Điếu văn Huỳnh Kim Khánh

Huỳnh Kim Khánh Eulogy

Dear Bác, Châu, Loan, Kiều Mi, Anthony and Benjamin

First of all I would like to express my heartfelt sympathies to all of you and please allow me to mourn with you the sudden and early departure of Khánh.

Ladies and Gentlemen, and friends,

Life sometimes has strange detours. I called Khánh Saturday the 20th of November when I was back from my business trip to France and we chatted quickly but joyously. The next evening, I received his email saying he would be in the East Coast for the Christmas holidays and suggesting we should catch up.

And the next morning, Châu informed me that Khánh was hospitalized and his situation was extremely critical.

When death takes away a dear person, memories painfully jostle in disarray and affliction.

I met Khánh the first time early 2005 in New Jersey where I have recently settled: we were members of the same Vietnamese social and political organization.

One single word enables me to qualify Khánh: “Tình”. We worked together for a short time for that organization, but beyond that we became friends.

He told me about his life in Cà Mau in Vietnam. He lost his father when he was young and lived with his grand father who taught him to read and write. Privileged position as he was often asked by the police to write the minutes of the different cases happening in the village: he had countless hilarious stories from this period.

He shared with me the stories of his good and bad moments as a boat people and as a refugee in the US as well as his hard work and perseverance to graduate Cum Laude from College in Computer Science. Despite his busy professional life, he loved to write social articles for Vietnamese on-line magazines. In a more intimate way, he wrote poems to share with some of his friends.

Tình is the linchpin of Khánh’s relationships and dealings with others: with his family, his friends, his colleagues and the persons of his community. He had the candor, the kindness and the generosity of noble souls: he wished to donate his organs and actually his organs have helped to save two persons right away after his death.

Today, we have lost a son, a husband, a father and a friend. Personally I have lost a friend and a brother. It is very “gỏ gàn” and Khánh is no longer here to be mad at me when I pronounce these two Vietnamese words with his Cà Mau accent.

Let me close my eulogy with a quote from Antoine de Saint Exupéry, a French writer who died at the same age as Khánh:

“Le disparu si l’on vénère sa mémoire est plus présent et plus puissant que le vivant”
(Saint Exupéry, Citadelle)

He, who has gone, if we cherish his memory, abides with us, more present and more potent than the living man.

And a poem from an anonymous poet

He is Gone

You can shed tears that he is gone
or you can smile because he has lived.

You can close your eyes and pray that he’ll come back
or you can open your eyes and see all he’s left.

Your heart can be empty because you can’t see him
or you can be full of the love you shared.

You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday
or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.

You can remember him and only that he’s gone
or you can cherish his memory and let it live on.

You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back
or you can do what he’d want: smile, open your eyes, love and go on.
(Anonymous)

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