Dear Father,

A letter I wrote to my father on my way to see him in the hospital today (now translated to English, of course..) I have so many things to tell him, but the words just don't come out when I am with him~


Dear Father,

The Americans have a very intuitive saying~ The Crossroads of Life ~
A crossroad is the meeting point where many roads meet; we don't know beforehand which is the road to be taken -which road will lead us to our destination. However, with faith in God and courage, we will set out on the road that is meant for us, that we will do our best come what may. That is meaning to say we often find our greatest courage to help us face our toughest moments.

Father, you know that I cannot say these things to you, therefore, I am expressing my feelings in this letter and hope that you may find some comfort and understand how I feel.

I believe that before this medical concern with your heart, you have arrived at many crossroads in your life on this earth. And father, every time you have succeeded and defied the odds.

The first time I have ever written to you was in 1998, when the Tischmans tried to harass you in order to purchase the building where we have lived and worked for years. Father, that was another crossroad that you faced with determination and pride, and you are still there happily nine years later.

This sickness is nothing but another challenge. If you have the will and the strength to face it head on, your quality of life will be better and healthier than before. A few days ago, I brought the baby in to see you. She was scared and shied away from you; she doesn't know better because she is so young. I pray that you will get better so that my children can continue to get to know you and understand what kind of person you are and how you have lived; to understand that you are truly one of the most important persons in their lives.

I have told my children so many stories about your adventures. I have written many accounts of your life so that my children will have record of their grandfather when they grow up. We just pray and hope that you will once again conquer this crossroad that you are facing and that my children can hear the many wonderful stories about their grandfather directly from yourself.

Most respectful,

Your daughter


My head was dizzy as I struggled with my poor Vietnamese to get the letter done during the drive in from Westport. By the time my husband found a metered parking space, I was able to stuff the three pages of welled-up emotions into an envelope which I addressed simply "to Father."

Upstairs, on the 14th floor, where it is more private, I gave the letter to my brother to read to my father later. My father had just had a cardiac cathetherization (where a thin tube is inserted into an artery or vein in the arm or leg. From there it can be advanced into the chambers of the heart or into the coronary arteries)done and was feeling weak. My two-year old daughter craddled her head on my husband's shoulder as I stood over my father (once so strong, the grand patriarch of the amazing family that he has amassed) He is cold and shivering, his eyebrows fuzzy and needed tending to. I asked him how he was feeling and he said he was feeling okay; he should be going home soon. Everyone in the room at the time has already been privy to the result of my father's test but could not bring it upon themselves to tell him...knowing that he would definitely go into a panic mode. Moments later, we all parted like the Red Sea for the cardiologist to come in to deliver the news to my father that the results of his test showed that he must undergo a triple bypass open heart surgery.

Coming Home to Meat?

This is an entry that I will dedicate to my father and my brother.

Some months back my brother had mentioned that he would like to contribute a thought to my blog but has not delivered anything since.

Over this Memorial Day weekend, my father, as he was routinely coming home from church (which is three blocks from his home) fell down in the middle of the sidewalk. A couple of good and kind New Yorkers helped him to get up and walked him home.

Did he trip? His legs have been weak these past few months. My father didn't go into details. This is typical of him. Besides being a man of few emotions, he is also the last to admit that he is sick. A half-brother and his wife had to come up from Philadelphia to help my mother nudge him to the hospital bright and early on Sunday morning. Two hours later, the doctors on duty at St. Luke's Roosevelt screened my father for abnormalities with his brain and heart. His blood sugar level was over the roof; his heart weak. The blood sugar level could have accounted for slight dizziness or leg weakness; the heart is another issue. My father was checked into the hospital and as I write up this entry, he will have been there for four days.

This is only the second time my father has been hospitalized since arriving in the United States in 1975. The first time was when I was in the ninth grade. He was in Buffalo, New York to check on one of his properties and somehow swallowed a tiny piece of chicken bone over dinner. A piece of the breast bone was lodged in his throat and he was having difficulties breathing. My father was taken to the hospital and the ENT (ear, nose, throat) specialists had to operate to get the bone fragment out. When my mother and us kids heard the news, we were frantic with worries. We were overly dramatic and imagined all sorts of horrible things happening; possibly death too. However, when the operation was over, and the doctors had succeeded in removing the bone without any damage to my father's throat and vocal chords, a huge joy swept over us. The best thing was that my father had to remain in the hospital for a few days, and then afterwards, recuperate in Buffalo for another week before flying home.

What that meant was that, one..my father was okay..and two...us kids were free to do whatever we wanted to in New York City, and we were thrilled!!! You must know by now that my father is a very strict man; it is his way or the highway. Growing up, as busy as he and my mother were, we could have never made a move without my father knowing. He is strict to the point of tyranny. Us kids were motionless when our father was around; for this reason, we screamed for joy at the fact that he was far away recuperating and we had the apartment to ourselves.

Please don't get me wrong; It isn't that we didn't love or respect him..we just feared him and as we got older, that feeling has stayed with all of us. I still never approach my father with any question other than, "How are you father?"
My father will say things to me, and I would gladly answer, but that is about it. The little person inside never moved beyond the little kid in the apartment.

I am glad my father is the way he is, or was the way he was, for if not, I think I would definitely be another kind of person. I have slowly learned to be more comfortable around my father (although it is still pretty hard to say goodbye to my father with a hug or a kiss)

The first sets of test showed that my father's arteries are weak to bring blood to the heart. Some more tests will be done tomorrow to see if this could be treated by medication. If not, balloon angioplasty (done with a deflated balloon and catheter)might be an option, and at worse, bypass surgery. My head is aching for my father. On one side, this is a blessing in disguise; It is great to find this out before the situation grows worse. But on the other hand, knowing my father, he is probably scared to death at the thought of having to undergo any procedure at all. One thing I am sure of is that his faith in God (he is so deeply religious) will help him through the next couple of trials ahead of him, and hopefully come out much healthier in the end.

I will head into the city to visit my father once again tomorrow. Maybe I will have to write some uplifting words to soothe him; God knows I can't say them to his face.

In the meantime, my brother had text the following long-awaited entry to me which he wrote on the plane coming into New York tonight:

"Two days after I celebrated my 36th birthday, I board my delayed flight to New York City. It's great to come back to the "City" anytime of the year, for any reason. I Love NY! I grew up there; my roots are deep. My family is always the main reason I visit. Always a good time, never a dull moment.. I say! On this visit, however, I will be coming to see my father as he lies on a hospital bed. It's only the second time that I have seen my Father "down". I am not looking forward to any of it but at least I will be by his side.
I will get in late tonight and it will be past the time that I could come visit him so I will hold off until the morning. It used to be that when I come back home, and my dad's out of town or something, I'd have this feeling of "when the cat's away, the mice will play!" It is ironic that when I was growing up and even to this day, my father scares me when he's around. He never physically abused us or anything like that at all but it is just in me that am nervous somewhat when he is around. Now, I find myself scared and sad that he is not there when I get home. It's not the same without him there, I know that now and so my prayers and wishes are for his speedy recovery. I want him to be at his desk looking over the lobby. I want him to ask me, "where are you going?" as I try to slip out unnoticed. I want him to ask me to go buy something for him at the discount store, a bunch of it! And finally, I want to be there at midnight on a Friday with him at the dinner table. Why? Only my family knows stuff like that, let's just say it involves meat!
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

And I ditto every single word you have expressed Joseph. I can't wait to see you tomorrow.

We are born into a life that has been shaped for us by our parents. How they live and love, we either try to mirror or deny. They are, after all, our first role models and for that alone, we must love and cherish them. They are all we've got in this world!