Ode to My Mother

My mother, Kim-Dinh Vu, is 70 this year. We, my three siblings and I, were able to finally move her into a senior home early this year. We have determined from a recent shocking event, as how it usually happens, that she has dementia. One day, I received an email from my youngest brother who is mostly responsible for her day-to-day existence, informing us that my mother was in the hospital, detained overnight for tests and her own safety. The local police had found her on the side of a highway having not bathed nor eaten in days headed to North Carolina in a rental car from Virginia.

The news was so incredulous, that it could only be true.

My mother is very independent and strong-willed, so the road trip didn’t surprise us, it was the fact that she was found in that state-- none of us had known of her condition. There were several incidents leading up to this that made this determination plausible, but reading that email while at work on my lunch break was probably not a great idea. It was a bit too much for me to process in an office full of people, mostly strangers. She, a retired divorcee living on her own, without friends and all her children moved away, became another lonely senior, a character in a Dateline Investigation-- the typical story of being prey to money scams for promises of companionship. Unfortunately, we were the sleuths in this mystery. (If ever I was grateful to have siblings/co-investigators, this would definitely be that moment!) They hadn’t met in-person yet, just a few months of electronic correspondences; she didn’t know anything about him, only that he was living in another state and was now in need of financial assistance. He had convinced her that he “loved” her and to “lend” him $10,000 in which he would re-pay her. She had already sent him the money at this point, a bank loan against her home because that was money that she didn't even have. When the police found her, she was on her way to meet him.

A little background will help paint the picture for you of this woman who became my mother. Kim Dinh Vu grew up an only child of a poor single parent in a small village in Vietnam. She met, my father, 15 years her senior, at the age of 19, a very smart, funny, yet naïve student who had planned on going onto university to study mathematics, became unexpectedly pregnant at 20. Five years later, our nuclear family of four was suddenly escaping a war-torn country as refugees looking for a new home and life.

She braved the day-to-day challenges of a new country with little knowledge of the language and customs to work a full-time job, attended community college part-time for years, while raising four children and being the perfect wife who oversaw the family finances and ran the household.

Although both of my parents worked nonstop for decades, we grew up not knowing what it was to “lack” anything. We didn’t live luxurious lives, but we grew up with my father encouraging and incorporating music, literature, art, philosophy, and religion in our upbringing, while my mother set our academic goals, while keeping the Vietnamese customs, language and food alive. We knew nothing but determination and conviction to survive and thrive. We were raised in an environment where education was the top priority along with moral values and personal strength; we understood that there was no option, but to work hard for success.

Being the eldest, I became my mother’s assistant, friend, companion, and confidante. I knew more than a child’s version of my mother. Behind the strength, was a fragile, lonely woman who desperately wanted to be loved. She depended on me—to be her assistant (with chores and watching over my siblings) and most importantly, to be her emotional support. She never had the time for herself—everything she did was for the family. In her opinion, and cultural upbringing, it was a practical matter. She believed that pouring her emotional expectations onto her children, especially, me, the eldest would eventually be “owed” to her in return. Her logical approach to relationships didn’t take into account the human “messiness”. The regrets, hurt, disappointments grew inside her and became bitterness.

As time passed, we all became more involved in our own lives and moved to different states barely keeping-up with each other.

As for the current situation… no matter how much I love her or want to help, my boundaries have been finally set so that I no longer feel 16 when I talk to her. This mostly translates to me no longer compromising my mental nor emotional energy while interacting with her. It sounds very cold and detached, but after years of therapy, I only recently realized that we can only save ourselves. It's taken me years just to save myself from repeating the mistakes in my life being in a constant cycle of heartbreak and disappointment.

Nevertheless, she has always inspired me to be strong, smart, vocal, and independent. Only lately have I realized that she has also inspired me to embrace my vulnerability— that we’re not super-human. As a single parent, I take time for myself and to accept both my strengths and weaknesses— to love myself first so that I am able to be an example to my son. I can’t burden him emotionally and take away his childhood.