My heart was thumping out of my chest. It was all a blur. Like it was all in slow motion. I just had a bad feeling when I heard the screeching tires on the street outside my apartment.
It was my first year of college. My dad, little brother, and I had driven up from L.A. with some supplies after spring break. In fact, we had just arrived and parked the van. My dad was so proud. All he worked for was his kids. He was so happy to see me fulfilling my dreams. It brought him joy.
My dad was not the typical stereotypical Korean father figure. He wasn't the emotionally void, stoic, rock of a man whom some may have suspected. He was always just a big kid. Always taking me on impromptu trips to Disneyland, the mountains, and to other random places on school days... then coming home and facing my mom's yelling at him for making me miss school. He bought me Coke until my teeth were rotten. Take a look at my kindergarten school picture, and you will see a mouth full of cavities. He gave me a lot of toys and loved playing with us. My dad wasn't the most prudent person in the world, but one thing was for sure--he loved his children. And though he loved to enjoy life, he also worked very hard.
He loved the drive up from home in L.A. to my school in the San Francisco bay area. It is one of the most boring drives ever. The I-5 is an endless sea of farmland and an infinite horizon of crops. My dad, however, made it fun. His conversation, his weird and odd choices for rest stops, and just his simple amazement at the site of a cattle ranch is what made those drives among my fondest of memories.
We were unpacking the boxes from the van. I don't know why, but we had parked across the street, right in front of one of the dorms. It was getting dark. We had already made a few trips up and down the stairs to my third-floor apartment. As I was putting a box down, it happened. I heard a loud tire screech, then a crashing noise. For some reason my heart sank at that very moment. I had to go see what happened and ran down the stairs. As I burst out of the building, my roommate was running toward me, yelling "Call 911!" I glanced over and saw my dad lying on the ground next to some spilled boxes. I ran up and dialed. I could hardly speak. As I came back down, I saw that my dad was moving and talking: a good sign. A crowd was forming because it was right in front of the dorms. My 10 year-old brother looked very worried. I reassured him. As the ambulance came, I hopped in and went with him to the hospital, while my brother stayed with my roommate.
On his way into surgery, I told my dad that I had called mom. He told me in Korean that he didn't want her to worry. Those would be the last words he ever said to me. At that time, I had never really dealt with the possibility of death before, especially in my family. It just seemed to be so unreal, something that I shouldn't have had to deal with for a very long time. I couldn't accept that it could happen that night. I called my mom, and she, my sister, and my uncle got on the next flight up. As the surgeon came out with an update for me, he had a grim look on his face. He didn't have good news. Basically, one of my dad's kidneys was smashed by the impact, which would have been ok since there is another kidney. But almost all of the veins and arteries in the area were shorn. He was dying of internal bleeding. The doctor said that he could possibly turn around in the night, but all we could do was wait. It was the longest night of my life. I stayed up in the waiting room until I could finally him. I sat by his side for hours, watching his monitor and seeing the life slowly ebb out of him. He was so swollen from the surgery. I was just hoping my mom would arrive before it was too late. But at about 7AM, my father died. As I saw his lifeless body, I just broke down. I felt utterly powerless. An hour later, my mom arrived. She had no idea. I told them the news, and they broke down as well. My sister was so shaken up she refused to see the body.
The next several days were so difficult. But looking back, it was at that moment in time that I was forced to grow up very quickly. I had to become the expert on business and finances for the family. My formerly helpless mother became pretty proficient, too. Also, I was the primary source of emotional support for my family. My mother and I started to become more like friends rather than mother and son. But still, my mother had the hardest time. There was a time when she would call me every day for several months. But since then, she met a great man who takes care of her, and she is as happy as ever, enjoying life again. It would have made my father happy to see her happy, which in turn, makes me happy. Also since then, my sister and I both graduated from college, and she is now expecting a baby, and my little brother somehow managed to finish high school and is well on his way to earning his college degree.
Every time I'm in L.A. I visit my father's grave. I sit and have a beer with him. A very Korean thing to do. He liked Coors Light, so I have a Coors Light while one sits on his headstone. The funny thing is, I never drank with him when he was alive. Only now.
All that my dad wanted was to see me succeed in life, and that's what I wanted to show him. But he never saw the fruits of his labor. He never saw me graduate from college, never saw me get a job and become independent, never will see me if/when I get married and have kids. But he was the best, most loving dad I could have asked for. It makes me sad to think about those facts, but death is something that forces us to learn and grow, just like any hardship. It also puts things into perspective and makes you realize how powerless you really are. But if you are able to cope, it makes you grateful for the things you do have and enables you to live life with that much more vigor. It helps you appreciate the people in your life and also to make something of it.
My father died on April 4, 1994. It's his birthday today, November 20. He would have been 60. Happy birthday, Ah-bba.
Every generation
Blames the one before
And all of their frustrations
Come beating on your door
I know that I'm a prisoner
To all my Father held so dear
I know that I'm a hostage
To all his hopes and fears
I just wish I could have told him in the living years...