Adieu, mon amie

After more than 18 months since her cancer diagnosis, Bounthong finally let go. She had spent most of the day only semi-conscious; her body had become so weak that she could barely move, and she couldn’t speak. After prolonged best efforts (hers and those of her family as well) to encourage her recovery, she said goodbye to the family at her side with a final look and a smile. She was 57 years old.

I wasn’t there myself, but the hospice nurse was, and she told me that Bounthong died peacefully and quietly—I think dignified would be the right way to describe it, and only fitting to the woman who always looked “put together,” even for her early-morning English classes. Bounthong’s husband Seuth claims he will remember forever seeing her take her final breath. And her daughter Koukaï, grieving, wonders whether she could have done more.

Honestly, I’m just relieved to think that she will suffer no more. I will miss Bounthong, but she remains with me as well. I will prepare pad thai the real way (proud to know that I obtained my certificate from la cuisine de Bounthong), wear my Laotian skirt (to be made from imported silk that she ordered for me from Thailand), say with confidence that the kitchen sink is l'evier (pas le lavabo), and remember many other things that my "Asian mother" taught me.