Whose face comes to mind when one thinks of North Korea? For many, it’s likely Kim Jong Un, the nation’s current leader. For some, it may be a refugee, perhaps seen on the news or in promotional materials distributed by human rights groups. I, however, cannot think about North Korea without seeing the faces of my late grandfathers, who were forced to leave their families and homes behind during the Korean War. In the aftermath of Trump and Kim's high-stakes summit, my ancestors’ faces have never been far from my mind.

My grandfathers were among the countless Koreans who were separated from their families as a result of the war. Among them, less than 60,000 South Koreans survive today, and the majority of them are in their 80s or older. For those who left their families and homes in the north, they harbor intense guilt.

It is not known how many of their counterparts survive, but it is clear that their numbers are dwindling. For these families, the contradictory and inflammatory rhetoric of two of the world’s most mercurial leaders is not simply a matter of political gamesmanship. For these families, the North Korean standoff is part of an acutely personal — and painful — history, which feels absurdly absent from much of the American coverage of both this summit and the inter-Korean summits.

For these families, the North Korean standoff is part of an acutely personal — and painful — history, which feels absurdly absent from much of the American coverage.

Im Jong-soon, my paternal grandfather, was born in 1932 in the city of Kaesong. When the war began in 1950, his father told him to flee south to avoid being drafted by the North Korean army. And so he did, leaving his parents and the life he knew behind but still expecting to return eventually. He would never see them again. My father still remembers watching Grandfather Jong-soon drink soju and weep during Chuseok (Korean Thanksgiving) and Seollal (Korean New Year), each holiday a painful reminder of the parents he had left behind.

Cho Bu-jun, my maternal grandfather, was born in 1928 in what was Yeonbaek county. Before the war, he had freely crossed over the 38th Parallel several times. When the war began, however, he was in the south and could no longer return home. He never even said farewell to his parents and siblings. Unlike Grandfather Jong-soon, Grandfather Bu-jun had no relatives in the south, so he was alone. Years later, my mother recounted him going on trips with his friends to the Korean Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) so he could feel closer to his family and home.