The nurse comes over shortly and says, “Mr. Gibbons, I just checked on Carolyn. Her oxygen levels are good.”
“Is she still sleeping?”
“Yes.”
“Great!”
The nurse looks at me and smiles. I feel relieved I was here to help her walk through that moment. While Carolyn has dementia, her mind is still very sharp as you speak to her. Her long-term memory isn’t good but her ability to be witty and observant is still keen. She knows that she is slowly dying. But the nurses say she forgets whether she’s eaten. She’s getting weaker and weaker as evidenced by her repeated falls.
It still surprises me every time I visit Carolyn that I’m actually talking to her.
During an earlier visit, I was sitting near her in the kitchen, and she wanted to make sure I knew the people sitting around her. If she didn’t introduce me, people would introduce themselves or just stare at her. A ninety-plus-year-old former lawyer who had trouble speaking was being visited by her late-sixties daughter, a retired pediatrician. The daughter turned to her mother and they both said hi to me. The retired pediatrician turned back to her mom. “Isn’t he good-looking?” I heard her whisper to her mom, but loud enough for me to hear. “He’s nice eye candy.” Her mom just smiled, as she has difficulty speaking, and looked at me. I tried to act like I hadn’t heard her daughter’s “whisper.” I’d never been called “eye candy” before. I found it humorous, especially coming from another senior citizen in this nursing home.
Carolyn was sitting back watching it all. You’d find her often quietly amused by the people around this dinner table. When they all sat at the table for a meal, the stories and the comments were hilarious. It could be a reality show, for fellow seniors only, of course.
While at first Carolyn didn’t like the idea of living in a large residential home with others, she has grown to love it. She never wants to leave.
Despite having dementia, and no matter how much she has forgotten over the years, she didn’t forget my name. When I visited her for the first time, she proudly introduced me to the room of residents all in a row of La-Z-Boy chairs watching television or sleeping in their recliners: “Hey, everyone, this is my son.” But this last time when I stopped by, she just gazed at me and smiled. “You look familiar.” I said, “Yes, I’m your son, David.”
It took me a moment as I was startled by her decline. The nurses had told me this day was coming.
I’m standing next to Carolyn’s bed now.
She’s still sleeping. I’m wondering how much more time I have left with her. My mind wanders to that last moment before my dad took his final breath and he asked me:
“Dave, will you make sure to take care of Carolyn?”
As I stand there looking at her, thinking about our relationship over the years, I am grateful for her. And thankful that this has come full circle.
I don’t want to wake her. So I slowly make my way out of her bedroom. Go up to the nurses and let them know I’ll be back soon. But I have to go back to California.
“Since she’s declining quickly, I’ll try to come more frequently. And by the way, I left one of Carolyn’s favorite desserts on the counter in the kitchen. You know the Korean cake, which isn’t as sweet as the typical American cakes that Carolyn loves. It has strawberries and blueberries on it.”
“Mr. Gibbons, we’ll make sure Carolyn gets a slice.”
“Great, but it’s for everybody here. See you soon. Thank you so much for taking good care of Carolyn.”
I head to my rental car, parked outside Carolyn’s senior care home. As I open the door to leave the house, the Arizona heat torches my face. The temperature rising from the asphalt streets is about 20 degrees hotter than under the shade of a tree.
I get inside the car. Turn on the air-conditioning.
I buckle my seat belt and start to make my way to Sky Harbor Airport in Phoenix. As I drive away from the house, I can’t help but smile and whisper: “Dad, I kept my promise.”
Epilogue
My wife and I embarked on an immersive journey through Korea. This trip was a whirlwind historic tour of my ancestral homeland alongside some friends. Our itinerary was full of visits to museums as we traversed the beautiful landscapes on a chartered bus. In the middle of our trip, we anticipated spending a night in a historic village that mirrored the lifestyle of my ancestors. The quaint locale bore the name “Jeonju Hanok Village”—a collection of over eight hundred traditional Korean houses known as hanoks.
As we ventured through this charming enclave, the eye-catching stuccoed facades adorned with distinctly Asian rooftops captured our attention. Stepping inside, we found wooden floors that radiated warmth throughout the house—a heartening comfort during cold winter nights. There were no conventional Western beds; instead, we encountered neatly rolled-out blankets strewn across the floor. Sleeping atop traditional Korean bedding, cocooned beneath a cozy quilt, provided an authentic historic experience.
Being a light sleeper, I have developed particular preferences over the years. The pillow must be of the downy variety. The bed and room cool to the skin, a sanctum of tranquility. At home in the States, my comfortable California king mattress is a necessary part of my experience. Consequently, when I laid my eyes on what appeared to simply be a somewhat thick blanket accompanied by a small pillow, I worried that a restless sleep on these hard floors was ahead for me. I was already feeling a touch of self-pity. A first world problem for sure.
Nevertheless, I laid aside these concerns and hoped for the best, however elusive that might be on this cold winter night.
To my astonishment, I didn’t wake up till morning even once.
Usually, I’ll wake up at least once a night and get up very early. But I was out! I was completely enveloped by a deep and restful sleep.
My wife, who slept very badly that night, later confided that I was so serenely still and quiet all night, and even past the usual wake-up time, that she thought I might have died. She recounted how she leaned in, cautiously placing her finger close to my nose just to confirm that I was breathing!
“Dave, you slept so well. You never made a sound or moved all night long. I was scared. I didn’t know if you were still alive.”
I mused, “Hmmm, I don’t know why I slept so well.”
It was only later, when I looked at my birth certificate, that a profound realization washed over me. The very place where I had nestled into a deep slumber and an unprecedented stillness was none other than my mother’s hometown.
In that moment, I knew I was home.
Acknowledgments
Chong and Doug, the journey wasn’t easy, but we did all right. Mom and Dad would be proud of you both.
A heartfelt thank you to Inez, Travis, editors, proofreaders, and endorsers for generously contributing your expertise, encouragement, insights, and guidance throughout the creation of this memoir.
To all my friends featured in these pages and the institutions referenced, your influence and support have deeply shaped my life, and for that, I am profoundly grateful.
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