The Thread That Holds Us

May 22, 2025

I woke up in my mother’s bed, in her spot. For the first time in days, sunlight poured through the windows after three nights of bleak, rainy weather in St. Paul. Her room—my parents’ room—was glowing with warmth and light.

For the past two nights, my father chose to sleep on the sofa bed in the living room. This morning was still and quiet. When I got up, we shared his favorite breakfast: a croissant and coffee—specifically, Gold Choice Instant Coffee with Ginseng, his favorite. He prayed and we ate together. It was simple, informal, yet deeply meaningful.

Later, I walked downstairs with Dad to wait for his ride to the senior center. We sat on the bench together until Lee arrived to pick me up for our appointment with our brothers, Nhia and John, at Koob Moos Funeral Home on Gervais Avenue. We stayed with Dad until his ride came. His driver, Maya—whose family runs the center—greeted us with warmth. She offered condolences, shared stories and kind words about our mother. We shared laughter in her memory. It was comforting.

At the funeral home, Lee and I sat around a meeting table with John, Nhia and his wife Chua. We reviewed documents, discussed funeral arrangements, toured the building, and finalized the dates. I realized then that there are a lot of little details and decisions that will need to be made. Every touch matters in how we will honor our Mother's memory. 

After we took care of business, my brothers, sister, and I stood outside in the parking lot, passing time until their wives could join us for lunch. Nhia, our second eldest, came over and gave me a hug, asking gently how I was. I started to tear up. John gave me a hug too, and we stood in a circle talking about mom and dad, about the work we have ahead of us. 

Then the mention of Kou, our eldest brother, came up. I hadn’t realized how much hurt and anger I carried toward him. Kou was born in 1971 and was our parents’ only child for eight years. But since I was a little girl, he’s been estranged from us by his own choice. There’s been tension between his wife and our family—especially with Mom. That rift hurt our parents deeply. Mom spent almost her lifetime recovering from it. Lee reminded me that it was only about a year ago that Mom finally stopped bringing it up. I believe she made peace with it.

In Kou’s absence, the weight of responsibility—the role of eldest son in our Hmong family—fell to Nhia. Traditionally, the eldest brother leads the siblings, supports the parents, preserves family rituals, and mediates through challenges. Nhia wasn’t supposed to carry all that alone, but to support. However, he became the one to show up at the clan meetings on my father's behalf, to handle difficult decisions, and shoulder the burden of leading the family. Through it all, he held space for each of us and we are blessed for the willingness of each one to step in whenever our family is in need.

Behind Nhia is his wife, Chua—a force of love and wisdom. It’s Chua who gently pushed Nhia to learn the family traditions, to step into a role that he didn’t ask for but ultimately embraced. She has stood by him, guiding him, encouraging him to be present on behalf of our father and in place of Kou. Her loyalty to our family—through her actions, words, and teachings—has been a gift to all of us. She didn’t just marry into our family. She loved us. She honored our parents through her care and through the way she lifted Nhia up to lead when we needed him most.

When I think of family, I think of the sacrifices my parents made—their blood, sweat, and tears poured into each of us. Kou was loved first by our mother and had so much he could’ve shared with us as the eldest. He could’ve guided us, helped us carry on the goodness of our parents’ legacy. His absence has left a void in our family for decades. 

My greatest hope through all of this is that Kou will find his way back to us, his family. I believe I speak not only for myself, but for my siblings when I say: we want our eldest brother to come home. His sons—our nephews—are part of us, always. Our parents’ love was never perfect, but it was real and steadfast. It shaped us into who we are.

We are so blessed to be the children of Mao Sue Kong and Va Yang. They were honest, hardworking, generous people who gave even when they had little. Despite the hardships in life and marriage, they stayed together to the very end. They honored their vows. They loved each other. They loved us. Their loyalty to each other, and to us, is a legacy I will always treasure.

Mom, I miss you every day. We all do. Your children are doing our best to fulfill your wish: to love and help each other. We are taking care of Dad. We are finding joy in one another, because we know that’s what you wanted most—for us to stay connected in love.

We are so proud to be your children. You and Dad gave us everything. And we will honor your memory.

Peb maamle tsaa koj lub meejmom, os, kuv Nam.