It’s been 15 years since you passed away. It still hurts. The empty hole you left when you disappeared.

I never told you how much I yearned for your acceptance, for you to say, “I am proud of you, I see you and that you are enough the way you are.”

Sure, more than a decade has passed since you fought a long, courageous battle with stomach cancer and other illnesses that slowed down your body. But I find strength in the fact that you never lost your spirit. I hope I never do too, no matter what challenges lie ahead.

Your mind and essence remained strong. So strong I can still feel them more than a decade and a half later as I look up into the sky, during my conversations with loved ones and walks in nature. I’m not going to lie, it is weird here without you. It still hurts deep inside.

We didn’t have the best of relationships, but I know that you did your best to give us opportunities and freedoms. You left your worldly riches and fancy life in Vietnam to bring us to America in hopes of achieving the American dream.

We landed in Sacramento, 10 of us crammed into a small trailer, a few bucks in your pocket – but the riches lie in our hearts and eyes – wide and full of hope. Through your actions, you taught us that we have nothing if we don’t have hope.

Along the way, you were locked in semi-golden handcuffs. You weren’t around as much. Didn’t spend enough time with me. I used to wonder, were you proud of me? That’s all I wanted to hear. Are you proud of me? Did you know that I quit my first TV job so we could spend time with each other before your spirit left your body? I hoped we could make memories that would fill the gaps from all the times you were not home. But as I learned, no time was and is enough.

I’ve grown up a lot since then. I’ve found my passion work through Go Inspire Go. Met many magical people. Miracles unfolded. I found my happy place and joyful place within. The key to joy in life isn’t in material wealth. It was through service and helping others. You taught me that.

As you told us before your passing, “It’s our responsibility to share the music inside of us before we die.” You’ll be proud that that music is being sung loudly every day through the work I do, people I connect with and every experience I’m able to feel because of all your sacrifices.

Today, as I look at the tiny squares, harrowing hashtags and micro-messages online, I know and feel you are proud of me for just the way I am. I am enough. For me and for you and for others we touch.

Onward and upward,
Toan

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