Cozy

My mother and I were sitting with my grandmother tonight in the hospital, who is quite ill with pneumonia. My mother, who had spent the previous night at my grandmother’s bedside, said the room was so cold last night, and as she clutched her coat a little tighter around herself, she recounted a memory that had come to her, a memory from when she was maybe 8 or 9 years old.

“During the [Korean] war, Granny, my brother and I were traveling, and we had to spend one night out on the street. It was so, so cold. But I can remember lying next granny, under her dress… and it just felt so warm and cozy.” She paused. “I had forgotten all about that, it just came to me.” Tears welled up in her eyes.

I looked at Halmoni, her eyes shut, her shallow breaths filling the oxygen mask on her face. But I had no problem imagining her, young and determined, traveling during a war with two small children in tow. It is a special person that can create that sense of security and safety for a child, even when the world is falling apart around them.

She raised her four children, and all her grandchildren, including me. She was the person in my life who showed me what true love really is.

She had a moment of consciousness, and she squeezed my hand tightly and we looked at each other and smiled.

Her spirit, even now, is great.