In the traditional Hmong culture, when a person dies, a spiritual guide leads them back through all the homes that have held them safe so that they can thank the spirits of the earth, the sky, the water, the wind, the walls themselves for holding steady and providing necessary shelter.
I’ve just turned 41. While my fondest hope is that there are still homes in my future, I know with a quiet certainty that there are now more homes in my past than I will ever know again.
My people believe that an old year can carry on its way out the sorrows of years past; we believe not only in the carrying away of sadness but the value of imparting gratitude. It is in this spirit that I reach out to the homes that have made me who I am. Each place has given me and my family enough. Enough shelter. Enough food. Enough reasons to hope and dream, to work and to pray, to believe in a future, to carry…
