I miss Dad so much, my dear.

Minh họa: ĐẶNG HỒNG QUÂN — Illustration: DANG HONG QUAN

It's been three years since my father passed away, and I thought I had no more tears left to cry. But one day, my husband, on his way to work, rushed to the end of the street and sent me a picture via Zalo. It was a quick snapshot taken while he was driving, so it was blurry. I asked him what he was taking a picture of. He said, "Dad!" That's all, but suddenly, tears streamed down my face.

The thin, small, white-haired man in the photo looked exactly like my father, both in appearance and voice. His house was in the same neighborhood, right at the beginning of the street, but I rarely saw him.

I work late every night and have countless chores to do around the house, so I almost never take a stroll down the alleyway to gossip like other women.

I only met that uncle once, during the pandemic, when we went to the end of the street together – during the tense lockdown period – to receive COVID-19 relief money. I'll never forget his gait, though thin, was very quick and agile, the kind of gait of someone accustomed to manual labor.

At that time, everyone had to wear masks and maintain social distancing, but when I heard my uncle's voice answering the ward official, my heart ached. His voice sounded so much like my father's! I told my husband about it, and he nodded in agreement. "It's common for people to look alike in this world," he said. But he knew that deep down, I missed my father.

The last time I visited a younger sibling's house in Cu Chi, when I went inside and met their father, I was almost speechless, feeling like I was standing in front of my own father. He resembled my father so much, from his wrinkled smile to his gentle face, bright eyes, quick demeanor, white hair, and resonant voice.

Unable to control my emotions, I asked my uncle and younger sister for permission to quietly call him "Dad"! I asked to take a picture with him. When I got home, I sent it to my younger sister with the message: "I miss my dad so much, my dear!" Perhaps she didn't know that I was crying when I sent the message.

Years have passed, but that longing has never faded, even though I always avoid talking about it so I can be strong enough to overcome the sadness. I have my family and my young child behind me; I can't allow myself to be crushed by any sorrow or pain—that's the discipline and principle I set for myself. But the heart has its own reasons.

Nostalgia—especially the longing for the person you love most in your life—is not something you can simply put away and forget; it still resurfaces vividly whenever you meet someone who resembles your father.

Yesterday, a friend posted a message that shocked me. She said she had only spoken to her father yesterday, but this morning, he had passed away.

I've always dreaded reading such heartbreakingly quiet messages, because I've been through it. I also didn't understand what was happening to me, when just that afternoon I'd called to ask Dad what he wanted to eat so I could cook it and bring it to the hospital. Dad's last meal was a quiet one with my younger brother, in the hospital, not a home-cooked meal.

I don't know how to comfort my friend, other than the most common expression of condolences. Because even a thousand words of comfort wouldn't ease the longing that arose from that separation. That longing will last, and last...

Sometimes, even after a lifetime, the memories never fade.