Not To Be Forgotten

I had something in common with Thanh Tran – we were both made fun of in that 2nd grade classroom. I was made fun of because I had sneezed and snot flew onto my book, and she was made fun of because she was left-handed (btw, I don’t think lefties are weird :).  Our beautiful friendship was formed out of necessity and feeling sorry for one another that day. Thankfully, the harshness of the other 2nd graders was short lived.

Thanh and I were the best of friends from that day until her untimely death our Freshman year of high school. Today, February 22nd, is her birthday. She and her family traversed to America from Laos – we used this as an excuse to celebrate her birthday for 2 days because it was Feb 22nd where she was born, but, due to the time change, it was Feb 21st in America at that same time.

I went to her house for the first time when I was 7, and, since her parents primarily spoke their native language, the conversations appeared loud and animated to me. As the years passed, I became accustomed to their unique-to-me lifestyle, and I loved it and her family because they helped me see that the world exists outside of Amarillo, TX. Thanh was an amazing friend, phenomenal student and dedicated to everything she did.  Honestly, she was a TERRIBLE basketball player. I think she played because I did.  Her nickname was “Thanh the Tank” because she was a big, solid girl who quite possibly fouled out of every game.

I was unorganized, and focused on things that I shouldn’t be at that age – mainly one unhealthy relationship that absorbed my life. Daily, Thanh tried to help me focus on school, even providing me papers and pens because I would rarely bring my own. She stood up for me against the boy who was controlling and abusive to me. He was intimidated by her because she was not intimidated by him. She had such strength.

Her death brought me such pain. She was on a school trip to a Student Council convention when the van toppled over. I remember the school day so clearly – we were told there had been an accident, but they wouldn’t report to us regarding any injuries because all parents had not been notified. I got called from the classroom and asked if I knew the best way to communicate with Thanh’s parents.

“Why can’t Thanh call them herself?” I asked. 

“Please just help us; we need an interpreter.”  I suggested they get Thanh’s little sister, Linda, to help them.  Linda, who was then a 5th grader, had to translate to her parents that their 15 year old daughter, her sister, was dead. Today I regret that I suggested Linda. No child should be required to translate such tragic information.

Because it was a school incident, media flooded our school, and every newspaper was filled with pictures of my dear friend, the accident, and the poor teacher who was driving the van.  I remember walking into the hallway to find the school principal cleaning out Thanh’s locker.  This filled me with anger as I felt like he was violating her privacy.  Of course he was only doing what was necessary, but I screamed at him and told him to step away from the locker.  Thankfully he gave me the space to go through her things.  I still have her math folder; no assignments were left undone.

I continually turned around in my desk during class to ask Thanh for paper, only she was no longer there. My brain played trick after trick on me. Dreams of her death haunted me; I would hear her crying out to me to save her.

“Why her and not me?” filled my every waking moment because I had declined to go on that school trip and Thanh was the alternate that took my place.  Guilt hovered over me because there was so much from my unhealthy relationship that I had never shared with her – surely she could now see it all and despise me for all my secrets and disgrace.

Two conclusions came as I tried to figure out what to do with my grief. First, it seemed unfair that Thanh did not get to live out her dreams to become our class Valedictorian, so I felt it my duty to fulfill that for her. Second, no matter what my boyfriend threatened or held over me, I could no longer be a disappointment to Thanh by staying encapsulated in this unhealthy relationship.

Through Thanh’s life and untimely death, she inspired me to become someone better than I was choosing to be. It was the beginning of finding the freedom Christ had for me. I broke off the unhealthy relationship that was eating up every ounce of emotional and physical energy I had, and I  graduated Valedictorian of my class. Both Thanh and I loved science, so it was a privilege to receive a degree in Chemical Engineering for myself and in her honor.

It was a number of years before I pursued healing from Thanh’s death, the abusive relationship and the consequential effects of that relationship.  I mostly hid from the pain because it seemed as if it would swallow me whole if I reopened the wounds and the guilt from bad choices I made after it all.

Obviously there is a lot of “story” between that time and now; the wounds were re-opened and God’s grace proved bigger than I imagined. Today I remember Thanh with such admiration, and I believe she is a big influence for our family to adopt from Asia. She and her family inspired a comfort and compassion in me regarding other cultures. 

Even 20 years later, I miss this girl. I still hear her voice, but the sharp pain no longer exists. It encourages me for the pain I feel regarding the loss of our son Elliot. 

To Thanh’s family, should you ever read this: Your daughter was beautiful; God used her to change my life. She rescued me in some ways.  Thank you for loving me through the years of our growing up together.  I miss her and I miss you all.  I know today is special to you as you remember her.  Please know you are not the only one who remembers how special she was – her inspiration and impact continues today.