Ephemera

Thought for the day: Stop to marvel at the ephemeral beauty of a dewdrop as it glistens on a blade of grass in the morning sun, because with every moment that passes, the sun hastens the dewdrop to its inevitable demise.

Living on

What joy! I have one of Bounthong's beautiful plants. It's still recovering from the weekend it spent out in the sun at the apartment, but I have every hope that it will survive. What's more, Koukaï told me that this plant roots easily, so I plan to start some new plants for several people who (not surprisingly) also wish that they had a little remembrance of a special woman who touched their lives.

And today, the Koukaïs are back in Brussels to pick up their lives where they left off 6 weeks ago (or 4 months ago, or a year ago, or even 18 months ago).

One week ago

One week has passed since Bounthong died (notice that I don't use euphemisms)—and finally, I have a chance to write about how the aftermath unfolded. I've back-dated the posts so they're in chronological order (thus shorter and easier to read as installments).

My anger about the plants had not lessened much when I called the apartment today. I didn't want to talk to Seuth, so I asked for Koukaï. I apologized to her for not visiting last night to help her with the clearing out and explained how upset I had been at her father. She seemed surprised, so I guess he hadn't told her what I had said—or maybe he just didn't get it. (He is a guy, after all.)

I told Koukaï that I could stop by any time today, to help her in any way I could, pick up anything she wanted to send to Goodwill, and say goodbye. Because she still wanted to go through her mother's things and many people were expected in the afternoon, she asked me to come in the evening, when we would be able to sit and talk.

When I arrived around 7 pm, Thuy was there. I asked her whether she had been too late for the plants, too, but to my surprise, she said that she had been able to take a few before Seuth started pitching. She said that she had left the plant with white flowers for me, but that she had taken two others of the same type (with red flowers, though) and some Christmas cactus. "I only wanted one of the tall plants," I said, and she replied that I could come pick one up whenever at her house. Not wanting to miss out again, I followed her home when she left.

Back at the apartment, Koukaï and I talked a bit but were often interrupted by phone calls—people checking in or wishing her a good trip home. Tioy stopped by to send a fax, so we visited with her for a while.

At some point the phone stopped ringing, people stopped coming, and we could just talk. Koukaï told me about her mother's last few days in general and her last day in great detail. She explained that she hadn't called me on Sunday or Monday (when Bounthong clearly was nearing the end) because she didn't want to ruin my birthday. She spoke of the intense connection she had shared with her mother during these last weeks, coming to accept the reality of the situation that faced them, and the difficulty in letting go when the final moments arrived. At once remembering the past and thinking to the future, she told me of her plans to go back to the temple in Laos that her mother had helped build, to continue the work that her mother had started.

I know that we will keep in touch, even if her mother is here with us no longer. If Bounthong was my second mother, then Koukaï is my first sister.