- Sinh ngày 15 tháng 2 năm 1934

- Không Quân

- Từ trần ngày 11 tháng 12 năm 2020 tại Sacramento, California

My name is Sơn, the youngest brother of Hiến's, and I would like to say a few words in the memory of my brother whom we siblings affectionately call Anh Ba, to share both our joy in the gift that his life was to us and the pain that his passing brings. Hiến was born on 15 February 1934 in Bình Hoà near Saigon in Southern Vietnam, when Vietnam was still a colony of France. My mum and Dad used to call him Henri, or sometimes just Ri. He was the second-born of nine children, and the first of six boys. As I am the youngest child, with an age gap of more than 18 years between my oldest brother and me, I was not around when he was growing up, but he was certainly around all the while I was growing up.

I guess the first twenty years of his life would have been a very difficult time for a child to grow up in Vietnam because of the aftermath of the Great Depression, followed by World War II, then the French-Vietnamese war. Our family had a hard time making a living because our parents lost their farming business through many wars, and around the time I was born my dad lost his job because of his support for the resistance against French rule. My brother had to start earning money at a young age to support himself and our family. I imagine that all this must have contributed to shaping the character that he was: quiet, with an outwardly taciturn demeanour, and very hard working. In 1952, the year that I was born, he enlisted in the Air Force after finishing high school. He was sent to train in France, Morocco and Algeria. He came home two years later to a Vietnam that was no longer a French colony, but that was divided into two countries with opposing governments. He served in the Republic of Vietnam's Air Force until April 1975, rising to the rank of colonel. After South Vietnam was invaded and taken over by the communist North, he left the country to start another life in America.

I could not imagine my life without my brother Hiến. My own memories of things and events connected to him are too numerous to recount. In the living room of our parents' house, a large valve radio that he brought back from overseas, which had a built-in record player, was the source of news and entertainment for many years. I was exposed to western music thanks to the records that he bought. Almost all the toys I had were bought by him from his overseas flights. I remember his wedding celebration at home when I was five, and after he moved out, I spent many summer vacations living with his young family when I was in primary school. I remember going with him to the maternity hospital where his first child was born, the weekend Sundays that he took his family to visit us, the grief and sadness his family suffered at the loss of some of his infant children. I remember the trips he took us to our mum's home town of Bình Dương, our dad's home town near Mỹ Tho, and the resort coastal town of Vũng Tàu.

He had what I would call a brilliant career as a pilot in the Air Force and commercial aviation, which I think was the result of his competence, conscientiousness and dedication to his work - these are the qualities that sum up his character. What happened to Vietnam in 1975 was a personal tragedy to many of us, and my brother, like many former citizens of South Vietnam, had to restart his life from scratch with many disadvantages in a foreign land, but through sheer hard work and persistence, he managed to provide for his young family and help his children become successful adults. I regret that, after 1975, because our family was scattered over three continents, I was only able to see him in a few brief visits to California, but these times will remain among the most cherished moments of my life. During these visits I realised that he felt a lot of sadness and disappointment because of life's circumstances, but I could also feel his deep love for all in his families, his care for his friends and work associates, love for his native country, and love for flying. I can still see the hundreds of pictures of all types of aeroplane that he cut out of magazines and stuck on the wall above his bed in our parents' house, and the books behind the glass door of the bookcase in our living room: "A Pilot's Life" by Toàn Phong, "Vol de nuit" (Night flight) and "Terre des hommes" (The World of Men) by Saint Exupéry.

My dear brother, I love you deeply too, though we men always find it hard to express these feelings out loud. If there is life after death I hope you will find peace and happiness for eternity, and know that you are loved and respected by all who know you, for the caring and decent person that you were. Whenever I look up in the sky and see a plane passing, I will think of you and silently call your name.

Your little brother.

Nguồn mortuary