Sunday, August 11th marked my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary, but it felt inappropriate to celebrate since it also fell on the weekend of my Uncle Tony’s funeral. But as always, you could find Mom standing right by Dad’s side to grieve with him, just like he always stood by her side.

Like most older Vietnamese generations, my parents don’t often display physical affection, nor do they shower each other with gifts or outwardly verbalized expressions of endearment like “I love you.”

But one time, as we were preparing dinner together, Mom softly scolded me for not chopping the greens into smaller pieces. “Your dad can’t chew those big pieces with his dentures,” she reminded.

And one time, during one of my repugnant teenage moments towards my Mom, Dad discreetly pulled me aside and whispered, “I know your heart is as tough as mine, but your mom’s heart is delicate like flower. Be tender with her.”

And even though Dad will never complain that he can’t chew the uncut greens, Mom still makes sure the greens are thoroughly chopped and cooked. And even though Mom will never admit that she loves taking couple photos, Dad still patiently poses for every picture, even though he would rather go home and take a nap.

And with these unassuming caring gestures, my parents weathered together years of war, famine, Communist oppression, and the loss of their infant child. Because even when the world is on fire, just knowing that someone is cutting the greens into smaller pieces for you, can soothe the most daunting inferno into a warm glowing ember.