Over two months ago, the day after Thanksgiving, the phone at my mountain-top retreat in Taos rang at two AM. I picked up and heard the sound of my 27-year-old son’s voice. He told me that his aunt had just called him from Thailand to let him know that his father, the man I had been married to for 23 years, had died at home in the town where he grew up, where I met him, where we fell in love and started our family. It was a complete shock. Dtaw had always been a dedicated athlete who still ran and biked long distances. He had finally begun to find joy in his life after so many years of grieving over the loss of our son and the subsequent dissolution of our family ties.
By the time I hung up the phone hours later, Cody and Tahn and I had decided to fly that day to Thailand for the funeral. I was not sure how I would be received by our family and community there, having been the one to have left Dtaw nearly ten years ago, but I knew I had to be there for my boys, now devastated.
48 hours later, after landing in Bangkok and flying to the Northeast edge of Thailand where Dtaw’s hometown stood on the edge of the Mekong River, the boys and I arrived at the funeral. Being back “home” where Chan had been born (in the same bed where his dad had died) and in the same house where his funeral had been 18 years before triggered an explosion of memories. Every shop, every street corner, every view of the clouds over the river reminded me of memories of my life as a young woman falling in love, a young mother delighted with her brood, an exhausted mother fighting for Chan’s life, and a heartbroken mother, contending with his death.
Despite all this inner turmoil, I knew it was right to have come for the funeral. Dtaw’s family and many friends and neighbors surprised me with the gracious warmth and love they offered, the genuine pleasure they seemed to take in my return, welcoming me as if I’d never left them, as if I’d never left him.
They even insisted I take the place of honor as head mourner in each part of the week-long funeral ceremonies, leading the procession at the temple, sitting closest to the coffin at home when the monks chanted, being the first in line to present offerings to the monks. This might seem odd in our culture, but I think that there, the family unit is so fundamental, that the fact that I was the mother of his children outweighed any subsequent arrangements we may have made about our living situations.
It was humbling to be treated with such kindness and to remember what strong and abundant ties I had and still have to that community. I have Dtaw to thank for that. When we fell in love, he opened to me not only his heart, but also the family and culture that was so dear to him. I will be forever grateful for the way his acceptance and education of me changed my life by showing me a new perspective on the world I thought I knew.
In the weeks before Dtaw’s death, I found myself feeling a new sense of gratitude for him, I found myself writing about the early days of our relationship, about the sweetness, about the wonder of parenting with someone I loved so much. The boys and I had planned to go visit him this March, and I was looking forward to connecting with him now that the wounds of divorce had had time to heal. The night before he died, I even dreamed of him, and in the dream I experienced a sense of deep appreciation for the way he always loved me, showing his devotion through wordless acts of kindness. From him I learned how to give, how to be supportive and how to be patient. For this and for so much more, I will always be grateful.
Dtaw Tiparos, March 22, 1963 – November 23, 2023
To contribute in Dtaw’s memory to the Wat Tah Kek School to provide a home, education and skills for a hopeful future for poor and abandoned children, click here.
Catharine H. Murray 
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