Friday, January 16, 7:35 a.m.

5:30 a.m., Kiet and I woke up to the sound of loud painful moaning coming from the other side of the curtain which now had been pulled. Two nurses were working on suctioning out the excess fluids in Cau Nam's throat which had built up within the last 24 hours, making that gurgling noise when he breathes and causing him discomfort. All that we could hear from this side were two nurses talking about how to reposition Cau Nam and the loud motorized noise of the suction generator. A couple of minutes later, they had finished and drew the curtain back. Cau Nam's eyes were open, and he blinked intermittenly. He continued to moan for several more minutes then slipped into a wounded whimper.

Cau Nam continued to look up as Kiet and I approached the bed and took his hand. I suspect that it no longer had much sensitivity left. I ran my hand over his smooth leathered forhead as he kept looking at the ceiling. This was the first sign of undeniable consciousness that either of us had seen in the last four days. I spoke a few words to Cau Nam, but he did not respond. After minutes, he closed his eyes. His breathing gradually resumed a slow drawn out pattern, and he quieted down. Kiet reminded me that earlier in the morning around 2:30 a.m. when the nurses came in to change Cau Nam, one of them had said that with the strength of his breathing, Cau Nam could go on for another two or three days.

6:50 a.m. now, and his breathing continues to be soft and rythmic. The long pauses do not seem to be so noticeable, or perhaps because we have become desensitized by the constant exposure. Kiet turned out the light over Cau Nam's bed to allow him to rest more peacefully. I only wonder just how much longer must he endure as his body continues on its path of slow decline. It's ironic that while he was still strong and alert, the cancer took him down with such rapid decline and deterioration; but now that he's in his final days, this unforgiving illness takes pleasure in drawing out each painful breath into a succession of endless days...

...

Go in peace my imperfect, godlike father. Take your rest from your tiresome battle, and know that your sons and daughters have all come to your side. Know that mom will be taken care of in her old age and that there is nothing left for you to worry about. We have been taught the cruel lessons of a divided family and unforgiveness. You have tried, and we cannot fault you or mom for the lessons that we have not learned. May we learn from your pains and trials what we can do better for our own children, just as you have learned to do better by your own nephews and nieces. They love you with a love that causes us to reexamine your own love for us. We didn't know any better. Forgive us, and go on to take your rest. We are healed when we can come to accept you in all of your faults along side your virtues. In this, we understand ourselves. Thank you my father, and go in peace.