Thursday, January 06, 2022

gi-il (忌日, 기일)

It's been twelve years since Mom passed away. I turned 40 the year Mom was diagnosed with the brain cancer that would kill her nine months later; I turned 52 last August, and despite the passage of more than a decade, there are still moments when Mom's death seems to have happened only yesterday. Looking back at old photos of Mom, both healthy and sick, can trigger the tears. Otherwise, enough time has passed that I'm mostly back to living my life.

I wonder what Mom would think of her sons now. My brother Sean is married and living as a professional musician in the Chicago suburbs. My brother David has risen in the ranks of the PR company that he's worked for for well over a decade, working as a jack-of-all-trades in the creative department. I'm finally pulling in decent money working in publishing; I've also paid off all my scholastic debt, and I've walked across South Korea four times. I wonder what Mom would say about my having had a stroke in May 2021.

While part of me would like to believe she's still there, watching over me somehow, I don't know what to believe on that point. I see her presence in the cosmos flowers that line the trails I've walked; Mom loved cosmos flowers. But flowers are only a representation of Mom—they're not Mom herself. What I wouldn't give to be able to talk to Mom again, to hug her, to listen to her laugh. Her absence still hurts.

Goodbye, Mom—twelve years gone. I love you.



I'll say this only once: I'm not going to have my mother's yahrzeit hijacked by an event that occurred at the US Capitol. So forgive me if I don't blog about the January 6 "insurrection."



1 comment:

John Mac said...

Condolences. Time doesn't heal all wounds.