Ky Mui - My grandmother and me

Earth Sheep / 1919, 1979
Righteous, sincere, sympathetic, mild-mannered, shy, artistic, creative, gentle, compassionate, understanding, mothering, determined, peaceful, generous, seeks security. Can be moody, indecisive, over-passive, worrier, pessimistic, over-sensitive, complainer.


We shared the same zodiac year and attribute. People can be of the same Vietnamese zodiac year but differ in the heavenly stem associated with that year. I wonder if that has anything to do with how close I feel to her.

Things I remember:

I never had hair past my shoulders as a child. I used to love watching Bà undo the tight chignon (bun) in which her hair was pinned. I don't know if she knew I was watching, but I always felt like I wasn't supposed to see her with her hair down. Her hair would unravel and reach at least her waist. And she would comb it with a straight comb, not brush, starting from her scalp all the way down to the ends. (We have good hair.) Apparently, that hairstyle had been associated with either French elegance or Vietnamese nationalist resistance at different points in history. Hm... I kind of think for my grandma it was easy and fashionable.

If I was being a fussy eater, Bà would take me and my bowl of rice/food to the front yard. There she would distract me by pointing and the birds and asking "what is that?" in Vietnamese. As my mouth opened in awe or to say WOW, in came a spoonful of rice. I fell for it every time until my meal was done.

Bà told me once that my forehead (five-head) meant that no one would be able to take advantage of me. Interesting.

After she moved out of the LA house and into the one in OC, I would occasionally bring food to her and my uncle. By this time she was strictly vegetarian, I was out of college, working in the area, and she was beginning to need help with day to day activities. So i volunteered to trim her fingernails and toenails. I would trim mine at the same time to remind myself that she was due for a trim--if my nails were long, so were hers. My Vietnamese isn't very good, but we were able to work out an understanding. I brought her food and mani/pedis, and she told me stories. She told me about how she used to hop over fences and eat fruit from neighbors' trees. She told me how the family used to have a cement company in Northern Vietnam until they had to move South. It was all so fascinating. I loved listening to her. She spoke with her hands and you could see every emotion come through her expressions: the excitement, the fear, the relief that they made it through. It was funny how she punctuated every sentence with a "Mô Phâ.t!" or a clap.

There is so much more; it would take days for me to recount every detail.

In her last days I tried to come by once a weekend (because the home health nurse didn't come on weekends) to change her diaper, get her out of bed, feed her. I got to know Bà in her most vulnerable state. I did things for her I never imagined I'd do for another person. Most of these interactions were done in silence because her hearing was so far gone she didn't wear her aids anymore. Crude sign language, eye contact and smiles. No stories. Just smiles. I watched her slip away more each time I saw her.

This morning we found out she passed away during the night.

One of my aunts gave me a big hug when she saw me and thanked me for helping to take care of Ba. I told her not to thank me and I meant it. It was all my pleasure... pure self-interest. I had the privilege of spending time with her. Being able to hear the stories. Doing for her what she did for me when I was too young to do it myself. To take care of her. To be with her. I should be the one doing the thanking.

Thank you Bà. I love you.