I’ve spoken a great deal of my brother and sister, who are both incredibly intelligent, talented, and thriving in their lives and careers. But I’ve barely touched on the story of the two tiny crosses currently resting next to each other in eternal peace, nestled inside The Church of Biên Hòa. 

My sister, Trường Chinh, was born at the most unfortunate time, June of 1976, when Vietnam was freshly limping out of the ashes of a bloody civil war.  My Dad was the son of a highly-ranked officer on the defeated side, so he was branded as “reactionary class” and had to shoulder the burden of his father’s unpaid political debts.

Part of Dad’s punishment was his forced reassignment to a teaching position in a remote town at the base of Bửu Long Mountains - where most essential resources like food and medicine were out of reach, even for a country that was already depleted of supplies. And honestly, even if there were resources available and even if Dad had money, I doubt he would have been allowed to purchase them.

There, at the base of Bửu Long Mountains, in December of 1976, Trường Chinh became ill and feverish, and passed away from lack of food and medicine. This was an event that is permanently recorded on the faded tear-soaked pages of our family’s Catholic Sacramental book as “…the most devastating moment of Dad’s life.”

He still writes poetry grieving her. He just sent me a new poem a few months ago. I believe, in some ways, Dad still blames himself for being “the son of the defeated.”

Viên Mãn‘s story is even shorter, as he only survived a few hours into the night. Perhaps by 1980, Mom’s body was too weak from the past 5 years of struggles, stress, and malnourishment. He didn’t even have a name when he passed. And for the longest time, he was just a little mound of dirt, staked with an unmarked cross somewhere in the Biên Hòa cemetery, until we could properly bring them both to their final resting place next to each other.

Someone told me today was National Siblings Day. So I will celebrate my brother and sister who survived and were allowed to bloom to their fullest brilliance, and I will honor my brother and sister whose fire would have burnt just as brightly on this Earthly realm, but instead were chosen to shine as sparkling luminaries guarding over us from their celestial haven.