Diep Ngoc Nguyen

Services

Visitation: Friday, November 14, 2025, from 1:00 p.m. to 8:00 p.m. at Cook-Walden/Capital Parks Funeral Home, 14501 N IH-35, Pflugerville, TX 78660.

Funeral Service: Saturday, November 15, 2025, from 10:30 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. in the Memorial Chapel of Cook-Walden/Capital Parks Funeral Home.

Procession & Cremation: Procession begins at 1:30 p.m., followed by cremation at 2:00 p.m. at Weed Corley Fish Funeral Homes and Cremation Services, 5416 Parkcrest Dr., Austin, TX 78731.

The Spirit Enshrinement Ceremony takes place 3:00 p.m. at the Linh Son Buddhist Temple at 19904 Apple Springs Dr. Leander, TX. 78641.

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Diep Ngoc Nguyen 1931-2025

Two weeks ago, my grandmother, my Bà Ngoại, passed away not too far from here.

I spent the formative years of my childhood living just down the street from her. I have distinct memories of walking past the handful of homes that separated us.

I would often walk over to my grandma’s home for something mundane and every day: to fetch ingredients that my mom was missing for a Vietnamese dish, or sometimes, but less frequently, vice versa. Food was one of the key ways my grandma connected with people, especially those from my generation.

I walked over for special days like Tết, Christmas, or a family member’s birthday. I walked over to visit cousins and aunts and uncles who were staying there.

I learned how to ride a bike on that street. My parents surprised me with my first car, which they hid in my grandmother’s garage.

And as one of the oldest from my generation, I watched as our extended family grew and grew. Those holiday walks between our homes became filled with more and more cousins. My childhood always felt like it flowed from one big family gathering to the next, with my grandma’s home as the nexus.

Like any Vietnamese family gathering, there was ample food along with adults asking if you’d eaten yet. My grandma’s cookies were always a highlight to cap off a delicious, hours long feast. I know days like those filled her heart.

At one point, close to my teenage years, we moved away to a new home—much further away—which meant that there was a last time I walked between my grandmother’s house and mine. I saw her a lot less frequently after that. Many of us are familiar with the nostalgic feeling of reminiscing on old friendships and relationships that are not the same today as they once were. That friend group that you made memories with until you didn’t. Those games you played with your cousins every summer until you didn’t. Often, no one knows when the “last time” is happening when the “last time” is happening.

I am a new father this year, and my child, River, is 5 months old. We are not in the mindset right now of “last times,” but rather “first times.” It’s an exciting era of abundance and possibility.

And yet I cannot help but think of all the “last times” that made these “first times” possible.

My grandmother and her beloved husband, my grandfather, along with their eight children, said goodbye to Vietnam as their home for the last time in 1978. It was the last time she would be in a country that spoke her mother tongue, where the food she loved lined the streets.

In the following decades, my grandma continued old traditions and recipes here in the United States. What was comforting and grounding to her became a touchstone of ritual and identity for my generation.

My cousins and I are so fortunate to have grown up in this big Vietnamese family atmosphere that she fostered.

Earlier this spring on a business trip, I had the chance to visit Vietnam and go to my grandmother’s old neighborhood. I walked the streets that she did for the last time many decades ago. It was about two months before the birth of my child.

Being on that street, as a soon-to-be father, I felt a sense of connection to my heritage that I had not felt before—a desire to continue family traditions and recipes with my own children.

Today, I invite all of you, whether you are related to my grandmother or not, to consider your connection to her. To consider your connection to each other. At the end of her 94-year life on this earth, she has touched so many. I am humbled to be one of them and to continue her legacy.

I want to close with a quote:

“The tragedy of life is not death, but what we let die inside us while still alive.”

Let’s take this weekend as an opportunity to say goodbye to my grandma for the last time in the physical sense. Let’s leave today to live a life of meals shared with loved ones and tender “first times” and “last times.” Let us be generous and have gratitude. Whether we have children ourselves or not, let’s keep the inner child in us alive as we walk, one last time, from my grandmother’s final home into the rest of our lives.

Nicholas Phong Le

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A Tribute to Mrs. Diep Nguyen

November 15, 2025

Dear family, friends, and loved ones,

Today, we gather to celebrate and remember a remarkable woman—my mother-in-law, Mrs Nguyen Ngoc Diep , who graced this world for 94 years with her unwavering strength, warmth, and love. As her son-in-law, I’ve had the profound privilege of knowing her deeply since I married her daughter in 1987. But our connection ran even deeper, rooted in shared histories: her family escaped Vietnam in 1978, seeking a new life in America, just as I did a year later in 1979, eventually settling here in Austin. She built a beautiful family with her late husband, raising eight wonderful children who carry her spirit forward.

From the moment I met her, she welcomed me with that signature smile—a smile that could light up any room and make you feel instantly at home. She was the heart of our family, always caring for others before herself, whether through her incredible cooking that brought us all together around the table or her captivating stories that transported us to another time and place. Those tales of her life in Vietnam, her courageous journey to America, and the adventures in between were shared with such vivid detail and joy. In her earlier years, I’d stay up late just listening, cherishing every word, as if she knew those moments were precious gifts she was passing on.

Some of my fondest memories came during our family trips to Houston. On the drives back to Austin at night, while everyone else slept, she’d sit up from the back seat and regale me with stories from her past—tales of the challenges of growing up as a girl in Vietnam, or the excitement of meeting her first boyfriend, which always unfolded like its own little adventure. Much later, I realized her story telling had a deeper purpose: to keep me alert and safe behind the wheel through those long, dark hours. That quiet act of care spoke volumes about who she was.

When her husband—my father-in-law—lay on his deathbed in 2008, he pulled me aside and asked if I could take care of her in whatever way I could. Without hesitation, I replied, “Don’t you be worried, Dad. I’ll take care of her.” And that’s exactly what I did. As dementia began to take hold that same year, I managed her affairs, took her to doctors and hospitals, spent countless nights watching over her to ensure her safety. There were challenging times—nights filled with worry about falls or her health—but through it all, her essence shone through. Even as cancer entered the picture, she remained a pillar of resilience, teaching us all about grace in the face of adversity.

Her passing feels bittersweet. On one hand, there’s a quiet relief knowing she’s free from pain and the struggles that marked her later years. No more late-night worries or hospital runs. But on the other, it’s like losing a piece of my own heart. For so many years, she wasn’t just my mother-in-law; she was a confidante, a storyteller, a constant presence who enriched my life in ways I can scarcely describe. I will miss her dearly—the way she’d light up when sharing a story, a cooking recipe, the wisdom in her eyes, the love she poured into every interaction.

Yet, as we say goodbye, let’s remember that her legacy lives on in all of us. In her children’s laughter, in the family gatherings she’ll inspire, in the stories we’ll retell to keep her memory alive. She showed us how to love fiercely, to welcome others with open arms, and to face life’s storms with quiet strength.

Mrs Nguyen, thank you for the love, the lessons, and the light you brought into our lives. You may be gone, but you’ll never be forgotten.

Rest in peace, Mom.

Your son-in-law,

Sonny