Mom
In 1997, the weight of the world was dropped upon my shoulders when my mother suffered a massive stroke that would take her life in a matter of days. In the blink of an eye, I would go from simply “daughter” to “next-of-kin”, making crisis-driven decisions that I was completely unprepared for. Within 72 hours into my new role, I would find myself planning my first funeral.

Cultural dynamics immediately followed, as strangers (to me) interjected and aggressively vocalized disapproval of choices I made for my mother’s memorial. I was 27 years old and doing my best to manage adulthood. Even still, the accusations of failing my mother’s Vietnamese heritage felt exceptionally harsh.

At 53 years young, my mom certainly did not expect to exit with so many incomplete tasks or leave such heavy burdens that could never be remedied. Sadly, her life span did not allow time to plan - so business was left unfinished, division was created, and many questions unanswered.

Bevan
In 2000, I would walk this sunset journey with Bevan, the youngest of my older brothers, during his brief cancer diagnosis. His aggressive lung cancer was detected in the late stages and would lead to death before he ever saw his 38th birthday. Looking back, some beautiful opportunities came from the devastating news. With the short five weeks between diagnosis and death, we were able to reminisce about our childhood, confess & tease about the times one snitched on the other, shed tears over the shoulda - coulda - wouldas. We had very little time, much less than expected, but we made the most out of it.

Breast Cancer
In 2012, I would be grappling with my own mortality as doctors handed me the news after my first routine mammogram. Before you could say “invasive ductal carcinoma” I would be under the knife for a bilateral mastectomy with lymph node dissection. Multiple surgeries would follow and all the fun things that come with chemotherapy, radiation, PET scans, etc.

Countless hours of comedy shows, meditation, and contemplation would be my new normal. This slice in the pie of life required critical decisions for the care of my kids & critters. As a single parent and still raising my boys (13 and 15 at the time), my cancer diagnosis made advance care planning no longer just a novel idea, but downright mandatory.

Sammy
In 2020, I would lose my oldest brother amid the relentless Covid-19 pandemic. His death was sudden and tragically, alone & in isolation. The gift he left before he died was clear communication and a pretty decent plan. Sammy, a single man with no children, who lived life on his terms, unconstrained by social constructs - had the foresight that we all should strive for! He would mitigate the costs and confusion of an “unplanned” death. Years prior, he expressed his wishes to me and ensured I would not incur the costs should he die before me. I will forever be grateful for this act of love.

Dad
Almost a decade before dementia consumed the old cowboy’s cognition & memory, my dad did something quite courageous. Unbeknownst to us, and aware that things were slipping from his mind, he faced reality and his own fears. My dad wasted no time and began investing countless hours putting his memories in print. This was truly remarkable, as I thought he was being a bit over-the-top spending days on end feverishly clicking away at the keyboard. But he knew the urgency and once again… he was right. (And boy, he loved being right)

To say that a “good death” doesn’t come with its share of problems would be inaccurate, and we could have used a little more direction, but we worked with what we had. Some events were planned in advance, down to his “Living Celebration of Life” where dad was able to bask in adoration, devour cake, and indulge on Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia ice cream. It doesn’t get much better than that.

April 6, 2023, just shy of his 93rd birthday, my father would take his final breaths at home, in his bed, surrounded by those who loved him.

Semper Fi