Have you ever realized too late that you took someone's presence for granted? If you're someone with aging parents, distant relationships, or people you keep meaning to connect with "someday," this story will shake you awake before it's too late.
In March 2023, I stood by my father's deathbed and told him it was okay to quit, to rest. But years earlier, I had already quit on something far more important—and I didn't even know it.
"The trouble is, you think you have time." - Buddha
The Man Who Fed Everyone But Talked to No One
My father, Hui Chun Kang, immigrated from South Korea to Missouri in 1984. He never learned English, but he didn't need words to communicate his love—he spoke through food.
He owned a Chinese/Korean restaurant and worked as the head cook, sometimes 14-16 hours a day, six days a week. He wanted to give our family opportunities and a better life in America, and he sacrificed everything to make that happen.
Growing up, my dad and I didn't talk much. Not because we didn't love each other, but because he was always at the restaurant. Our connection happened through food. I tried every item on his menu. I never complained about anything he put in front of me. I just ate everything, and I think my dad really enjoyed that about me.
That was our language: I ate, he cooked, and somehow that said "I love you" without either of us speaking the words.
The Diagnosis That Started the Clock
In May 2022, my dad developed jaundice. The hospital scans revealed pancreatic cancer. The doctors started chemo, but there were times his blood count was too low to continue treatment.
My dad had diabetes but still ate sugary foods. He had smoked for 30+ years. I don't think he really took care of his health—he took care of everyone else instead.
His attitude toward the diagnosis was simple: "I have cancer. There's nothing I can do. Let the doctors handle it."
I was in Texas. He was in Missouri. My wife and I were both working, dealing with our own financial struggles from my wife's health issues in 2020. We couldn't come see him as often as we should have.
The hardest part was that I couldn't do much for him from 1,000 miles away. I couldn't talk to his doctors because my dad didn't speak English. I couldn't translate. I couldn't advocate. I couldn't help the man who had worked himself to exhaustion to help me.
"Honor your father and your mother, so that you may live long in the land the Lord your God is giving you." - Exodus 20:12
The Moment I'll Never Forget
Between his diagnosis in May 2022 and his death in March 2023, ten months passed. Ten months that felt simultaneously too long and far too short.
In March, I drove to Missouri. My dad was in his hospital bed, on morphine, breathing but not awake. I sat beside him, held his hand, and said the words I never thought I'd have to say:
"Dad, it's okay to quit. It's time to rest."
He couldn't respond, but I know he heard me. I saw him take his final breath. He was 70 years old.
Sitting there in that room, watching the man who had worked 16-hour days finally rest, I realized something that broke me: I never learned his recipes.
All those years eating his food, loving his cooking, connecting through meals—and I never once asked him to teach me. I never asked about his childhood in Korea. I never asked what he dreamed about before he became a restaurant owner. I never asked what he wished he had done differently.
I assumed I had time. I assumed "someday" would come. I assumed he'd always be there, cooking in that kitchen, feeding everyone who walked through his door.
The Questions I Never Asked
Here's what haunts me: My dad gave me grit through his example of endurance. He gave me gratitude through his sacrifice. He gave me grace through his quiet strength facing death.
But I never asked him:
- How did he make that specific sauce I loved?
- What was his childhood like in Korea?
- What made him decide to leave everything behind and come to America?
- What did he wish he had done with his life besides work?
- What wisdom did he want to pass down that he never got to share?
I have his legacy of "grit, gratitude, and grace" living through me. But I don't have his recipes. I don't have his stories. I don't have the answers to questions I never thought to ask until it was too late.
What His Death Taught Me About Time
My father's death taught me that time is brutally limited. He was only 70—fairly young by today's standards. He spent his life working, providing, sacrificing. And when he was gone, he couldn't take any of it with him.
Watching him die changed my entire perspective on life. Self-care isn't optional—it's essential if you want to be around for the people you love. Working hard isn't enough if you're not enjoying life with the people who matter most.
His memory influences every choice I make now. I refuse to work all the time and miss life. I refuse to assume I'll have time "later" to do what matters. I refuse to let another person I love slip away before I've asked them everything I need to know.
The Time-Is-Now Framework
Here's what I learned too late—and what you can still apply today:
Step 1: Stop Assuming You Have Time
- Your parents won't be here forever
- That "someday" conversation needs to happen today
- Tomorrow is promised to no one
Step 2: Ask the Questions Now
- Learn their recipes, their stories, their wisdom
- Ask about their childhood, their dreams, their regrets
- Record conversations, write things down, capture their voice
Step 3: Prioritize Presence Over Provision
- Being there matters more than sending money
- Conversations matter more than accomplishments
- Memories matter more than achievements
Step 4: Live Like You Learned the Lesson
- Take care of your health so you're around longer for your people
- Don't sacrifice presence for productivity
- When you die, you take nothing with you—so live for what you can't take
Your Action Step Today
If your parents are still alive, call them today. Don't wait until it's convenient. Don't wait until you have time. Don't wait until the crisis comes.
Ask them:
- What was your childhood like?
- What do you wish you had done differently?
- What wisdom do you want to pass down?
- Can you teach me that recipe I always loved?
- What do you want me to remember about you?
If your parents are gone, honor them by learning from my mistake. Don't let other relationships slip away unfinished. Don't assume you'll have time with your spouse, your siblings, your friends, your mentors.
Time flies faster than you think. The people you love won't be here forever. And the questions you don't ask today might haunt you tomorrow.
When you're ready, here's how I can help you:
Purchase my book "Mindset Metamorphosis"—the complete guide to transforming your thinking and taking action for a better life. It's about choosing to act today instead of waiting for someday, written during a season when I learned that lesson the hard way.
And if you want to honor the legacy of food and connection like my father left me, check out "The Kimchi Connection Cookbook"—because food is more than nutrition, it's how we say "I love you" across generations.
Remember: Feed your mind. Fuel your actions. Find your fire.
DK Kang
Author | Wellness Advocate | Plant-Based Athlete | LMT
dk@dkkang.com
www.dkkang.com
