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It started with his keys.
Sunghoon would step out of his one-bedroom apartment to go on about his day, only to realize he left his ring of keys in the tray next to the door. He would sheepishly scratch the back of his head as he would approach the front desk, asking for assistance to help him into his unit.
It wasn’t concerning, just a few things misplaced here and there; there were some long pauses where he would furrow his brow, bring his finger to his chin, and mutter, “What’s that thing? Gosh, it’s on the tip of my tongue.”
Once it started trickling into work, however, there was room for a second thought.
“Sunghoon-ssi, this is unacceptable.”
Sunghoon folded in a bow, hands pressed against his thighs as he racked his brain for an explanation.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Do. It won’t happen again,” he said, once he met his supervisor’s eyes.
Mr. Do’s eyes narrowed, eyeing his most senior software developer on the team. Sunghoon had forgotten to attend an investor meeting that morning, causing outrage among the partners since it was a crucial step in their acquisition process. Sunghoon had already gotten an earful from the head of the company, wincing at every word that lashed onto him. It was humiliating, to say the least, especially for someone with the longest tenure in the company, having been one of the founding developers.
“Sunghoon, is everything okay?” Mr. Do asked, a lilt of concern grasping at the end of his question.
Sunghoon waved a hand, nodding quickly. “Of course, Mr. Do. I’m more than fine, just a bit tired lately, is all.”
Mr. Do leaned into his chair, adjusting his position as he maintained his eye on his employee. “Maybe write these meetings down; I know you have a penchant for having it all laid out in your brain, but perhaps it’s getting unruly,” the supervisor suggested. “Alright, back to work then. I’ll see you at our review session.”
Sunghoon bowed, leaving Mr. Do’s office to head back to his own. He mumbled to himself, swearing he never recalled an investor meeting taking place that day; no one mentioned it to him. Maybe he needed to invest in a nice planner for once.
His cellphone began buzzing at home one weekend, insistently calling out to Sunghoon as he was stir-frying some eggs for breakfast. He turned off his stove, ears perked as he heard the sound of vibrations against his kitchen table.
“Ah, Minju, good morning,” Sunghoon said, once he swiped on his screen to answer the call.
“Appa!” a woman’s voice sounded over the speaker. “Where are you?”
Sunghoon chewed on his lip, glancing up at the digital clock with the date on the wall. Saturday, May 9, 9:43 am. “Oh, shoot,” he murmured, rubbing his forehead in disheartenment.
“Appa…you said you would be here for brunch. Are you still at home?”
His daughter’s voice was mixed with hurt and exasperation. He knew he messed up, but how could he have blundered this badly? It was his own daughter’s forty-fifth birthday; there was no excuse for how he could have forgotten it.
“Junhyeon is asking where you are…he misses his grandpa. Will you be here soon?” Minju asked, worry lacing in her tone now.
Sunghoon immediately affirmed that he would be on the way as soon as possible. “Just give me a moment to change and get ready; I’ll be heading over right now,” he said, clutching his phone as he hurried to his room, swinging his closet open to find an outfit.
The doctor told him it was memory loss; there was no other explanation for his constant blunders, both in work and his personal life. The doctor explained that they would have to monitor him more closely over the next few months for more physical exams, mental status checks, and lab work.
“Please come in every Tuesday and Friday; it is important you do not miss any of these so that we can track your progress more accurately,” the physician said, shuffling her papers to straighten them out before slipping them into Sunghoon’s file.
“Doctor…do you think this is too much? I have a lot going on at work, I’m not sure how much time I could take off to make it to these appointments.”
Sunghoon anxiously rubbed the back of his hand as he peered at the doctor, hoping that she would lessen the cadence. Her face remained solemn, slightly apologetic, even.
“Sunghoon-ssi…I know this is difficult to take in. I understand that it is a shock, but we must act quickly to monitor your changes and ensure we can slow down the progression as much as possible,” she replied.
He looked down at his lap, nodding as he took in her words. It was a gut punch hearing that his memory loss wasn’t just one-off occurrences, nor were they coincidences. Minju grew uneasy about his forgetfulness, especially since it was increasing in frequency.
“Appa, this is not normal. Chanhee and I think it would be best for you to see your doctor, just to see what’s going on.”
Sunghoon smiled as he leaned over at the kitchen table, placing his hand over his daughter’s. “Minju-ah, I’m okay. Don’t worry so much about me, you need to look after Junhyeon, after all,” he remarked.
He glanced over at his grandson as the small boy hopped around the room, earning coos from his aunts and uncles in the living room. Junhyeon’s dark hair flopped on his head, like a bunny’s ears; the tiny child sparked emotions of nostalgia, flooding his mind with bliss as he looked upon his only grandchild.
“Please do it for Junhyeon, then. He needs his grandpa. Do it for me, too.”
This is all he needed for him to schedule that appointment with his primary care doctor and eventually with a neurologist.
Despite his commitment to attending all the appointments, which Minju would drive him to to ensure his attendance, Sunghoon was beginning to encounter more and more strange experiences.
Coworkers’ names slipped from his mind, and reviewing written codes became tedious; he was spending more time going through his mental files to bring forth the increasing gaps in his memory.
Mr. Do called him in one afternoon, after Sunghoon managed to derail an entire project with a singular line of code that corrupted half of their progress. The supervisor was rubbing his face after a long morning of helping the department put out fires caused by Sunghoon’s mishap.
Sunghoon sat in the chair opposite him, hands folded in his lap; that morning was especially humbling.
“Sunghoon…this is truly the end of my wits, really. I gave you many chances, but this is getting outrageous,” Mr. Do said, frustratedly.
This time, Sunghoon did not say a word. He remained silent, shame plaguing his whole being.
“I hate that I have to do this because you’re my most senior developer. You have been a part of the company ever since conception, and it’s heartbreaking for all of us involved…but I am afraid we have to let you go.”
He was already bracing himself for the words, but it still stabbed him, gutting him over and over as he processed the finality of the statement.
Sunghoon didn’t fight it; he signed the papers, accepting the outcome. Mr. Do assured him that they would keep the reason for his termination discreet for the sake of his dignity. It was considerate of them to do so, but he knew people would eventually find out the truth anyway.
He stepped through the threshold of his apartment, sighing when he shut the door behind him. He placed his keys in the tray he always kept them in, slipped off his shoes, and hung his jacket on the coat hanger – all things he routinely did for years on end. Finally, he looked up at the large photo hanging in the hallway of the entrance.
It was framed with smooth, deep mahogany wood, surrounded by a pale cream-colored mat. The photo was what he looked at every day before leaving for work, leaving for any social gathering, and just any errand; it became second-nature for him to look that way before heading out the door, and once he returned. For Sunghoon, it was his constant – something he knew he could always come back to. His heart was on a thin piece of photo paper, slowly fading from age, yet still carried all the memories from the years that he’d owned it for.
After staring into it for moments that felt like hours, he wanted to cherish, he finally gathered the strength to pull his eyes away.
Sunghoon went about the rest of his night, but the picture remained on the wall as a reassuring, watchful guardian. It was a photo that Sunghoon had taken over fifty years ago, depicting the rain-slicked streets of Berlin in the evening, glittering with the reflection of illuminated street lights glistening on the cobblestones. At the forefront of the photo, a figure shines not only from the flash of the camera but from the sweet, gentle smile gracing their face.
Hands clutched their black coat closed as they stood mid-turned, as if just alerted of a photo being taken. Sharp eyes crinkled into half-moons, pure joy across the prettiest cheeks Sunghoon had ever seen in his life.
He was certain he would never forget such a beautiful person.
By month four, the doctor deemed his incidents of memory loss severe enough to be the first signs of dementia. Minju cried in the hospital room as she listened to the doctor explain the prognosis, as Sunghoon sat beside his daughter, holding her hand gently as she sobbed.
Sunghoon never quite noticed the changes after that because things just seemed more susceptible to slipping from his mind. Groceries would be left in the car, food would burn in the oven, keys would continue to be forgotten — it just grew more frequent than ever.
The last push to the edge was when Sunghoon found himself walking along the Han River in the dead of night, unable to recall how he had gotten there in the first place. An officer patrolling the area during the night watch discovered Sunghoon disoriented and confused in casual clothes, donning pajama pants and a light jacket.
Minju had Sunghoon move into her home with her husband, Chanhee. Junhyeon was thrilled to see his grandpa every day, even if the truth behind the decision was heartbreaking.
Sunghoon didn’t fight this either, only requesting that the photo hanging near the front door be brought to his new room so he could continue to look upon it.
To make sure her father was watched at most hours of the day, Minju had to quit her job. Chanhee worked longer hours at the construction site he was managing to make up for the loss of their second income. He assured his wife that this would be for the best, especially for his father-in-law.
As the months wore on and turned into a year after the first signs of the illness, confusion seemed to plague Sunghoon more often. On the weekends, he would walk into the kitchen seeing Chanhee making breakfast for the family. He would grow concerned, asking who Chanhee was and questioning why he was in his home.
Minju would have to calm her father down, grabbing his arms to assure him that the man in the kitchen was indeed his son-in-law of fifteen years.
It broke her heart, but at least Sunghoon would consistently hold the memory of his daughter and grandson in his mind, never forgetting the ones he loved so dearly.
One day, as Sunghoon and Minju sat at the kitchen table, sipping on cups of warm barley tea, his daughter noticed the way he was fiddling with the silver ring on his finger.
“Appa….what’s on your mind?” she asked, softly.
Sunghoon made eye contact with her before he smiled sadly. “The good memories,” he replied, continuing to spin the platinum band.
“You miss him, huh?”
Sunghoon stopped turning his ring; the bright smile returned to his mind.
“I do.”
Minju reached over to touch her father’s hand.
“It’s been a long time. I miss him too.”
Sunghoon started repeating questions. He would ask Minju where he could find the broom in the house so he could sweep the autumn leaves that scattered across the backyard. Minju told him where, before he came hurrying back, questioning her once more about where it was stored.
He began getting up in the middle of the night, dressing himself as if he was getting ready for the day, even if it was 2 am. Minju would shuffle to the kitchen in her pajamas, only to find him searching the cupboards to find a mug for the coffee he was making at the wee hour.
Sunghoon struggled to recall more and more faces; he would reintroduce himself to people, like the nurses at the neurologist's office or the postman, even if he had been seeing them for months and years. It was as if he were meeting them for the first time.
Minju suffered so much, constantly crying in the confines of the shared bedroom with her husband. “What if he hurts himself? What if he leaves the house without us knowing, and we can’t find him? Worst of all…I can feel him forgetting you and Junhyeon – and he’s beginning to forget me.”
It was painful to see his health declining and memories fading. People around him became fleeting figures in his life; wherever he went, everyone was a new face.
Yet, there was always one thing that he could come back to.
Minju stepped into Sunghoon’s room, knocking softly on the wall as she poked her head inside.
“Appa, are you hungry? I just made some lunch.”
Sunghoon glanced over, mildly confused when she entered, but a few moments later, he smiled.
“Ah, maybe in a little bit.”
Minju sat down on the bed beside her father, following his gaze to the large photo on the wall. She hooked her hand in his arm, resting her head on his shoulder.
They sat there silently, taking in the quiet. Birds chirped outside as the afternoon sun shone in through the blinds.
“Dad always looks so happy in the photos you took.”
“He’s my muse, what can I say?” Sunghoon replied, “I brought the best out of him.”
“And he brought the best out of you,” Minju added.
“It was a beautiful night,” Sunghoon said, nodding towards the photo.
“We were in Berlin for our Europe honeymoon. We got drunk off of a pint each of that godforsaken stout beer…it was quite disgusting from what I recall.”
Minju laughed before helping. “You said Dad wanted to go to a karaoke bar next door. He sang his heart out to Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You.”
“Oh yes, he was so bold, so brave. I wouldn’t get anywhere near that microphone, but he never feared it – and I love him so much for that.
“I took that photo once we left that karaoke bar at 2 am. It was so chilly since it was already October, but I felt so warm being with your Dad. Everywhere he went, he was so bright; it made me feel so safe.”
Minju wiped a single tear, careful not to let her father see her getting emotional. She wanted to hear him talk more.
“I love your Dad so much,” Sunghoon said quietly.
“I know, Appa – and you know that he does too.”
Minju sobbed to her husband that night.
“He remembers so much when it comes to Dad; he talks about everything they went through, as if it were yesterday to him…I wish Dad would come back; maybe it would truly heal Appa.”
Two years later, Sunghoon woke up one afternoon, finding himself in an unfamiliar bed with an unfamiliar ceiling above him. He furrowed his brow, looking around the white, bare walls that caged him in. There was a curtain near the entrance of the room, veiling what was beyond the door.
“Oh, Sunghoon-ssi, you’re awake!”
A young nurse dressed in navy scrubs stepped in, his hair neatly styled away from his face. He flashed Sunghoon a comforting grin before helping him up onto his feet.
“Thank you, young man…what is your name?” Sunghoon asked, nodding politely as the nurse handed him a walker that sat next to the bed. His upper body felt heavy, so it felt natural to grip his hands on the mobility aid.
“It’s Jay. I was here just earlier to help you with your morning walk.”
Sunghoon had no idea what the nurse was talking about; he was only meeting this young man for the first time.
“Ah…perhaps I must have missed your name. The mornings are so dark lately, anyway,” Sunghoon said, waving a hand bashfully. It was unlike him to be so forgetful.
Jay only laughed warmly.
“That’s alright, I don’t mind that very much. How do you feel today?”
Sunghoon rubbed his neck with one hand, pondering for a moment.
“I’m okay, I suppose,” he replied, before glancing around.
Jay began helping Sunghoon step out of the room, walking him down the long hallway. Other people walked by, some with walkers and some slowly shuffling, making their rounds along the wall.
They made their way to a sunny courtyard, where the spring blossoms began to make their first bloom. The sky was a gorgeous cerulean above them, not a single cloud in sight.
“Mr. Jay…” Sunghoon asked, turning to the nurse.
Jay hummed in acknowledgment, hands behind his back.
Sunghoon paused before looking around the courtyard, scanning the entire area.
“Where is my husband?”
Minju stopped by for a visit to see her father at the assisted living facility where he was now living. It became increasingly difficult to care for him, amidst the constant confusion of who and where he was; he was also exhibiting changes in his behavior, such as fighting back the assistance from his daughter that he clearly needed.
“Hi Appa, how are you doing?” she asked, sitting beside his hospital bed. Junhyeon was quietly gripping a robot toy, looking upon his grandpa with great concern. He was at the age where he was starting to understand the significance of his grandpa’s condition, which burdened his young heart.
“Oh…you are my child?” Sunghoon asked, tilting his head at Minju.
Minju bit her lip before nodding.
“Yes, you’re my Appa.”
Sunghoon, mildly confused, just went along with it. He patted Minju’s cheek.
“Ah, of course you would be my child. My husband and I would have made beautiful children anyway, so I believe it,” Sunghoon remarked.
Minju let out a disgusted sound, half-gagging. “Blegh, I didn’t need to hear that, Appa.”
“Speaking of your Dad, where is he? I want to see him, I miss him,” Sunghoon asked, glancing around the room to be met with no one else there. He grew concerned with a frown on his face
“Appa…Dad isn’t here,” Minju replied, with a shaky voice.
“That doesn’t make sense. Why isn’t he here?”
Minju reached to touch Sunghoon’s hand gently as tears found their way down her cheeks.
“Appa–“
“No, why isn’t he here? I just saw him this morning, but I must have gotten hurt and ended up here. Isn’t he concerned?” Sunghoon grew increasingly agitated with his voice rising; Junhyeon became nervous as he sat nearby, tugging his mom’s sleeve in anxiousness.
“He’s…at home,” Minju finally replied, after some time.
Sunghoon’s eyes finally softened, relieved at her words.
“Ah…will he be here soon?”
“Yes, just wait for him, okay? Dad will be here soon.”
Sunghoon hummed in acknowledgment before lying back down in the bed. Thirty minutes later, he asked Minju who she was.
Dementia was a cruel thing. It took away the person from one’s grasp, even if they still stood right before you. Time only meant more memories lost in the distance, while experiences only lived in the present. Sunghoon lived in a blissful ignorance about the world, except for one thing.
“Where’s my husband, where is Sunoo…” Sunghoon would ask, up and down the halls of the living facility. He would tap every nurse and patient he saw, pleading to tell him where he could find his husband.
On the occasion, he would dial a number on the phones that were scattered across the facility; the number, which he knew by heart, would only come up with an automated message: “The number you have dialed is no longer in service.”
The nurses would have to guide him back to his room, explaining that his husband was not at the facility. This usually came with a fuss from Sunghoon, who would question why he couldn’t see his partner right away.
“I need Sunoo; where is Sunoo?” Sunghoon moaned, often in the middle of the night, while he shuffled out of his patient room.
Seeing the old man lament over his husband was more heartbreaking than frustrating; they did not know what to tell him, especially since he was their most afflicted patient, who seemed to remember nothing, except for his own husband.
On a cool spring morning, Minju appeared in Sunghoon’s room with a bouquet in her hand.
“Ah, what beautiful flowers. Who are you, young lady?”
“My name is Minju,” she replied, sitting down on the hospital chair.
“Hello, Minju. My name is Park Sunghoon. It is nice to meet you.”
Minju chatted with him for several moments, asking him about the weather and what he did that morning. It wasn’t much that came out of the conversation, but it was all she needed. Just being near him was all she really wanted.
“Minju-ssi, would you happen to know who Park Sunoo is? Would you happen to know where he is?” Sunghoon suddenly asked. He pointed to the large framed picture hung up on his wall. Minju nodded.
“I do know Sunoo, actually. He’s very lovely.”
The old man hummed. “Yes, so kind and always keeping me on my toes…I wouldn’t have it any other way. I married him, you know.”
Sunghoon waggled his brows, showing off the silver band that adorned his ring finger.
“We were so young; I was twenty-seven, and he was twenty-six. We just moved into our first apartment together a year prior, but we had so many fond memories there. Sunoo was so bad at cooking, but he was wonderful at decorating the place. I didn’t mind making him his favorite dishes, as long as I knew he would have that pretty smile on his face.
“He never saw the proposal coming; we were watching his favorite movie, Sleepless in Seattle, one evening. He loves that one, always putting it on even if he’s not watching it, just to have it playing in the background.
“That night, I asked him where he saw himself in five years. He said, ‘It doesn’t matter, as long as it’s with you. I know I would be happy doing anything with you by my side.’ I nearly kissed him right away when he said that…but I knew I had to be patient.
“I got on one knee while he sat on the couch, tears filling those pretty eyes of his, as I told him how much he meant to me, how my life suddenly grew brighter once he entered my life; I couldn’t contain my excitement to know I would ask the most important question of my life that night.
“He said yes, yes of course…he said, ‘Why would you even think twice about what I would say?’ I hugged him so hard, and we got married at the town hall a few days later. Our friends Heeseung and Jaeyun were there as our witnesses; it was perfect.”
Sunghoon glanced at Minju, who was dabbing her face with a tissue. Once she collected herself, she smiled.
“Should we go visit him today?”
An hour later, they were slowly walking across a lush, lofty field, wind blowing gently against their faces as they searched in the early afternoon sun for their destination. Sunghoon was able to walk very slowly, while he clutched a bouquet in his hand; vibrant indigo blooms of forget-me-nots burst out of the bunch, dotted with pretty yellow centers.
At last, they came across a simple grey marble slab on the ground. They stared upon it, quietly drinking in the solemn atmosphere that fell upon them.
Park Sunoo
June 24, 2003 – May 18, 2045
In loving memory
Beloved husband, father, and brother
There was a space beside the description, blank and ready for a future inscription to be written upon it. Sunghoon knelt before the headstone, placing the blue flowers on the marble.
“Ah, Sunoo…I miss you, my dear Sunoo. How could I forget that you’re waiting for me elsewhere?”
Minju quietly cried as she watched her father speak gently to her dad’s grave. Sunghoon’s fingers ran across the stone, tracing the outlines of Sunoo’s name.
She listened as Sunghoon talked to Sunoo about when they met in college, fated to be together even after years of bickering and misunderstandings. Eventually, Sunghoon had given in to his true feelings and asked Sunoo out on a movie date – he remarked how Sunoo said he knew that after that night, he already predicted that they would get married someday.
Sunghoon recited the poetry that Sunoo read to him to sleep on the occasion, murmuring the lines that Sunoo would utter from his favorite films, and sang the songs that they danced to on their wedding day.
He eventually began to cry, letting his tears fall upon the marble as he clutched the flowers once more.
“You left me too soon, yeobo. I want to be with you, my dear.”
They prayed over Sunoo that afternoon on the anniversary of his passing. Before they left, they both bowed deeply before the headstone.
Sunghoon placed the bouquet of blue blossoms upwards in the receptacle beside the stone. He arranged them one final time, admiring the way they looked. Sunoo would have loved it.
That night, Sunghoon passed away peacefully in his sleep.
His one final wish was to be with Sunoo forever, which they undoubtedly granted.
Park Sunghoon was buried beside Park Sunoo, with a copy of the Berlin photo placed in his hand, adorned with the platinum wedding band that he had never taken off. Inside that ring, it was inscribed with their wedding date and a simple phrase.
Enduring love.