During my early morning prayers, I felt an intense urge to pray specifically for my uncle’s soul. Sure enough, around 7 a.m. after finishing my prayers, my mother delivered the tragic news of his passing. When I arrived at the funeral home that afternoon, many family elders and bereaved relatives were already gathered there. I sat facing my cousin, the chief mourner, and my cousin sister who had rushed back from her assignment in the US. Paradoxically, at the place where the deceased had left, we shared stories of our own lives. A funeral hall is truly a peculiar place, where stories of life coexist with the very place of death. The family’s conversation was filled with sorrow. Though he had been diagnosed with cancer, no one expected him to leave so suddenly, and everyone hung their heads. Particularly, the fact that he had continued chemotherapy despite his weakened state remained a heavy burden in the back of everyone’s minds.

Recently, while taking my parents on a trip to Busan, I realized how important it is to see them and spend time together more often while they are still alive. Because no matter how many mourners come or how many memories are shared after they pass away, it cannot ease that regret. Last weekend, when my cousin’s younger sister rushed back from the US, my aunt was already critically ill. I regret not visiting her in the hospital then. Even though visiting was only allowed in the evening, I should have gone, even late, just to hold her hand once. It pains me deeply that I failed to keep my promise to visit him once with my youngest son while he was still alive. At the funeral, my youngest son kept asking if he had ever met the grandpa, and that question weighs heavily on my heart. I prayed that he would meet his older cousin brother and great-aunt who had gone before him in heaven, and that he would now lay down the toil and responsibility of leading the family his entire life and rest in peace.