, we left our city apartment and went to my parents’ house in the suburbs to stay for an indeterminate amount of time. My husband and I slept in my childhood bedroom, while our kids, 3 and 5, shared a queen bed in the next room. We landed with a heavy footprint, during an emotionally heavy and stressful time—the kids were wild, our belongings were in boxes all over the house, and we had no idea when we’d be able to go home again.
My mom’s main memory of this time is of going to the rec room in their apartment complex, and playing pool, alone, for hours. She claims to have had ace precision, shooting one ball after another, into the corner pockets. But as the pandemic dragged on and the death toll grew, somehow, my insistence also grew. Were my parents going to make it to the other side of this? My dad was about to turn 80. We didn’t suggest that out loud, but if they didn’t, would my ability to pass along their traditions and their language be lost? Would my kids ever learn to speak Korean? Before the pandemic, we knew that a short grandparent visit is a respite to tired young parents.
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