Daddy,

Do you remember what I said to you Friday night when you were getting very weak? I whispered in your ear, "Rest up ok, Daddy? I will wake you up tomorrow and we will talk more then." 4:30 Saturday morning, I finally slept. I woke up a few hours later, and your breathing had calmed down, but you still could not say much else. All morning on Saturday, the most I would get from you was a slight glance. You remained so strong despite the pain. You even cried a few tears in your last minutes with us. I know it was hard for you to leave us behind, but the cancer was a battle that you would only win if you left this earth and this body. When you left this earth, you looked so much at peace and even had a beautiful smile on your face. Despite how much it hurts me to lose such a loving person like you, I do believe you are in a happy place and that you are with me. As hard as it was to get through each day since your diagnosis, it has become even harder now. The next morning after your passing, I stayed in bed until late morning, thinking about you and crying myself back to sleep, guilted about whether you were suffering in your last day and that I wished Z could have been there to complete our family circle because that was always your happiest moments. You reassured me with your voice--and this time whispered in my ear, telling me that i should not worry because you were no longer hurting and that you missed us. Then today, as I again struggled to get up to start the day, you again whispered to me that you were happy with all the preparations we were doing for you. Father, I don't know why it is that we have this connection, but I do believe you are here with me.

Our time as a family truly was too short, but looking back, we had no words of regret. You left behind a very heart-broken family, but we are all filled with many wonderful reminders of what a loving father should be like. We will make your ceremony one that will give you a wonderful return to your homeland with Grandfather. I love you and will miss you all of my life.

She who will make her father proud,
your daughter

Kuv Txiv,

Cas kuv yuav nco thiab quaj txog koj mus txog hnub twg os txiv ua hlub kuv tshaj plaws? Cas kuv yuav nyob ntawm kuv lub xovtooj seb puas hnov koj hu tuaj seb kuv ua dabtsi los ntshe tsuas pom hauv npau suav lawm xwb os kuv txiv.

Cas ntshe kuv sau li no los koj twb twm tsis tau os kuv txiv. Cas koj yuav txawj hlub peb tsev neeg es yuav ua rau peb quaj pes tsawg pluag rau koj na? Kuv paub hais tias koj yeej hlub kuv niam thiab peb cov menyuam es koj thiaj li ntxeem txog niaj hnub no os kuv me txiv.

Thoj kom koj tsuas mus zoo xwb os kuv txiv tus ua hlub kuv nrog tag koj lub siab. Mus tau ib daim ntawv zoo es koj thiaj li tsis txom nyem es seb peb puas los ua ib tsev neeg ntxiv os, vim hais tias tiam no tsuas zoo li npau suav xwb es twb tsis tau rhuav ua koj tus ntxhais li os kuv txiv.

Koj mus lawm los, yog lawv hais lus Mekas rau koj es koj txhob ntshais os kuv txiv. Peb cov me nyuam mam sau ib tsab ntawv nrog koj ua luag es kom koj txhob poob kev es kom koj mus rau qhov zoo xwb os. Cas kuv yuav nco koj ua rau kuv lub siab mob tshaj plaws.

Koj txhob txhawj txog kuv niam thiab peb cov menyuam. Koj ua ib tug qauv zoo tshaj plaws rau peb ua neej es peb yeej yuav tsis ua koj txaj muag nawb kuv txiv.

Kuv yuav khaws koj rau kuv nruab siab mus tag ib txhis. Kuv yeej yuav tsis ntshaw luag txiv vim kuv paub hais tias koj yeem tseem yuav pov hwm peb tsev neeg nawb.

Koj tus me ntxhais ua yuav nco ntsoov koj lub ntsej muag mus tag ib txhis,
kuv

Dearest Father,

How I pray we get to spend Christmas time with you. We will all soon be reunited again on this sad holiday season as it is likely the last one we'll get to spend with you. I try so hard to think of the good times we had while you were still healthy and can't help but be angry that there was still so much left for us to do together. I feel like a child pouting, "Why? Why? Why?". Why you, why us, why now? I hate it. I hate it all--the pain, the suffering, the loss of who you are and what you stand for. I hate how cancer is taking this all away so slowly and there is not one fucking thing I can do about it except reassure my mom that we need to give you more pain medicine so that you do not suffer so much.

I sit there and stare at you in your bed as you explain to me about each of your pains. You say, "No more radiation. No more chemo." You can't even eat well because food is getting stuck. I worry this is too because of the cancer.

You don't even enjoy those simple things you used to anymore--like wrestling, or watching those dubbed movies. You just get up to eat and then sleep for the rest of the day.

There is nothing good about your illness that I can see at the moment. I feel no happiness, no holiday spirit--I think right now I feel nothing but sadness, sorrow, and hold my breath for the moment which you will leave us to join Grandpa. I think even after that, there will be more sorrow and sadness, but at least at that point, you will be painfree.

One who wishes her father a painless day,
your daughter