Today, I am ready to share the story of the proposal. It’s been a delicate dance—a dance of grief and joy that I never imagined I’d have to learn.
It started right after Mom came home from the hospital. We were so sure she was getting better. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was hope. Fragile, yes, but it was there, like a soft glow in the distance. And in the middle of all that, Marcus proposed.
It all happened so quickly, and honestly, I didn’t see it coming. Marcus casually asked me to dress up that day because we were going to film something on the rooftop. I didn’t suspect a thing—it felt like just another one of our fun little vlog projects.
But then, out of nowhere, he looked at me and said, “I don’t want to be your jowa anymore.”
I froze. What? My heart dropped, and I blurted out, “Why?”
And then he knelt down. No box, just a ring in his hand. “Will you marry me?” I screamed and jumped with joy.
I swear, the whole rooftop gasped. Even the strangers around us were stunned, cheering when they realized what was happening. None of us saw it coming—not them, not me—but in that perfect, chaotic moment, I said yes.
It was the kind of surprise that leaves you breathless, but somehow, it felt just right—so us. And in that moment, I was overwhelmed by so many emotions: happiness, fear, guilt, hope—all spinning around me like a storm.
The Proposal Video
You know how much Mom means to me. She was my anchor, my everything. When she got sick, it felt like my world shattered, piece by piece. So when she came home, I thought we’d been given a second chance. I thought there’d be more time—time to plan, time to dream, time to share all the little moments I’d been holding onto. And then Marcus, with his big, open heart, offered me forever. I couldn’t help but ask myself, Can I let myself feel joy when everything still feels so fragile?
But love has a way of finding you, even in the messiest, most uncertain times. It doesn’t wait for the perfect moment—it just shows up and reminds you that hope and love can coexist with heartache. When I said yes, it wasn’t just about the ring or the future we were planning. It was about choosing love, even in the face of all that uncertainty.
Afterward, I couldn’t wait to share it with Mom. You know how much she means to me. She’s always been my anchor, my home. I showed her the proposal video, and even though her words were few—her dementia made it harder for her to speak—I saw it in her face. She was so happy, her eyes lighting up in a way that told me everything her words couldn’t.
That’s when I asked her, “Mom, can I wear your wedding dress?” And even though she couldn’t answer clearly, I knew she loved the idea. I went to her room and started searching for it. The smell, the feel of her things—it brought back so many memories. And as I looked for the dress, she was there, on the hospital bed we’d placed in the living room so she could still be surrounded by us. Her presence filled the room, and I could feel how proud she was. It was like, even in her silence, she was saying, This is what I’ve always wanted for you.
Those days were a fragile kind of beautiful. I was planning for this future with Marcus while holding onto what little time I had left with Mom. Then, that night in the ER came, and everything changed. She was fighting so hard. The doctors told us reviving her again and again was taking too much out of her. I knew she was tired, but I also knew she was holding on—for us, for me.
I sat beside her, held her hand, and whispered, “Mom, it’s okay. Everything will be alright. Marcus loves us, and he’s going to take care of me. I wish he were here right now, but he wants you to know he loves me so much.” I felt her squeeze my hand—just the smallest, faintest pressure—and it was her way of telling me she understood.
That night, mother passed. Marcus was in Korea, and I called him, crying so hard I could barely get the words out. “She’s gone,” I sobbed into the phone. And Marcus—he just stayed on the line, quiet, steady, holding me with his words from thousands of miles away.
The days since then have been a blur of joy and sorrow. I think about her every time I look at the wedding plans, every time I imagine walking down the aisle. I won’t have her there to zip up my dress, to fuss over my hair, to tell me how beautiful I look. But I’ll carry her with me—in the dress she gave her blessing for, in the love she taught me to give, in every step I take toward this future with Marcus.
It’s a bittersweet rhythm, this dance of grief and joy. But I know now that the two can exist together. Love doesn’t erase loss; it grows around it. And somehow, through the ache and the healing, it reminds us to keep going—to carry their love forward, no matter how heavy it feels.
Honestly, I haven’t fully recovered from the whirlwind of grief and joy tangled together, with love and loss sitting side by side in my heart. It’s been so much to hold, and some days, it feels heavier than others. But even with all that, my heart keeps going, and life keeps moving forward.
Timing is off?
Most people might not understand what I’m feeling right now. Every time I think of my mom, the pain of losing her hits me all over again. But when I think of Marcus, I feel this overwhelming happiness and gratitude.
The proposal? It could’ve happened at any time, and honestly, who even knew it was coming? The timing might seem off to others, but when your heart feels something so deeply, you can’t just pause it. And honestly, who has the right to invalidate my feelings—or our feelings?
I carry my mother with me, always. I wear this little necklace my sister and I got for each other—each of us holding a piece of her. It’s a tiny piece of her green bones, from her cremated remains. It’s like carrying a part of her wherever I go, keeping her close, even when I can’t physically feel her presence. It’s bittersweet, but somehow, it makes sense. Because even through the grief, her love is still with me, guiding me forward.
