A Quiet Neighbor (20 page)

Three o’clock was Gramps’ favorite time with
Halmoni
when they were both alive and well, so I always try to visit around that time.
They used to sit on a wooden bench out on their porch, drinking
gobo
tea
and watching neighbors go for walks, kids riding their bikes, and cars whizzing
by. Holding hands, they would enjoy the warmth of the sun when it was out, the
chill of the biting wind when it whistled past, and the trickling rain when it
washed the dust and dried leaves off the roof of their house. Those simple moments
were a time they both treasured because it was their time to just be and
appreciate life. And even though
Halmoni
has passed on, I want to keep that
special moment alive; for them and for me.

I always thought they were the cutest couple;
my exemplars for the perfect marriage, for my real parents sure aren’t. After
hearing the many stories about
Halmoni’s
second chance at love and my
mother’s upbringing, I wonder how two women, so different, could share the same
blood.
Umma
is weak whereas
Halmoni
was strong. My parent’s
marriage is of duty whereas
Halmoni’s
and Gramps’ was about love and enduring
all that is possible.

The Korean War was a sorrowful and frightening
time that instilled dishonor and broke a country in half. It was during the
violence, disorder, and uncertainty that
Halmoni
delivered my mother;
alone and with no knowledge whether my grandfather was alive or dead. She was
pregnant and her husband was fighting in the war. There was no room for
weakness or pity, only a dependable and slow constant strength that got
Halmoni
through the difficult times. She didn’t think twice when the contractions
started testing her control, but calmly took action.

She was far from home, squatting at a
stranger’s temporarily vacated home, cold and alone. Family was scattered, some
fighting the war, others helping another deliver a child or taking care of the
ill and elderly. She wouldn’t think to bother another to help her. She was
young and able; she’d manage alone.

Stepping away from the chaos, she created a
somewhat sanitary and safe bubble to deliver her child. She unrolled the
blankets she carried, made her seaweed soup, cooked a small amount of rice,
boiled water for the knife, tied a sturdy rope to a notch in the floor and
waited. Waited alone.

While the North and South waged war, while the
men fired their weapons and bombed the enemy, while the women were raped and
ran from the fire, while children cried and died from hunger and shame,
Halmoni
delivered her first child, my mother, a girl who would never have the privilege
of meeting her father.

The war divided
Halmoni’s
country,
killed her husband, and disgraced her from her family.

The pendant, which now hangs protectively
around my neck, was a gift from
Halmoni’s
first husband, Won Bae Kim.
With the onset of war and their separation looming, Won Bae gave her the
pendant to wear as a shield over her heart. He was a good man who loved his
wife and unborn child and had the bad luck of getting in the way of a weak
brother, brainwashed from the war, and a group of scared and restless
countrymen who never made it past the bridge.

The pendant was a symbol of love, honor, and
protection, a piece of the woman I loved and the man I only knew from stories
told. And when the pendant was passed down to me, I felt its strength and vowed
to find my own. The pendant is a reminder of who I came from and who I am, and
now that
Halmoni
has passed and so has Gramps’ spirit, I keep their
memory alive by remembering their stories.

There’s times like now when I wonder why I
can’t be strong and unfazed like
Halmoni
was when she was younger. Why
do I house so much guilt and crippling wants and demands when I’ve been lucky
and lived well, untainted by war?

When in times of war, people bind together,
sharing their misery as well as their hope, while times of peace breed
selfishness and self-entitled spirits. Yes, I don’t want to be in the hospital
room, enclosed by barren white walls that house so much grief, pain, blood, and
tears. Yes, I want the last three years to be erased and to go back to the time
when
Halmoni
was alive, a time before the illness sapped Gramps of his
health and brought upon so much pain—and truthfully—so much extra weight and
responsibility.

Gramps had always been the father I wished mine
was. He exemplified strength, courage, honor, and love, all of which make a
great Sergeant of the US Air Force, friend, and grandfather. Gramps met Won Bae
in Pusan and they had an instant connection. It was August, 1950 and the Battle
of Pusan Perimeter was underway. Gramps was thirty-six and after eighteen years
on the force he still enjoyed the pull of exotic lands, rich cultures, vibrant
and sometimes humiliating cuisine, and interesting yet odd people; the thrill of
danger, and the adventure that stems from it all.

When Won Bae died from being in the wrong place
at the wrong time, Gramps took on the duty of finding Won Bae’s wife and child
and delivering the difficult news. But when he met
Halmoni
and Min Ah,
he fell in love.

Halmoni
married Gramps out of
survival and for the benefit of her daughter, Min Ah. Without Won Bae and after
the destruction and unrest from the war, she had no future in Korea and her
daughter had even less. But with Gramps, she had a direct path to America and a
chance for a better life for Min Ah. At that point, she was a martyr, believing
her life was over and her only purpose was to protect her daughter and do
anything and everything to ensure her daughter had a better life than she.

Before she left with Gramps to America, she had
to deal with downcast eyes and cold stares from being disowned from her
mother-in-law and her late-husband’s family. Her own family was shamed and
embarrassed but she held her ground. She couldn’t think of her wants and needs.
She couldn’t think of her name being burned or her husband’s name stripped from
her. She could and would only think of Min Ah.

Maybe if she had a son, she would have spun her
fate differently. She would have served under her mother-in-law’s iron hand and
watched her son be cherished and raised as Won Bae’s son: proud and honorable.
But since she bore a daughter, she chose a drastic and dishonorable fate. She
chose an older Caucasian man whom she learned to love, and lived the rest of
her life forever grateful.

With a job at the USAF academy in Colorado,
Gramps was able to take
Halmoni
and Min Ah with him to America as wife
and adopted daughter in 1956. Min Ah was three then, and already knew the
tribulation of being rejected and loved.
Halmoni
always wondered if it
was her fault Min Ah turned out so weak. Maybe she protected her too much from
the whispers that nipped at their backs and the disappointment that clouded
their hearts. Min Ah was young, but the discontent that surrounded her was strong
and ate through the protective shield that
Halmoni
worked so hard to
provide.

Living in Colorado changed little. The guilt
Halmoni
felt toward Won Bae drew a wedge between Gramps and her entire heart. Gramps
gave her the space she needed to weep and feel guilty. He gave her time to
adjust and morn for Won Bae and her country. He might have found and saved her
out of duty and respect for Won Bae, but he grew fast in love. He didn’t expect
more than what she was willing to give and he did his best to care for Min Ah
as his own.

Each time he held Min Ah he wished for a child
of his own, one that solidified their marriage, but he sacrificed his needs for
Halmoni’s
. Each time he mentioned a child, she clammed up, the guilt
overpowering.

After watching the years slip by and
Halmoni’s
unhappiness grow more apparent, he decided to move to Los Angeles where there
was a growing Korean population. Gramps noticed the change in
Halmoni
immediately.
She relaxed, smiled more, and she finally took a chance on their relationship.
She began to see him in a different light. No longer was he a foreigner who was
to be feared and distrusted, but a man full of compassion and heart.

While
Halmoni
gave her new life a second
chance, my mom grew unnoticed. Min Ah was quiet, obedient, and sensitive. Growing
up, she knew she was different and felt out of place. She didn’t feel like she
belonged anywhere and didn’t see the point in expressing her discomfort. The
move from Colorado to L.A. made her retreat more deeply into her shell.
Halmoni
and Gramps were building on their relationship, getting closer, and ultimately leaving
less time for Min Ah to have
Halmoni
all to herself. She held resentment
and that resentment burned long. Bottled up with her emotions, she cried in
desperation for a way out, a place to belong, someone to look at her the way
Gramps looked at
Halmoni
.

No one seemed to hear her anguished plea. Then
one spring day, when the sun was warm and the breeze crisp, Min Ah almost took
her life.
Halmoni
never forgot that frightening day she received a call
from Jay Kang. It was three o’clock.

My father was a student attending Los Angeles
City College and took the bus to school. He was at the bus stop when he noticed
her. There was something off about her demeanor that made him take a second
look. Quietly, she rose from the bench seat and walked stoically toward oncoming
traffic. Reacting, he grabbed her, pulling her back to safety. My mom found her
knight in shining armor and my dad found a woman he could control.

The marriage came quickly. Although
Halmoni
didn’t completely approve of Jay or his parents, she couldn’t ignore the fact
that Jay saved her daughter’s life and the only person that could make life
worth living for Min Ah was Jay; her hands were tied.

Following the Korean tradition, Min Ah moved in
with Jay’s parents into a small, two bedroom apartment in Koreatown and quickly
tried for a child. To Jay’s and his parent’s angst, Min Ah had a hard time
getting pregnant. She took Chinese herbs and medicine, which seemed to help at
first, but ended in a few miscarriages. Min Ah’s failure to get pregnant made
living in the house exponentially harder, especially since she was married to
the only son.

Min Ah finally gave birth to me but wasn’t able
to have any more kids.

Since a grandson wasn’t in their future, Jay’s
parents moved back to Korea with their eldest daughter, whose husband landed an
elite job as a professor in Seoul.

Jay’s parents left the family restaurant to Jay;
almost immediately, he made a bad investment and had to sell. My family moved
to Rowland Heights and with his parent’s financial help, started another Korean
BBQ restaurant.
Halmoni
and Gramps moved in with us to help raise me
until I was old enough to attend school. Then
Halmoni
and Gramps decided
to move to San Diego to retire after Gramps’ first medical scare. He was aging
and
Halmoni
felt it was time to put his needs first. He made so many
sacrifices for her and her family, she couldn’t let him die without returning
the favor and showing her appreciation.

Gramps always talked about retiring in S.D.
They moved to Santee and cashed out a mobile home in a small trailer park community,
a two-hour drive south down the I-15. The rest of the money they kept
accessible for medical bills and for my education. Gramps distrusted Jay, and feared
my dad would become reckless with his love of gambling, leaving me with nothing
for my college funds. They lived simply but happily. They took me in when I was
entering the seventh grade and raised me ever since.

The transition was difficult at first, being
away from my best friend and nuclear family, but as time moved on I became
grateful and craved the attention they gave me. With
Halmoni’s
and Gramps’
support, I graduated from Miramar College’s San Diego Regional Public Safety
Training Institute and went to work for the San Diego Police Department. Then
at twenty-eight, I became one of the youngest homicide detectives in my
division. I would never have been able to pursue my dream of becoming a homicide
detective if it weren’t for them. My mom and dad would have probably wanted me
to be a lawyer or doctor. Now, the job Gramps helped me achieve was causing me
to break my three o’clock date with him.

When I enter Gramps’ room, I notice the blue
curtain is again pulled tight across the divide. A thin piece of plastic is all
that shields visitors from reality, all that lets the dying rest in peace.
Prying my eyes away, I focus on the man sleeping soundly to my right: Gramps.

The blinds are closed, which is just as well
considering the thick blanket of fog that I had to walk through to get here.
Patients shouldn’t have to subject themselves to the dreadful weather outside
these plain white walls. It can’t be good for their already damaged psyches.

Grabbing the chair from the corner and dragging
it bedside, I sit holding Gramps’ hands, rubbing them as if trying to start a
fire. Blood moves slowly in his veins, at the rate dictated by the monitors and
machines keeping his heart alive. His hands feel cold to the touch, lifeless.

Once his hands hold a semblance of warmth, I
tuck them under the thick quilt I brought from his home and sit back in the
uncomfortable green-vinyl chair. Since
Halmoni’s
passing, I have taken
it upon myself to be the sole caretaker of the home I grew up in, the home that
brought comfort, the home that knew and breathed love from every corner. No
changes have been made, nothing boxed up or thrown out. Only the dust and
cobwebs have been cleared. I continue to pay the utility bills and maintain the
property because I have to keep on hoping—although improbable and childishly
optimistic—that Gramps will wake up.