Tanner Do
This is from my cousin Tai:
A Celebration of Life: In Loving Memory of “Ba Ngoại”
It’s hard to put into words what Ba Ngoại meant to me — to all of us. She wasn’t just part of our family; she was
the heart of it. The matriarch who held generations together, who lived with grace, humility, and strength for over a
century.
Some of my earliest memories are of her presence: steady, kind, and endlessly nurturing. She raised me. She
guided us all. As I grew older and began working, she remained by my side — as my travel companion, my plus
one, my quiet support in cities across the U.S.
We went everywhere together: Washington, D.C., New York City, and her favorite — San Francisco — where she
loved exploring Chinatown, carefully picking the best fruits and ingredients to make dinner for me after a long day
of work. Gà Xào Sả Ớt and Bì Bò were my favorites. That was her love language: care, food, presence.
We took many road trips too — from the Northeast (D.C. to Niagara Falls) to the Pacific Northwest (San Francisco
to Seattle), visiting places like Crater Lake, the Bonneville Dam, Pike Place Market, and Yosemite National Park.
My intellectual curiosity came from Ba Ngoại. She was always learning, always growing, always engaging with the
world around her. And no matter where life took her, she never stopped showing up for the people she loved.
I have such fond memories of our private conversations. You told me how, as a young girl, you helped
great-grandma pick fruit to sell to the French to help make ends meet. Your face would light up when talking about
riding your bicycle to school — a rare joy at the time — or the special friendship you shared with your childhood
best friend, Ba Cô.
You lived a life of elegance and adventure — from extravagant vacations with Grandpa across Vietnam, including
beautiful places like Đà Lạt, to your humble, resilient transformation during years under communist rule. After
immigrating to the United States, nothing was ever beneath you. You embraced a new life with dignity — learning
English with perfect grammar, studying hard to pass your U.S. citizenship and driving exams, and working at the
laundromat to support your independence.
You were always full of surprises — like the time you casually began speaking Japanese with the chef at a sushi
bar. You said you’d picked it up during the Japanese occupation of Vietnam. I was amazed — but of course you
had. That was you: quietly extraordinary in every way.
To so many of us, you were more than “Ba Ngoại.
”
You were a second mother, a confidante, a teacher, and an inspiration.
As Tôn Tôn wrote so beautifully, you loved everyone — blood or not — with an open heart.
We all felt it. That kind of unconditional love is exceptional. It stays with us. It’s your legacy.
Even in your final days, you left this world the way you lived in it: gently and gracefully. I want to give special
thanks to Tati Tu, David, and Tân for making the end of your life comfortable and full of love.
Your passing was peaceful — a quiet exhale after a life fully lived. As we say goodbye, I carry deep grief, yes —
but also overwhelming gratitude. I had the honor of learning from you, laughing with you, and walking through life
with you beside me. You mean so much to me, and I think about you often — especially in quiet moments of
reflection on who I’ve become. So much of that is because of you.
Thank you for being you, Ba Ngoại. We’re blessed to have you in our lives.
I love you. I always will. May your spirit live on through all of us who carry your love forward.
Your grandson, Tai
