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Jae Young — Korea 1995
After long and exhausting days juggling classes and hospital visits, where my father spent countless hours by my mother's side, she tragically passed away. The full impact of his words didn't hit me until I saw the machines being disconnected and her body covered with a white sheet.
“She has found peace,” a nurse's voice broke through the silence, as tears streamed down my father's face. The harsh reality that I would never again see my mother, feel her comforting embrace, or hear her gentle voice singing or reading favorite bedtime stories to Jae Wook and me, finally sank in.
The house felt eerily silent without the cheerful melody of her piano playing on Saturday mornings. The garden, once her sanctuary, now lay neglected, and the kitchen, once the heart of our home, stood empty. No more would her delicious kimchi grace our table.
Her absence cast a shadow over everything, turning our once bright home into a place of constant gloom. The realization shattered me, leaving me feeling as if I were broken into a thousand pieces.
As soon as they removed her from the hospital room, my father brought us home briefly, before heading to the hospital's memorial room, a serene and somber place resembling a restaurant. There, spread across a large space with low tables and a smaller one to the side, was a long table, akin to an altar, adorned with flowers, candles, incense, fruit, and a beautiful portrait of my mother, smiling as she always did.
My father was motionless, not eating or drinking. Jae Wook cried, not fully comprehending the situation. Every time I bowed before her picture, my heart ached, making it difficult to breathe. It felt so unfair to grow up without a mother, unlike other children. Why did she have to pass away? Why couldn’t the doctors heal her? They're trained to help people get better, so why couldn't they save my mother?
People's condolences only fueled my anger. They couldn’t possibly understand the pain of losing someone, or how much I yearned for her to be alive, to hug me, to read bedtime stories, and to be there for all our moments, both good and bad. Each sympathetic gesture or condolence felt like a needle piercing through me, further shattering the fragmented pieces I had become.
On the third day, as Jae Wook and I were dressed in black suits, my father came into our room. He knelt before us, deeply sighed, and adjusted our ties. He assisted me with a bandage and white gloves.
“You are the eldest; it's your duty to lead with your mother's image,” he instructed. “Do it respectfully. Say your farewells so she can rest in peace and be remembered with love.”
I was speechless, unable to find words, so I just nodded in agreement, bowing my head in acknowledgment.
We make our way to the altar room. My father helps me extinguish the candles and incense. We offer food to my mother. We position ourselves with our backs to the coffin, adhering to tradition. And then, it's time for the final goodbye.
We form a small line. I carry my mother's picture, Jae Wook carries the flowers, and we join my father and other family members to proceed to the adjacent crematorium—a concept I only understand when my father explains that my mother's body will be turned to ash, mirroring how I feel now, like a hollow shell.
In the end, they hand us a small white ceramic urn, reminiscent of a flower vase my mother cherished, and that's all that remains of her.
We head to the cemetery, placing her urn, along with a photo and flowers, on a wall with small glass-covered niches. It resembles a large bookshelf, but each niche holds an urn.
My eyes are heavy, my body weak. As soon as we get into the car, Jae Wook falls asleep upright. I move closer, letting him rest his head on my shoulder, but I soon fall asleep too.
I wake up in my bed, likely carried there by my father. The sound of my grandmother's sharp voice jolts me awake. I sit up, rub my eyes, yawn, and approach the door. I can't make out everything being said, especially my grandmother's shouts. I open the door slowly, trying not to make noise, look both ways in the hallway, and tiptoe up the stairs.
“What did you expect to happen, Park Jung Hee, when you left the company?”
“I didn't abandon the company. I was fulfilling my role as a husband, caring for Kim Soo Min.”
“You knew this outcome was likely when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. I knew she didn't have long, given the advanced stage. Your duty was to comfort her, not to neglect our business by stepping aside!” I hear the thud of something hitting the wooden floor – probably her cane.
“I didn’t abandon the company, but I couldn't let Soo Min suffer alone.”
“Did being by her side ease Kim Soo Min's pain more than the medicines could?”
“Miss Lee Hye Ji, can’t you feel even a shred of empathy for another’s suffering? For your grandchildren? For my wife?”
“Emotions shouldn't cloud our duties. That’s why I’m removing you as president of Park Communications.”
“You're dismissing me right after losing my wife?”
“I’m doing what’s necessary for the family. Your neglect led to a major embezzlement.”
“I didn’t take from the company.”
“But you let it happen by neglecting your duties.”
As the word 'theft' rings out, my breathing quickens, tears streaming down my face. I try to stop them by wiping my face, but they persist. My body and head ache; I pull my hair and scream as I dash down the stairs.
“Witch! Witch!”
She turns to me, and as I reach the bottom step, Lee Hye Ji taps her cane against my legs. I fall, hands hitting the floor. The tears stop, and despite the pain from the blow, I don’t flinch. Standing up, I face her.
“Is this the upbringing you and that woman gave him? Insolent!”
She raises her cane again, preparing to strike me. Unflinching, I endure the blow, standing firmly with my eyes wide open. I memorize every detail of her face, determined and unyielding. My father rushes in, shielding me from further harm.
"Don't lay a hand on him," he warns sternly, "or I'll lose the remaining shred of respect I have for you. You won't have to see me or my children again, Miss Lee Hye Ji."
"And how will you manage?" she retorts.
"That's my concern, not yours," my father replies firmly.
Gently, he wraps an arm around me, bringing me close for comfort. With a dismissive gesture, he points her to the door. She exits, her cane tapping rhythmically against the floor, maintaining her proud posture. My father's attention remains solely on me; he envelops me in his other arm, and without a word, carries me up the stairs to my room. He tucks me into bed, arranges the blanket around me, and stays by my side until I drift off to sleep.
The next morning, Jae Wook and I find our father waiting for us at breakfast, deep in thought. We take our seats beside him.
"We're moving to Brazil," he announces somberly. "I'll be working with your samchon[1], Park Soo Hyun."
His voice sounds distant, almost robotic.
"But what about Mom?" I ask, trying to catch his eye, feeling a mix of burning anger and icy dread. It doesn't seem right to leave her memory behind so quickly.
"Don't worry, Jae Young," he assures us. "Your mother would have wanted what's best for us."
"But I won't be able to visit her or celebrate her birthday..." I can't hide my frustration and sadness.
"We will honor her memory no matter where we are. And whenever you miss her, look at the stars. She's surely become one by now, the most radiant of them all. The brightest star will be Kim Soo Min."
My father isn't one for many words, so he leaves it at that.
In the days that follow, we pack our bags, taking only essentials. We make a few more visits to my mother's memorial and all our cherished places.
Since that night, we haven't seen my grandmother, and I don't plan to ever again.
It's a chilly day with the first snowfall as we get into the black BMW M3 for the last time. Dad starts the engine, its rumble fills the air, and we begin to drive away from our large, beautiful yellow house. I look back, watching it fade from view.