DEAR LISA | JENLISA

THIRTY-THREE

JENNIE

Fifty-seven months left
***

TWO YEARS AND one month after her father died, and the day after she graduated from Rhode Island School of Design, Jennie Ruby Jane Kim had made a list.

A really important list.

The past twenty-five months had been tumultuous. When her father died the spring of her sophomore year, she was thrown into a tarry pit of chaos and grief. Dad had been the world’s best, and his death was so shocking it changed Jennie’s world. The rest of her college time was spent in the weird limbo of loss where she went through life, eating and showering, doing projects and papers and hanging with her friends and sister. Sometimes she found herself laughing, and it came almost as a surprise. Sometimes, she’d stop abruptly in the middle of a sidewalk, asking herself, “Am I awake right now? Is this really my life? Are you seriously saying I will never see my father again?”

The fabulous Dave Kim, beloved by all, hated by none, devoted husband, adoring father, excellent neighbor, dog lover—sweet Dave Kim who ran two miles a day and didn’t eat dessert, just slumped over at his desk one afternoon, a half-finished container of strawberry yogurt next to him. No profound last words. No family holding his hand, whispering how much they loved him.

Jennie had worshipped her dad. No man was perfect, of course . . . except her dad. He was funny, corny, indulgent enough, strict enough, and went through life happily stunned at his great luck in marrying Donna, the love of his life. Daughters? What could be better than two perfect girls? Nothing! Jennie knew it was a rare dad who could make both his girls feel like they were his favorite. When Jisoo had sweet little Sebastian, just five months before her dad’s untimely death, he had cried at the sight of his grandson, and later sent flowers to his wife and both his girls, congratulating them on their new status in life—grandmother, mother, aunt.

At the age of twenty, Jennie would’ve been hard-pressed to find a single time her father had let her down, been irritable with her or shown her anything but love and wonder. Haein, Jisoo’s husband, had been pronounced “almost as wonderful as Daddy” by Jisoo herself, to which Haein said he’d have to up his game.

“Are you kidding, son? You’re fantastic,” her dad had said. “You just take care of my little girl.”

Jennie herself had ridiculous standards when it came to dating. She and Roseanne would argue cheerfully over this; Roseanne thought everyone deserved a chance, and Jennie . . . Jennie didn’t want to waste time on anyone who showed the slightest red flag. She had seen how a real man should treat a woman. She didn’t want anything less.

Her dad’s autopsy showed a massive aneurysm. It wasn’t fair. He had deserved better, the kind of guy who’d pull over to change a flat for anyone, who paid off the balance of a family’s layaway at Christmas. Dave Kim should’ve died heroically, running into a burning building to save babies and puppies (and he would have run in, and Jennie had no doubt he would’ve saved everyone). He should’ve died with a smile on his face, surrounded by the three women who loved him, his baby grandson on his chest, full of gratitude for the love he had earned in his life.

But . . . “life sucks and shit happens” and all the other bumper stickers told Jennie that she had to swallow this bitter pill—a baseball-sized pill—and keep living.

Sometimes grief brings a family together; sometimes it pushes each person into a corner. Sometimes it does both. She and Jisoo had always been good to each other; Jisoo was five years older, and Jennie adored her appropriately. Jisoo had set the bar unfairly high with her grades and career in environmental law, her beautiful, kind husband, her perfect baby, and Jennie cheerfully acknowledged this.