It was 4:30 a.m. in China when my phone buzzed—twice. I stirred awake, still groggy, mind racing. I assumed it might be a message from my business partner or maybe even from Xue. But instead, to my surprise and delight, it was Sydnee.
She was on lunch break at work, messaging from half a world away. She wasn’t feeling well—headache, cough—and she was worried, as a few people at her workplace had recently tested positive for COVID. She’d tested negative so far, thankfully. But even from a distance, I could feel the wear in her words.
“Distance hasn’t lessened how I feel about my daughter. If anything, it’s deepened it.”
She reached out to ask for a little help, just enough to pick up some prescriptions and some groceries. Of course, I told her I’d send her what she needed. What struck me most wasn’t the ask, it was the timing, the why. She reached out because she knew I’d be there for her. And I was.
She mentioned that with her last paycheck, she’d splurged on a Ring doorbell. Not for fun, but for peace of mind. She said with me gone, it helped her feel safer. I told her I wished I’d thought of that, I would have installed one for her myself.
I reminded her there was still some Theraflu in the house, somewhere, our shared favorite when we’re sick, and a few migraine tablets in the kitchen. Just the basics, but somehow, they made the space feel warmer, even from far away.
Sydnee’s had a quieter journey than some, but it’s been no less remarkable.
She was a strong student in high school, but that’s not how I think she would remember it. I remember how much effort she put into her classes. When the time came to look at colleges, we took a few days to take a road trip together, visiting Central, Gonzaga, Whitman, and of course, Washington State University. With its veterinary program, it was her dream to go to WSU and work in veterinary medicine, so it seemed like a natural next step for her to attend there.
I have photos of her posing proudly on campus, standing by the water tower with WSU painted boldly across it, and beaming in front of the bronze cougar statue. For a while, I really thought that’s where she’d land. “Cougs take care of Cougs,” they told us!
Plans changed, as they often do. She enrolled instead at Pierce College, a place with its own history for our family. It’s where I went when it was still called Fort Steilacoom, and where my stepmom worked for three decades as a counselor (I even took a class from her before my dad knew her!). It was close to home and offered her flexibility. But her heart had always leaned toward animals.
That love was something she shared with her Aunt Wyndi, maybe even more than people, as we sometimes joked. When Wyndi tragically passed, it was hard on all of us, but I know quietly it cut deep for Sydnee. She didn’t often show emotion, but I saw the weight of that loss. In some ways, I think Wyndi was the one who made Sydnee believe she could work with animals professionally.
“She still looks to me when she needs help. And I’ll always answer.”
So, when she left Pierce and enrolled in a local vet assistant program, it didn’t shock me. She was already working at a pet store, thanks to a family connection from her mom’s mom, and she’d been a star employee since the day she was old enough to work. Everyone saw her passion. Even though she started on the retail side, the veterinary clinic pulled her in, and she’s been their golden child ever since. (those are my words)
Eventually, they set up a program, one she helped inspire, to support her and others in earning their veterinary technician licenses. She was already juggling nearly full-time work while studying. And then, near the end of her Vet Tech program, came a frightening setback.
She was bitten by a cat she was preparing for an exam and ended up with a serious infection—so serious that she spent over a week in the hospital, undergoing surgery and intensive treatment. I still remember watching the infectious disease doctors examine her two days after her first surgery—you know it’s serious when they don’t even want to make eye contact. Not long after they left the room, a nurse came in and quietly said they were prepping her for another surgery—stat. It was terrifying, realizing a cat bite could have resulted in her losing her fingers, her arm, even her life. But by God’s grace, she made it through. She finally left the hospital with tubes and gadgets still attached, pumping antibiotics into her continuously for another two weeks.
Being in the hospital put her behind in her classwork, so she ended up picking up her last course she needed in the next semester, where she proudly finished her program, and graduated. Today, she’s a licensed veterinary technician, an LVT.
One of my favorite photos of her isn’t from school, it’s from work. She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, a big grin on her face, arms around her two puppies, Ginger and Sadie. The company made her their National Dog Day spotlight, and she was so proud. I was too.
Being here in China hasn’t lessened how I feel about my daughter. If anything, it’s deepened it. Distance has a way of clarifying what matters, and she matters more than ever.
She is smart, capable, dedicated, and far more resilient than she often gives herself credit for. She still struggles with self-doubt sometimes, but I see her clearly. I know the woman she’s becoming. And I couldn’t be prouder.
That early morning message reminded me of something simple but profound: she still looks to me when she needs help. And I’ll always answer. Whether it’s 4:30 a.m. in China or 2:00 p.m. in Washington, that’s what it means to be her dad.
Echo From The West 