On Monday night, in Paris, France, my little cousin V was on her way to get a well-deserved holiday massage. She had just returned to France from Spain, where she had been working and living, to support her mother as her father underwent aggressive treatment for inoperable prostate cancer. That night, she took the subway. When she got to her stop, she was randomly pushed by a thief who'd stolen someone's purse and was struggling to get away. She fell backwards down 8 steps and hit her head. She died of a cerebral hemorrage by the time she arrived at the hospital.
She was 25.
She was such a passionate, driven, unconventional Viet girl; she definitely didn't listen to her mother and lived her life exactly the way she wanted. She worked in fashion marketing.
I admired her nerve, her style, and her humour.
Though we hadn't seen each other in over a decade, we reconnected a few years back, sharing long emails about our lives. We chatted on FB regularly. I saw her on three days ago, thought about messaging her and then remembered I had little time, so I didn't. I so regret that now.
Because V. died under violent circumstances, her body is being autopsied, and her family won't be able to hold the funeral until the body is released.
I'm struggling to find the sense in this death.
I feel pangs of extreme sadness, followed by periods of numbness, and then guilt for even feeling sad, because there are many other people who were deserve to grieve more than me.
Rest in peace my dearest V. I know you are in God's hands now. I will miss you so much.