Camellias in Bloom

“White camellias, winter blooms
When summer comes I will think of you”

--“Sorrowfree,” Kate Campbell

 Dear Thi,

Last summer, your father and I meandered around the garden section of Home Depot when I decided I wanted to plant a camellia in your honor, so that I would have something living to tend to and keep at home when I couldn’t visit your gravesite. We planted the camellia in a faux wood barrel, and over the winter that just passed, the leaves became droopy and sparse. 

I was worried that something we intended to commemorate you would grow sick and die, but your father fed it with fertilizer stakes, coffee grounds, corn husks, and egg shells, replenishing the soil with magnesium and nutrients. Early this spring at the beginning of February, the camellia bloomed for the first time, showcasing a delicately soft swirl of dark pink petals. 

The leaves became dark green and glossy. Every morning, I would defrost a bag of frozen breastmilk in a large cup of water for Dannica to start her day, and I’d take out the cup to water the camellia afterward. It made me part-believe that I was feeding you as well. 

Around this time, I was in conversation with a new Technical Publications manager at a company called Rivian. I had started to get back into the swing of work at Byton after my maternity leave with Dannica. There were some exciting projects rolling out and a slightly different team dynamic to get used to as old team members shifted to different companies and new team members on-boarded. I had missed the camaraderie with my colleagues. I wasn’t looking for a new job since my days already felt so full with work, pumping milk, meal-planning for the family, and cooking purees for Dannica as she started solids. I thought I’d entertain the interview process to keep my skills sharp, and a sense of curiosity also compelled me to meet the people who work for Rivian. After a round of phone interviews, I was invited onsite. 

The Rivian office in San Jose is located closer to home, on an industrial street lined with many other companies. It has the feel of dot-com San Jose before the big bust, as companies clamored for real estate to draw workers to the ever-busy and dynamic Silicon Valley with its promises of dreams of making it big. Rivian sat at the center of a bunch of complexes, a bit tucked away and more difficult to find. As I neared the front door of the building, I was surprised to see a tiny camellia bush with similar dark-pink blooms like the one I had planted for you. 

A strange hunch washed over me, the same one I had when I scoped out the Lam Research facility, my first real job outside of college and my entry into a corporate, technical writing career. As soon as I saw Lam’s triangular logo that made me think of a mountain with horizontal slashes raked into its side, I had a feeling I’d get hired even before I interviewed. 

In this way, this tiny, innocuous, seemingly neglected little camellia bush was placed perfectly for me, like a sign to embark on my next professional adventure. It was an interesting time for a job change in general since everyone had started to shelter in place (SIP) in mid-March for the Coronavirus pandemic, and it felt especially risky since your father was also ending his employment at Satellite Health Care to start at TriNet. As we took family walks to stretch our legs during SIP, I noticed camellias in bloom across the neighborhood, jade leaves glossy against the sun, clusters of pink and red flowers thickly coloring the bushes. They, and you, are everywhere, following me along my journey, reassuring me that things would be ok. 

So, past the interview conversations and strategic business moves, I based a major career decision on a hunch, a gut feeling, a sign. I know it sounds superstitious to base things on a sign, me being such a fundamental believer of science and logic. But taking the new job opportunity turned out to be right in more ways than one. It has given me a fresh adventure, change, and the chance to meet amazing new people while continuing to financially support my family and enriching my knowledge in the technical writing trade. 

Dear Thi, I used to be so afraid of changes; something like signing on for a new job kept me awake for nights on end. The last time I did this, I had just lost you, and subsequently decided to leave my job of a dozen years. I had survived the pain of your loss; not much else could hurt me more. That turned out to be a wonderful opportunity, a fun ride. It was equally strange that the offer presented itself to me when I was not even looking, whereas in the past, I had job-hunted in earnest, but with no leads. I can’t help but feel like you are this higher being watching out for me, taking care of me as I would have done for you, guiding me to paths that hold my best interest. 

It is May 13^th, the week after Mother’s Day weekend, the day you would have been due. You would have turned two years old. I think of you especially today, and hold you in my heart always. I am entering my third month of working from home, and I now sit at the dining room table, gazing out the window where the spring-green camellia leaves are peeking through. It uncharacteristically rained this mid-May, and this evening, we are gifted with a double rainbow, followed by a brilliant sunset that shaded the clouds a blushing pink. 

As I step outside to enjoy the remnants of the day, I have a strong feeling, an intuition, that you've come on your would've-been birthday to visit me.

Thanks for watching out for Mama, Baby Girl. I see you, too.

Letters to Dannica: Pulling to Stand & Emerging Personality (Month 8)

We have now been sheltering in place for a month due to COVID-19. We pass our time by taking family walks, cooking, baking, eating. You’ve gotten to try quite the spectrum of fruits and veggies in your purées, and Mommy will transition you to chunkier textures soon. You are up for trying anything new, and your appetite has quite increased in the last month. You’ve now sprouted two top front teeth, four in total.

 You’ve learned to clap and could spend 20 minutes marveling at the mechanics of your hand movements. You could now pull up to stand by yourself and enjoy standing and playing.

You can lower back down to crawling position as well, and with these new skills, you can hardly stay still, even when we put you to sleep. You end up sprawled on us or across pillows at awkward ankles before passing out, as if you were in the middle of scaling Mount Everest.

Your In & Out Day has passed this month, so now you’ve spent as much time on the outside as you did incubating in Mommy.

We find your personality emerging: you are physical, fearless, determined, curious.

You like to have fun and know how to win people over with a smile, but your brother Luc has the more good-natured sense of humor in the family as it takes more to make you laugh.

A Bouquet from Luc: for Dadda, Mama, and Dannica

 These days, our laundry and dishes always get on top of us, and we miss going adventuring on trips beyond our neighborhood. Mommy wishes she could take you on your first flight to somewhere fun so that you could continue learning and exploring. We are thankful for our health, for our jobs. But part of me is already dreading the inevitable commute back into the office, being away from you 9+ hours during the weekdays, rushing to get you through your meals and routine instead of having time to enjoy these little family moments.

Easter Sunday 2020

For now, I’ll hold you close and watch you grow.

Letters to Dannica: The Last of Our Outings (Month 7)

I never would have thought that the last few outings we had in the past weeks—visiting Google’s lawn sculptures, going to the train show at the fairgrounds, attending a friend’s red egg party, and touring Mommy’s and Daddy’s alma mater—would be our last taste of freedom for a while.

Visiting Google's Lawn Sculptures

Train Show at the Fairgrounds

Red Egg Party

Visiting Mommy's & Daddy's Alma Mater

You were born in what is turning out to be a historic year, with a COVID19 pandemic sweeping through the world, and with a recent county mandate for families to “shelter in place,” essentially being locked down. The economy is plummeting, schools have closed, and many people are told to work from home, with others losing their jobs entirely. 

Amidst all this, you are continuing to grow, picking up an incredible amount of skills in the past month. You are cutting two bottom front teeth and are chewing everything you could get your hands on, with your favorite being Daddy’s meaty hands.

You roll over like a pro and can sit up straight all by yourself.

You can now crawl forward a little better instead of your backward scooch. You reach out your hands to your choice person when you want to be picked up. You show a huge interest in wanting to pull up to standing, and can do it with a little assistance from us. Your favorite purées so far are pumpkin and pear. Luc makes you laugh a lot, but in true little sister fashion, you are starting to annoy him by getting your hands on all his favorite books and toys that he’d rather keep to himself.

It feels like the world is on fire, with people rushing about, scared, anxious, panic-shopping, hoarding food and supplies.

Grocery Shopping During the COVID-19 Pandemic - Empty Shelves

 They now pass each other on the streets and stay a distance away; the hustling and bustling, traffic-congested Bay Area, hub of the Silicon Valley, has largely become a ghost town with its residents hunkering down. It feels uncertain and surreal, but you are too young to sense and know any of this. You keep doing you, growing along, gifting us freely with smiles and baby chuckles.

You remind me of what a treasure children are, how much joy and hope they give us, at a time like this. And despite the world being on fire, it feels right—it still feels like it will be okay—with you in it.

Letters to Dannica: Diving Into Daycare (Month 6)

Dear Dannica,

You celebrated your very first Tết (Lunar New Year), sporting an áo dài with Mommy and Luc.

You are our early riser and often like to pester Luc, batting at his face and cooing to him in order to wake him up and get him to play with you.

Nothing cracks you up quite like Daddy’s antics. You prefer to sit, stand in your baby bouncer, or be worn face-out to explore the world. You’d often reach for nearby toys and have taken quite a liking to Luc’s cars. Your favorite trick is blowing air past your closed lips, and you'd make a "pfffffttttt!" sound at us all day.

At 6.5 months, you started daycare, much to Luc’s delight since you get to go to school together. You seem to like it, too, smiling at your teacher during drop-off instead of your brother's often teary and dramatic goodbyes. You eat well there, but you don't sleep so much since you prefer to be awake and not miss all that's going on, for there is so much to learn and do and see.

Luc takes his big brother role quite seriously, walking ahead of your stroller to lead the way and showing you the ropes at school. However, you caught your first-ever ear infection after a bad cold, leading to a very restless week as you round up your sixth month. You had to be on antibiotics, and I felt so sorry for you when you'd throw up the Tylenol since you don't like the taste, or lunge for your milk bottle when I'd offer it after you are able to choke down the bright-pink Amoxicillin.

For President's Day, we took leisure local walks around Campbell, Mountain View, and Los Altos. We see the giant Android Operating System sculptures on Google's campus. You are a tech baby after all, and need a tech tour.
 

And yet, maybe you will long for a simpler country life when you grow up; instead of being engrossed in front of a screen and immersed in the grand goals of Silicon Valley, you would be content to live on a lush, green farm and watch the seasons change, marveling year after year as the azure sky peeks through thick clouds of springtime blooms, as the world begins again anew. I love dreaming these dreams for you, holding these what-ifs in my imagination until you are able to articulate to me the desires and longings of your heart.

Letters to Dannica: Babbling, Grabbing, and Scooching (Month 5)

Dear Dannica,

You’ve been spending the last month enjoying your daddy's company as he takes paternity leave to tend to you. A lot of your day is spent sleeping and getting bottle-fed.

The holidays came upon us, and you had fun attending your brother’s Christmas party at his daycare, just a little taste of what you have in store since you will soon go to the same daycare with him.

We went to lunches and dinners on both sides of the family for the holidays. You are very well behaved and for the most part, just observing and taking everything in.

 We experiment more with solid foods.

So far, you are liking the sweet purees such as sweet potatoes and squash. You are indecisive about applesauce and peas, but you hate sour peaches, making the biggest shocked Grinch face when you sample them. It took you a while to warm up to oatmeal cereal mixed with breastmilk, but some days you want extra helpings.

Your appetite for breastmilk has tapered off and even waned this month, and you take less that you used to, around 3-4 ounces per feeding, and more spaced out throughout the day.

You’ve taken to babbling a lot recently, namely saying “Babababa” when you want your daddy, “Emmmm” (Am in Vietnamese) when you want to be picked up, and “Bububu” (Bu in Vietnamese) when you want to suckle. You don’t always say the words with intent, but you are clearly starting to try to communicate your wants with us.

In the morning when you wake up, you are most fascinated with Luc, especially when he still lies sleeping, stalling to wake up for school. You call out to him, try to grab his face, or bat at him with your hands to try and wake him.

You are getting quite good at grabbing objects within your reach and often bring them to your mouth to taste and explore. Your favorite toys are the green O-ball that I use to help you grab and entice you to reach for and roll over; your teething giraffe; and Luc’s stuffed monkey, Jo-Jo.

You also love your bouncer. On days when you are in a good mood, you could stand in there and play with the activity centers for a long time. You’re quite proud of yourself when you press a single button and are rewarded with a cute jingle, thinking that you had successfully played all the notes to the song.

You’d often hold up your hand to examine, opening and closing your fingers to study the moving mechanisms. You can sit for short periods unpropped and unassisted, and you’d often lift your head and look around for us when you wake up from a nap.

You are starting to army-crawl by scooching, but you travel in reverse, which greatly amuses Mommy. I’d put you in the center of your floor mat, and you’d end up under one of our dining room chairs, looking around your new surroundings and peeking out like a little mouse.

 You have a very round face and a sweet, infectious smile that you are learning how to use to get your way (namely, to be picked up, as you are happiest when being held).

Days Go By and Still I Think of You

"You
Still a whisper on my lips
A feeling at my fingertips
That's pulling at my skin. . .

Days go by
And still I think of you
Days when I couldn't live my life without you"

--"Days Go By," Dirty Vegas

Dear Thi,

I was told when we picked out the font and design for your gravestone that white vinegar, straight up, sprayed from a squirt bottle and then buffed off the surface, is the best way to clean it. In the process of picking out a gravestone for you, your father and I decided to pre-purchase for us, too, so that we could eventually rest with you and see you again when our days are done. I remember the morbidity of it all, for no one wakes up in good health and at the prime of their lives thinking, "Gee, this looks like a good day to do a cemetery tour. Think I'll go ahead and buy my resting place."


I knelt in front of your (our) grave, buffing out dust and marks from the surface, tidying the succulent gardens that keep you company, cutting and arranging the bouquet of fresh flowers that I had bought that morning. It was Monday, December 30th, a day after your birthday, and throughout the weekend, I was wrought with guilt that I had been unable to visit you for over half a year. Your little sister Dannica had caught a cold, and around the busy holiday season, no one was available to watch her so that your father and I could pay you a quick visit together. No one has time to do favors for the dead. From our bedroom where I nursed Dannica and comforted her congested cries, I watched the play of sun and shadow in the garden, noting how the last of the autumn fruits hung rotted and bird-pecked on the bare branches with a few sad leaves clinging to them. I mourned the passing of the day, how it turned dark all too quickly. You must be able to travel anywhere you want to without a corporeal body left to limit you, but my heart broke as I imagined your spirit sitting near your gravestone, excited during the fresh morning, and then crying when the sun sank down and Mommy and Daddy hadn't been by at all to see you for so long, let alone on your birthday. I didn't want you to feel abandoned and forgotten now that we have your little sister, but wish you'd know that you have been more and more on my mind during this season.

On Monday, I returned to work on a day when a lot of other people took a long winter shutdown. I still felt a small sense of discombobulation after having taken such a long maternity leave for Dannica. I had to learn to navigate life again not tethered to her, my hands set free from often cradling a baby to fly across the keyboard and start making money again. I made a quick lunch of instant ramen, wolfed it down, and began the drive toward the Los Gatos hills, hell-bent on seeing you. Every year, the maintenance staff cleans the cemetery for upkeep, tossing old flowers and weathered memorabilia. It being so close to Cleaning Day, I couldn't bring you a new toy for them to take away. But I hope that you like the bright, cheery flowers that I brought, hope that you feel a mother's warm and gentle touch as she cleaned your headstone with loving care and ran her fingers across the etching of your name, such a small remnant of you on this earth.

I told you how Luc is such a loving big brother, how he would've been great to you, even though he is having a difficult year contending with emotions that are bigger than him. I told you that Dannica is such a good baby, as if she knows of our past struggles and is giving us grace. I told you how much I miss you, that I was sorry to have been so busy and occupied to visit you. Being close to you in the serene cemetery on a sweet and warm winter afternoon, with the sound of water gushing around us from the fountains, I felt a small sense of comfort that as with all children, you are quick to forgive when the present does you justice. You are my baby, but also bigger than me in a way and in a realm that I do not yet understand; you are not always a half-hour's physical drive away, but you exist across different planes, could be in multiple places at once, and you often come to visit me in a warm spring breeze, a pink cloud at sunset, a foggy morning near Christmastime.

When I lost you, I became a mother divided. I struggled to be present for Luc and to cherish my time with him, determined to not let the precious moments slip by. But sometimes, I couldn't help but go far away in my mind to visit you. He grows up and away from me all the time, more and more each day, and you seem to be arrested in babyhood for me to wish to hold and cuddle. When Dannica was born, I was divided again, three ways. Now I have an earth daughter just like I've always wanted, but it doesn't much mitigate the pain of your passing. I am busy all the time, one part a preschooler-boy mommy, one part a baby-girl mommy, one part a mommy who misses her angel baby, one part a career woman struggling to get back in the fast-paced tech world. There are now so many bits of me from this attention division, this mother-of-multiples mitosis, that there is very little of me left that I recognize. Most days, I sprint to do the essentials: eat, drink, shower, sleep. I shove sugar-loaded junk into my mouth and swallow food half-chewed for the sheer energy to keep going without the time to cook wholesome meals. My rundown home clothes are constantly soaked in baby spit-up or breastmilk leaked out due to having no time to pump. My hair is in a constant, loose ponytail or else falling to the floor in clumps from the drop in postpartum hormones. My hands are raw from scrubbing poop-stained clothes, washing endless dishes, and folding mountains of laundry, the nails chipped and misshapen from me not having time to clip them, even as I clip the 40 fingernails and toenails from my resistant children.

The winter solstice has passed, and we are moving more and more toward lengthier days and shorter nights. A friend put it into perspective: "It gets lighter by a minute a day. You wait 30 days, you have 30 extra minutes of daylight." I know there will be easier days ahead, once Luc's temperament works out so that not nearly everything makes him melt down and cry. That Dannica will require less care as she grows. Is it strange that I am sad that you do not get to experience these feelings? Defeat, despair, and bone-aching weariness, tempered by the awe of seeing your own children grow, the joy you get when you look upon their faces and gaze into their eyes. Flesh that you shaped, blood that you formed. I wonder what your children would have been like. I wonder if you would have chosen to have some, and your dad and I could marvel at how we'd slowly but inevitably morph into our own parents. What a trip it is to think about the passage of time. I pulled myself back to the present from a future that I could only dream of and picture you'd have. As I made the full circuit's drive to exit the cemetery from the newer plot where you rest to the older, moss-covered, wind-worn gravestones, I marvel at how many days have already gone by. And still, I think of you.

Luc's 4th Birthday

Dear Luc,

In just a few more days, you turn 4 years old, and today, we celebrate. I accidentally smushed your cake, which is an apt wrap-up of how this year went: perfect, until it’s an absolute, unfixable cluster.

 This past year, you tested and challenged us; you throw down with the best of them with temper tantrums, shrieking spells, talking back, and open defiance. You say, “Mama, you old,” “I lock Daddy outside,” “I don’t love Odin anymore cuz he stinks.” You cry when you have to get up, you cry when you have to go to sleep, and you are terrifically even more annoying and loud when we ask you to tone it down.

This past year, you learned to be a big brother and cope with our divided attention. You help out with the baby, entertaining her and making her laugh. You say, “Isn’t my baby beautiful?” “I picked these flowers for you, Mommy,” and “I want to cuddle and sleep with you tonight, Dadda.” You nestle up to me when I cry, put your small, warm hands on mine, and say, “That happens to me, too; I kiss you and later you feel better.” I was not raised to show emotions in public and am amazed that you have learned such empathy.

You are still car-crazy, still love cheese and fries. And yet you morph from a shy and clingy toddler—content to stand back and observe—to an outgoing, loquacious, and fun-loving preschooler. Sometimes I still see glimpses of my baby boy in your mannerisms and the cute childish phrases that you retain. But often I see a little boy growing up so fast, with an emerging personality that makes you so uniquely you, that we are getting to “meet” for the first time.

Happy 4th, my dear Luc. You were my first teacher at being a mother, and you continue to teach me still: grace under pressure, flexibility to adapt to multiple scenarios, and sheer grit to keep going when you think there’s nothing left in you.