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KEEP IT IN THE PHAMLY


On Sunday, we attended temple for Day 49 since Dad's passing. I can't believe he's been gone that long already. Here is my tribute to Dad's life. 

Touched is too soft a word. No, Dad Pham influenced so many people's lives during his 79 years.

We have family in Germany and Australia who wouldn't have the lives they've built if Dad hadn't helped them evacuate when the Viet Cong invaded, or driven a refugee boat out of Vietnam, then spent nearly all his income to help family members.

It's no wonder, even though we had planned a small funeral service and told only relatives and a few close family friends, double the people we anticipated attended Dad's funeral service. The funeral home had to put out seating in their back room. My Uncle said he'd told people it was a private family affair, otherwise there would have been even more mourners.

I wrote a series on Dad Pham's life from Vietnam to Germany to Australia. But I never wrote about him as a person.

Dad was super intelligent and able to process vast amounts of new knowledge quickly, it's how he adapted to multiple new countries so well. He had a wicked sense of humour and impossibly quick wit. He was a wise old soul and spoke very eloquently; people listened when he had something to say. Though, he'd always say many people listen but few understand. 

Above all else, he loved my Mum. He loved her so intensely sometimes I think he loved his children because we're a piece of her.

When I observe my siblings, I see Mum Pham is our kindness, Dad Pham is our sharpness, and both parents gifted us with generosity. Mum gave by serving (nurturing, feeding, listening to others), Dad gave by sharing (knowledge, advice, opening our home). There's a selflessness about my Phamly that I'm proud of and want to pass on to the next generation. The world could do with more Mum Phams and Dad Phams, especially now they're both gone.

Rest in peace beside Mum Pham, Dad. We love you. 

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Dad Pham wanted to keep his send off small and simple. His only requests were his three Phamlings attend his burial in the grave beside Mum Pham. He wanted a low stress affair after the tumultuous and traumatic experience of losing Mum Pham and arranging her interstate funeral.

The thing is, Dad is dead and gone, but we have to live with our relatives and friends. No way could we do as he asked and not allow his siblings and nieces and nephews, and his Vietnamese community to grieve and pay their respects.

Big Brother Pham jail-breaked Dad out of hospital for a day last year so he could attend a big family event when a cousin from Germany came to visit Brisbane. In a way, it was good for our relatives to see Dad's ailing health. It meant when it was time to share the news of his passing, nobody was shocked like they had been when Mum died.

Of course, because Dad wanted to keep it simple, we instead had a funeral service in Brisbane for his siblings and then a burial service in Melbourne for his friends and Mum's side of the family. All during Tropical Cyclone Alfred. His funeral service was nearly postponed and then our flights to Melbourne would have been cancelled had we flown a day earlier. The name plate on his casket needed fixing, the flights we booked didn't go through but luckily we ended up on alternative flights even if they were at godawful hours, our mourning cloths were left behind by the funeral home's transport team and Little Sissy Pham had to brave flooding roads to meet the funeral director to collect them for the burial ceremony. The Brisbane temple road flooded and had a tree fall across it to boot, so we couldn't attend to make an offering after the funeral. Oh, and of course, the taxi we booked to the airport kept getting cancelled by drivers so Big Brother Pham and Sister-Not-In-Law drove ourselves there. I wrote most of this on the plane to Melbourne so, good news, we made it. ...and, yep, Melbourne is having a heatwave.

Part of me likes to think that Dad watched on as we overcame unexpected challenges, shaking his head in disbelief at how we persevered despite the odds to put on a big funeral and burial, when he'd timed his passing with a force of nature that we could have easily used as an excuse to keep things small and simple. It's not our fault, Dad, that you and Mum raised resilient, hard working, emotionally stable, physically able adults. Your Phamlings keep trying until we get it done!

Randomly my uncle's (dad's youngest brother) shoe broke in Melbourne the night before the burial. Luckily shops are open late in Melbourne so we got him some superglue. It's been a bizarre week. I'll write about the Melbourne burial another time.



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Friday night. My brother's name lit up my phone and I hoped it was another trip to hospital but I knew it wasn't because hospital trips are a PhamLe group message. And phone calls are for the words, "Dad's passed."

I held it together long enough to learn the details. Then my voice broke (of course, life being life, I'd just put in my teeth whitening kit so had a lisp during this serious conversation) when I thanked Big Brother Pham for taking good care of Dad these past several years, and in particular the last few years where he was in and out of hospital often.

Dad Pham sold the Phamly home to my brother who built a granny flat at the back of the block. This meant Dad got to spend his final years living with family, seeing his granddaughters grow up, and had dinner with his eldest son most nights.

Thanks to Big Brother Pham, Dad got to live and pass on his own terms. He was at home and chain-smoking to the very end, which is what he'd wanted.

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Chopsticks. I don't hold mine correctly. Neither does Little Sissy Pham. Do you know who holds chopsticks perfectly? Big Brother Pham. You know why? Because he had our parents all to himself for the first four years until I came along and ruined everything. When I rocked up, my parents were chasing after a super active, wild toddler and Mum Pham was pregnant again a couple of months after I was born so I was left to figure chopsticks out myself when I had enough hand coordination to try.

All this is to say that Baby Pham will be an only child. Boyfriend Pham was an only child growing up and loved it, so he's always wanted a kid. Singular. My sister is my best friend and my brother is highly tolerable so I would have like to try for another baby if we had managed to get pregnant when we first started trying five years ago. But now I am an unfit 40 who didn't carry pregnancy well. I couldn't lift or actively play with 2-year-old Nephew Pham for nearly two trimesters and I don't want to miss out on playing with Baby Pham during his peak cute toddler year. I dread what recovery would be like after another pregnancy and delivery for my 40-something body if we could get pregnant again.

So instead of a sibling, I tell myself that Baby Pham will learn to hold chopsticks correctly because we'll have time and attention to teach him. He will be loved, adored and have his doting parents all to himself for many years... until he becomes a grumpy teen and moves to the bedroom at the other end of the house and wants nothing to do with us for a while.


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Before we had a baby, we would be asked if we wanted / planned / tried to make babies. Now that we have Baby Pham, a common question is 'Will you have another?' I don't mind this question, it's natural for people who meet my chunky monkey of a baby to want more versions of him with equal or greater chunkiness. He's a very cute baby if I do say so myself.

Little Sissy Pham did not have such a good time with this type of questioning because people she crossed paths with felt entitled to tell her she should have another baby. She has her reasons for only having one baby that's not my business to share. I do wonder if people don't tell me I should have another kid the way they used to, because the cost of living crisis is now a thing, and the financial pressure of raising children is immense. 

Our IVF doctor said we'd ultimately want more children after our first baby so the kids could play with each other. Bless him for helping us make Baby Pham, but he's wrong. We rather delight in playing with Baby Pham - I enjoy learning the world through his eyes, and Boyfriend Pham is always inventing new ways to play with bub. I don't think we'd make a sibling just so we can spend less time with our son. That said, we've kept our frozen embryos so we have the option because it's early days and people say it's too soon to decide either way if we're unsure.

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We had grand plans to paint baby's nursery a cute colour or paint a feature wall like in our bedroom but we never got around to it. Instead, we went with quick and easy wall decals. Boyfriend Pham wanted an Australiana-themed nursery for Baby Pham because he'll grow up surrounded by Americanisms in pop culture. It took us about 8 months after Baby was born to decorate his room because we had other things to worry about. Namely, how the hell to parent so baby boy thrives.

Somewhat ironically, we got our Australian-themed wall decals from Spain. DecoDeCoco is a small, independent business that sells their designs on Etsy. Once I stumbled upon the design, I couldn't imagine another decal set in Baby's room. This is perfectly cute. Baby animals that aren't too cartoonish or creepily realistic. And it hasn't given Baby nightmares like the giraffe soft toy a friend gifted. Baby Pham has definitely been a cuddly koala this year so his room decorations are very fitting. 

Since this photo was taken we've installed blockout blinds and replaced his ceiling fan with something newer, smaller and quieter. Seems like 9 months old is when life got easier and we were able to do nice things instead of focussing on the bare minimum. 

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