248: Legacy

On Friday early evening, around fifteen minutes after six, the man I called Hallabuji, or Grandpa, was pronounced dead.

Late Monday night, he took a cab to go to the emergency room because he hadn't been able to use the toilet for three days straight. Tuesday morning, he rang one of his daughters-in-law to inform her that Halmuhni, or Grandma, is home alone and needs to be checked in on, and as an aside, that he's at the hospital.

Hallabuji was devoted to Halmuhni. When Halmuhni had a stroke about a year ago, it was Hallabuji willing her to health, his unceasing love and dedication to her, that brought Halmuhni back to us. She saw her birthday again today, albeit in a sad circumstance. Tuesday afternoon, while Halmuhni was being looked after, Hallabuji, alone at the hospital, had a myocardial infarction. He was resuscitated, but his condition remained critical.

Wednesday morning, his eldest child and her family arrived in New York to learn of his critical state. Their original intent to celebrate Halmuhni's and Hallabuji's birthdays (he would have celebrated his 83rd birthday this coming Tuesday), had turned upside down. For three days his sons and daughters kept vigil, but one brief moment on Friday early evening, when he was left alone, Hallabuji quietly passed away.

I got a phone call that night of his passing. I didn't even know that he had been at the hospital since Monday or that he had a heart attack. I felt like I had been punched in the stomach.

You see, there have been three men in my life who have left an indelible mark on me and contributed to the person I am now. One for his absence in my childhood life, my Dad, and two for their presence, my Uncle KT, while I lived in Korea, and Hallabuji, while I grew up here. Although my relationship with Hallabuji was impossibly formal, he was still like a father figure for me. He instilled in me the importance of family, of duty and responsibility, and most importantly, of love. He taught me to walk the walk, not just talk the talk. And always to listen. I admit his lessons were at times infuriating and traditional. But I'll miss them terribly.

And I'll miss him.

He is survived by his two sons and two daughters, and four grandsons and six granddaughters. And in some way, by me.