Olivia and her Dad, Hung Viet Ly, on her wedding.
By Olivia Ly Pieknik
Last February my Dad passed away in his sleep at Maimonides Hospital in Brooklyn, New York. I was 40 years old, yet I felt so lost as if I was a 4 years old orphan.
My Dad lived with liver cancer for two years. He was a fighter with a great sense of humor. When he lost all of his hair due to chemotherapy, he joked that it would save money from haircuts. While laying in the hospital bed after he was admitted into Hospice, he would always smile, thanked the nurses after each check-up, and asked visitors if they were comfortable. As I sat holding his hand during the last week of his life, I again became the little girl going to the soccer games with my father.
There are so many wonderful memories of precious times we had when I was growing up. From the co-op apartment to the comfortable home in Cho Lon (south Viet Nam) to the small boat we escaped in the middle of the night, to the various island huts in the refugee camp in Indonesia and finally a new life in America, the love I had for my Dad as a child became the great respect for his strength and characters of a father, a husband, a man with integrity and determination.
I saw his greatness without fanfares when he risked his life, as guns were pointing at him, protecting strangers during our horrid journey as boat people in 1979. After spending seven months in the refugee camp, an uncle sponsored our family and we arrived in New York in January 1980. I saw the strength in my Dad when he accepted a job as a dishwasher, one week after we came to America. Without speaking the language, no transferable skills and no money to start a business, that was one of the few jobs available. Dad told the refugee worker, "I will take care of my family. I will not accept any handout."
And so our struggle in the new land began. Most nights our family would gather around the only table in the apartment, my sister and brothers doing their homework while my parents trying to pronounce a few simple words of English. Even though he spoke Vietnamese and about seven Chinese dialects, it was difficult for him to learn another language at 45 years old. I cherished the times when my Dad picked me up after my evening classes at Hunter College. We shared how our days were, about current events and our favorite subjects, politics and world affairs.
I rented a separate apartment when I turned 25. My Mom was not very happy because she believed that single women should not be living by themselves. But my Dad understood that I needed a place of my own instead of the cramped apartment in Elmhurst, Queens. I could never forget how my Dad helped me move into my apartment and when he was ready to leave, he told me, "You could always move back with us if you become lonely."
So much of who I am today is the result of my Dad's influence. He taught me by how he lived his life. He was so excited when we became U.S. Citizens. He smiled all the way to the voting poll. I could hear the words my Dad said to us, "We are Americans now. We must serve America well and be good and productive citizens."
My Dad's first name is Hung which is "Hero" in Vietnamese and he is truly my Hero because he represents the human spirit by overcoming all odds. My Dad is always with me in spirit and in my heart. I love you and Happy Father's Day, Dad.
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