Today, I’m filled with a deep sense of gratitude. My father and I are sitting side by side at a cancer treatment center, facing another chapter in his fight against lung cancer.
His first round of immunotherapy gave us hope. The tumors shrank. The doctors were optimistic. We believed we had turned a corner. But the most recent scans tell a different story — the cancer has metastasized. A new type of chemotherapy is now our next step.
And yet… in the midst of this storm, we find peace in the time we have together.
We reminisce often — about the early days after escaping Vietnam. About landing in America with almost nothing. My father, my grandparents, his brothers, and me. And how shortly after arriving, my mother left. It was just him and me from then on — a young boy and a father navigating a foreign land, with no roadmap, no language, and no guarantees.
He’s been my silent rock ever since.
What amazes me now, looking back, is how much strength he carried — quietly, without complaint. No matter how hard things got, he met every challenge with a stoic calm. He didn’t speak English. He had no real support system. And yet he raised a son with conviction, with consistency, with love.
What I see more clearly now than I ever did before is how much he believed in me.
Every idea I ever had, no matter how crazy, he supported. Every path I explored, he encouraged. He never imposed his fears on me. He trusted me. He never played the victim — not once. His mindset was always forward, always resilient. Even now, as he faces cancer head-on, he speaks with strength, never self-pity.
In this moment, I’m reminded of what true courage looks like.
It’s not loud. It doesn’t seek praise. It’s the quiet commitment to keep showing up — for your family, for your future, even when everything feels uncertain.
My father taught me that.
And for that, I am eternally grateful.
