My parents divorced when I was 18. My mother left with my youngest siblings and rest of us stayed behind with my father to finish the school year. Although I was a straight A student, I acted out by going with an unsuitable boyfriend who hurt me physically. My father denounced me to the police, saying I was out of control. This comment wounded me more than my boyfriend’s abuse.

Shortly after that incident, I started therapy on my own initiative. The therapist recommended that I move out of the house, so I went to live with a school friend until graduation. I attended a prestigious college on scholarship. I didn't speak to him for 15 years. When I got engaged, I remember sobbing at the realization that I had no father to give me away. My fiancé and I eloped.

My memory is a little fuzzy about the timing, but at some point my dad had a heart attack and I decided that I would feel too guilty if he were to die while we were estranged. We had a few visits and he met my children. When the Internet came, I started to write to my father and he would answer, sharing stories about his early life. I learned about his abusive childhood. Dad wrote many emails describing his time in Korea, and he sent me photos of butterflies and old family photos. And he told me he loved me.

During this period, I visited my Dad once a year with my husband and we would take him on trips. When he became more infirm, I visited him in his home. In later years, my father developed dementia. I visited him a month before he died, but he didn't recognize me. After he passed away, I went through his belongings searching for his photos from the Korean War. He had saved every card and letter I ever sent him.