17 September — A Day of Two Truths

Dear Vic,

Today, 17 September, marks 25 years since the day we first met - that outing in 2000 organised by the Vietnamese Students of WA (VisWA). It also marks three months since you left us.

Spring has always been the season of our milestones. We met in September 2000. In September 2014, we signed our marriage certificate. In spring 2018, we welcomed Kenzo into our lives. And now here we are in spring 2025 - but this time, without you. My heart aches with the weight of it.

Every September, we’d start planning for Kenzo’s birthday. You’d handle the practical things - booking a venue, organising activities - while I’d dive into themes and invitations. You’d always laugh and tell me I was good with ideas 💡. This year, I’m doing both, because you’re not here.

In your honour, I’ve chosen a theme: Level 7 Unlocked, inspired by your love of computer gaming. I know you’d love it just as much as Kenzo will. The venue is a little café in the Swan Valley with farm animals, a huge playground, a pond, and a cosy nursery café. Kenzo and I visited back in February. I remember inviting you, but you couldn’t make it that day. I took photos of Kenzo pretending to be a photographer, and I shared them with you. I didn’t know then that I was collecting memories you wouldn’t be here to make yourself.

This year, I’m both mum and dad. And every time I think of it, tears fall. Why did it have to come to this? Why did your illness take you from us so soon? I still have so many things I wanted to say to you, to us.

Kenzo misses you in ways words barely hold. At school, he told his teacher, “This Father’s Day, I don’t have a father.” My heart broke. I held him and told him, “You do have a father, baby. He lives in your heart, and from there, he will never leave you.” On his Father’s Day card, he wrote: “You can stay with us while you’re watching from above, or stay in heaven.” Even in his sadness, he still finds a way to reach for you.

He told me just last weekend, after Vietnamese school, “Mummy, can we have dinner at Dad’s house?” So we did. His smile said everything. He didn’t step into your room, nor his old room, but he played with the marble run you two set up together while you were alive. In those moments, he’s keeping you close in his own quiet way.

The other day he ran his first Faction Carnival without you there to cheer him on. Soon there will be school photos, the October disco, the Christmas sing-along. All the little firsts you won’t be here for. And yet, in each of them, we’ll carry you.

Vic, I miss you so much. Sometimes I still wake up expecting you to be here, and the truth hits me slowly, like a wave. The silence reminds me you’re gone. But in Kenzo’s laughter, in his words, in the way he still looks for you in everything - I know you’re not completely gone.

We will carry you with us, always - in every first, in every season, in every heartbeat of our son.

Love always,
— N & Kenzo

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