Phong's mother and sister Hoa had lunch with a dish of chicken that was "completely burnt".
Today's meal included chicken – chicken raised in our own coop – and a bowl of spinach soup made with water spinach picked from the garden. The conversation went on well past noon, so my mother insisted we stay.
"Just a moment of absentmindedness and it's all burnt," said Pham Thi Hoa, laughing to hide her embarrassment as she tore up the chicken meat for her mother, Lang Thi Phong, a Vietnamese Heroic Mother.
Phong's mother happily poured us glasses of wine, saying, "Today we have chicken, I'll have a glass of wine, you children should have a glass too, medicinal wine is good for your health." Her words and gestures were affectionate and warm, just like with her own children and grandchildren, but only later did we learn that her only remaining relative was Hoa.
Even mealtimes were interrupted by endless chatter, leaving us sometimes happy with the mother and daughter's laughter, and other times somber with their distant gazes and even tears.
Phong's mother is now 103 years old (born in 1922). Time may have taken away her memory, but it has left behind the graceful and refined beauty of a former forest flower – from her figure to her long hair tied with a brocade headscarf. At the age of 19, she left Trung Thanh village to marry Mr. Lang Van Tranh from Ngoc Son village in Luong Son commune, and they started a family together. Their happy marriage didn't last long before her husband, Mr. Lang Van Tranh, went to war, fighting first against the Japanese and then against the French. For 12 long years, she was without news of her husband, shouldering the household responsibilities and anxiously hoping for his return.
Mother of a Vietnamese Heroic Mother, Lang Thi Phong.
Her hopes were fulfilled when her husband was fortunate enough to return home and reunite with the family after the long and victorious resistance war against the French. Her happiness multiplied shortly after – in 1958 – when she gave birth to a son, her only child, named Lang Thanh Quynh. “As a child, Quynh loved guns and often played mock battles with his friends,” Phong’s mother recalled.
The happiness of the small family lasted for 17 years before Mr. Tranh passed away due to illness. Two years later – in 1977, "hearing that the local area was recruiting soldiers, Quynh secretly went for a military examination and left. Holding a gun was fulfilling his dream. He left school and didn't even have time to say goodbye to his mother" – the distant past returned to the widow in the tears welling up in Phong's mother's now dim eyes.
My husband's parents only had him as their only child. My husband and I only have one son. After he passed away, I was left alone...
We lost contact with our son, and then four years later, news of his death arrived in the form of a death certificate. Quynh died on July 9, 1981, while participating in a campaign to hunt down Pol Pot's remnants in Cambodia. "My husband's parents only had him as their only child. My husband and I only have one son. With him gone, I'm all alone," my mother told us, as if speaking to some distant void.
Certificate of Recognition from the Fatherland...
In 1994, Mrs. Lang Thi Phong was awarded the title of Heroic Vietnamese Mother by the State. Her son rests alongside his comrades at the Tay Ninh Provincial Martyrs' Cemetery, and the mementos he left her are a certificate of recognition from the Fatherland and a death notice.
The Vietnamese Heroic Mother lives alone, in misery and solitude, under a thatched roof in Ngoc Son village. One stormy night, the wind rushed into the house, sweeping both of her son's mementos up into a tree. She frantically ran after them, and by the time she retrieved them, they were completely torn to shreds.
...and the death certificate was "completely torn to shreds".
After nearly a decade living in her own shadow, Phong's mother finally found a second family, a warm and simple home where she could find refuge. From then on, the two women, though not related by blood, shared similar circumstances and relied on each other, calling each other by the sacred words "mother" and "daughter."
"Hoa is the daughter of a fallen soldier, the granddaughter of a Vietnamese Heroic Mother," - Phong's mother's sudden remark, amidst a jumble of memories, left us stunned, while Hoa's eyes welled up with tears...
"Hoa is the daughter of a fallen soldier, the granddaughter of a Vietnamese Heroic Mother," - Phong's mother's sudden remark, amidst a jumble of memories, left us stunned, while Hoa's eyes welled up with tears.
Speaking on behalf of her mother, she recounted: “I have two mothers. Phong's mother is here, and my biological mother lives with my older sister's family in the neighboring village. My sister was born in 1966, two years older than me. My mother told me that when she was five months pregnant with me, my father – whose name was Pham Hoang Quy – went to the battlefield. He left without saying goodbye to the family. In 1971, he died on the Quang Tri front… I never even saw my father's face. It wasn't until much later that I visited Truong Son Cemetery twice to see him. My father was also an only child. In 1995, my grandmother, Pham Thi A, was awarded the title of Heroic Vietnamese Mother. I lived with my grandmother from a young age… she didn't have any close relatives either… and she cried a lot for me.” – Hoa recounted, her voice breaking with tears.
In 1987, Ms. Hoa married a nephew of Phong's mother. Two years later, in 1989, the young couple asked to take Phong's mother in to care for her. By this time, Phong's mother's health had deteriorated significantly, and she could only do light tasks such as cooking and cleaning. Since 2001, her eyesight had been almost completely blind, and her niece-in-law, Ms. Hoa, took care of her every need, from feeding her to fetching water from the village well for her bath... "There was only one well in the whole village, so we had to go early to get clean water."
In 2003, the family sold their buffalo, and she took Phong's mother to the city for eye surgery. "While I was away for the surgery, my mother came to look after the child, and all the rice at home was stolen, so the whole family had to go hungry," Hoa said, wiping away tears and smiling as she recalled the not-so-pleasant story that has become an unforgettable memory for the two of them.
She lamented her unfortunate fate. It took her eight years of marriage to have a child. Since 2013, her two daughters had married and moved far away. In 2017, her husband passed away, and since then, the small house in Trung Thanh village has been occupied only by her and her daughter, except on anniversaries, holidays, and festivals.
Living with and caring for Phong's mother is a source of happiness for Hoa. Because, "being with her, I feel like I'm reliving the time I spent with my grandmother, who also had a hard life..." And because of this shared experience and empathy, she vows to care for Phong's mother for the rest of her life with the love, duty, and responsibility of a daughter.
Phong's mother kept repeating to us, "Hoa is so kind... she takes such good care of Grandma."
...
If only there were a historical record of the lives of the Vietnamese Heroic Mothers, capturing the depths of their resilient hearts and kind souls—their love, longing, and sorrow. But it's probably too late now, for these mothers only remember the names of their husbands and sons; some have faded into the realm of memory forever. We conclude this article here—these small stories are told by the limitations of language compared to the enduring sacrifice, selflessness, and humility of Vietnamese women, of the Vietnamese Heroic Mothers of Thanh Hoa province! |
Nguyen Phong
Source: https://baothanhhoa.vn/ky-uc-cua-me-bai-cuoi-hai-nguoi-phu-nu-mot-mien-ky-uc-hai-tieng-me-con-thieng-lieng-255158.htm






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