ông Ngoại was over at our house, shooing the snake into a cardboard box, which he then carried into the yard. He grabbed the snake with his bare hands and slung it as far as possible into the woods behind our house. He was my hero that day.

But while he was always strong for us, he was also always gentle and loving. As a kid, I used to think he didn't really like us - he wasn't really the affectionate sort, and he would only give a half-nod of acknowledgement when we would bow and say "thưa Ông Ngoại, con đi về."

But now, every time I went to visit their house, I see signs of his affection wherever I look. He had collected everything we'd given him over the years, cards, gifts, poems I had written him for grandparents' day. Our family photos & annual Christmas cards are proudly on display in the entryway of their house.

Looking back, I remember how he used to save little trinkets, beaded dreamcatchers, postage stickers, branded stationery, and floral stamps he received in the mail from various charity organizations he contributed to. At some point over the years, he noticed we liked them, and between visits, he would accumulate generous stacks of these little items to give to us the next time we came, showing us that he thought of us while we were gone, and that he looked forward to our next visit. He always attended our school functions, piano recitals, award ceremonies, graduations. He came over to our house almost every year for Thanksgiving. Every year, every life milestone we reached, he was always there, cheering us on.

When someone has been a part of your life for as long as he has, it's hard to imagine life moving on without them - it's hard to think of what the next Thanksgiving dinner, the next piano recital will be like without him there. It is my hope that wherever he goes next, he is able to find peace and comfort.

— From Megan Hoang, Granddaughter (2023)