TRUE LO LEE, 82

1960's “My eyes swelled up with tears as I walked the long dusty road from Long Chieng to Vientiane to pick up my yearly handout of 100,000 kip ($200 U.S.). No amount of money would ever be enough to pay for the wound I had in my heart. I should have been happy because not everyone received that kind of money, for it was only for the widows of deceased Hmong soldiers. The money was a reminder of my sad, challenging and lonely life, the life of a Hmong widow. My body was walking but my mind was far away in another place where I had hopes for happiness and a simpler life. A place where I wouldn’t have to work so hard all alone to provide for my children and me. As I walked, my tears kept falling because my heart ached.

My husband was from Muang Noi, Laos, and I came from Vietnam. He took me to be his wife on his third visit. My family saw he was a good and kind man so I came to live with his family and him in Laos. Together we worked the fields to have fresh vegetables and rice, raised chickens and pigs for meat and constantly helped one another. Life was demanding, but happy.

That content and trouble-free world changed in 1963. The Northern Vietnamese Army were taking over the country by force. Royal Lao military soldiers were stationed in our village and said it wasn’t safe for us to stay there because the communist Pathet Lao were inching closer to our village. That morning we left everything behind – our fields of corn, wheat and melons and our animals – to Xieng Khouang. My husband and I held our two children’s hands to keep on track and, when they got tired, carried them on our backs or chest. We stopped in small Hmong villages on the way for food and to rest a little. It took us one month by foot to get to our destination.

In Xieng Khouang, Laos, we started reconstructing our lives in hope of peace. I had two more children and we built our humble home. The frame was made of wood, covered with leftover burlap for walls and a roof. However, our happiness was cut short because our country was in turmoil again. My husband was drafted into the Royal Lao Army, as a soldier for the CIA secret army. Not too long after that, I received a letter in 1964 from the army. The letter said my husband was killed in battle and he would not be coming home. They wrapped his body in the blanket he had with him and buried him. I thought I was going to die. I knew war was a time of uncertainty but I didn’t want to face the truth that now I was alone, without a husband. My heart was sad but I didn’t want to show my sorrow. I had to stay strong for my children for we all had to stay alive.

I worked hard all my life because I worried my children would suffer. As the mother of the house, it was up to me to make sure we had enough to eat. Even if it meant spending my last dollar, I would hand it over to my family. My life was over now, so I had to live for my two remaining seeds so they could have a life.

My name was drawn in 1978 to come to America. It was a bittersweet departure. I wanted the new life but my heart felt vacant because I was leaving my family behind. Noon was my designated boarding time. The weather was scorching hot. Five buses reeking of gasoline were ready to take us to our new life. The dirt paths were full of families saying their last good-byes to loved ones.

My daughter and son-in-law tried to be strong and not shed a tear but the minute I boarded the bus, the reality that we might never see each other again set in. Tears dropped uncontrollably as our small family was being torn apart. My son-in-law cried out, ‘Kuv niam, zaum no koj mus tiag, tiag li lod?’ (‘My mother, will you be gone for real this time?’)”

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Excerpt from True Lo Lee's story, written and photographed by Kou Vang