Echoes Of Victor

Dear Vic, Yesterday was Father’s Day - Kenzo first one without you. And in the days leading up to it, he carried a quiet storm of emotions. At home, he’d often say, “This Father’s Day, I don’t have a father.” I held him close each time and whispered, “It’s Dad’s first Father’s Day in heaven too. I’m sure he misses you so much, but I’m here for you, baby, and I’ll never leave you.” Last week, he joined the Father’s Day card-making activity in class. I wasn’t sure he would, but he surprised me.  On the card, he wrote: “You can stay with us while you’re watching from above, or stay in heaven.” His words broke my heart and touched it all at once - a message only a child’s heart could write, full of longing and love. Kenzo asked to spend the weekend at your house. He didn’t step into your room, or his old one upstairs. Instead, he curled up on the couch, pulling a soft blanket over himself, like he was cocooning in comfort. Later, he played with the marble run - the one you had ...

Grief is supposed to unite, to soften hearts, to remind us of the love we once shared with the one who is gone. But since Victor’s passing, I have found myself not embraced, but rejected. Instead of compassion, I am met with coldness. Instead of understanding, I am met with hostility. I struggle to understand what wrong I have committed that justifies such treatment from Victor’s siblings. My actions since his death have been guided by one purpose alone: to preserve his memories and personal space for our son, Kenzo, so that he may grow up with tangible reminders of his father’s life and love. I have never demanded the return of belongings taken from Victor’s house. I have not sought financial gain, nor have I interfered in inheritance or property. My single and repeated request has been simple and human: access to photographs of Victor and Kenzo together. These are not possessions of wealth, but fragments of memory - irreplaceable keepsakes that belong to our son as much as to anyone ...

 “Love never disappears - it lives on in memory, in breath, and in our child”

They say death brings out the worst in people - and I’m learning how true that can be. Two months after Vic passed away, I was “unfriended” from his Facebook account. In their eyes, my grief isn’t valid because I’m the ex-wife, while they’re “the family.” But what they choose to forget is that I shared twenty years of my life with Vic - through the ups and downs, through raising our son, through everything that made us who we were. All I’ve ever asked for were sentimental keepsakes - photos of Vic and Kenzo together. That’s what mattered to me. Instead, I was met with cruel words: “As his ex-wife, you’re lucky to even get the house and the car.” Those words cut deep because they are simply not true. I didn’t get the house. I didn’t get the car. There’s nothing in Vic’s will that leaves me any of that. What I’ve been left with is not possessions, but the endless paperwork, the responsibility, and the heavy grief of raising our son without his father. Meanwhile, the things that truly mat...

Last night, as I turned off the light and tucked Kenzo in, the room was quiet - just the sound of his soft breathing and the creak of the bedsheets. Then, in the stillness, he whispered, “Mummy, this coming Father’s Day… I don’t have a father.” My heart stopped. I climbed into bed beside him, wrapped my arms around his little body and held him close. I could feel the weight of that truth pressing on both of us - his words so small, but so heavy. I whispered back, “You do have a father, baby. He lives in your heart. That’s where he’s still alive. And he will always be watching over you from heaven.” Kenzo didn’t say anything after that. He just snuggled into my chest, and I could feel his breath slow into sleep. Even in the dark, even in his grief, he lets me in. And I will keep reminding him that love never leaves - it only changes shape. From arms that once held him… …to the invisible string that still does.

Dear Vic, Why does it feel so hard to grieve you freely, without judgment or interference from others - especially your siblings? Thanh, in particular, has made this unbearable at times. He lashed out at me through text and even on social media, accusing me of things that aren’t true. He claimed I already had your house and car, when in reality, none of that belongs to me - they are part of your estate, set aside in trust for Kenzo until he turns 21. The cruelty didn’t stop there. Someone accessed your Facebook account, unfriended and blocked me, and even removed my tags from posts I made of you and Kenzo. Those posts were our memories, Vic. Memories of the life we shared, moments that were supposed to be preserved for Kenzo. And the timing - two months after your death - only deepened the hurt. I’ve had no choice but to reach out for legal advice. This isn’t about clinging to possessions or property. It’s about harassment, defamation, and the interference with your legacy - things tha...