Our house in Kimberly is along the muddy shoreline of the Fox River, and I often stand in the backyard, close my eyes, and think about my parents, siblings, ancestors, and childhood home half a world away in the mountains of Laos.
When I’m near the river, I imagine that my mom, dad, and ancestors are with me and that they’re my angels. Then I whisper, “I made it. And I’m okay.” I used to weep in sorrow. In time, however, my tears became tears of joy. Even so, because I’m far from home, and because I’ve changed so much during my life, I often ask myself, “When I die, and one of my many souls makes it to the ancestors’ world, will my parents and ancestors be proud of…
