Who Lives In My Memories

S.H.

September 2019 The aura around us felt tangible, like a heavy blanket that had settled over all of our shoulders, insistent and demanding. I followed my parent’s lead as we walked into the church. All of us wore black. I felt small compared to my surrounding family. The rows of wooden benches were empty, but invisible people were sitting there gazing upon us. I felt their gaze upon my back making me feel self-conscious as we continued toward the inevitable truth. We were drawing near too fast, too fast, like my worry of forgetting him. I didn’t want to see it—I didn’t want to see him. Still we advanced, drawing closer and closer. My breath seemed to stick in my throat, my heartbeat erratic, but I kept pace with my family. We fnally reached the casket, made of cheap wood so that we wouldn’t have to spend too much, with Halbuzie laying there. A stillness crept over everyone in the room, it rendered even my silent breathing too loud. My eyes seemed glued to what was in front of me, to the familiar face, and I tried to take in every detail, to comprehend what was in front of me. My eyes swept over his body, so still, so lifeless now. The grey pallor of his skin contrasted the dark blue of his suit. His face was plain, missing his usual gold-rimmed glasses that he had a hard time seeing without. Something felt of, like the usual presence of him was not there. Uncomfortable in my own skin, I felt an itchy, prickling sensation of disbelief. His expression was calm. It wasn’t until after that I realized the beauty of that moment. He was fnally able to be at peace, and would never have to wake up from his everlasting dream. I wanted to memorize the way he looked so I would never forget him. I could feel the absence of someone I loved, and that

absence seemed to drag down on me, like I was stuck in water with weights strapped to my ankles. I think it hit the kids then—my sister, my cousins, and I—that he was really gone. Our sturdy rock in a roaring ocean called life was gone. Nathan, my cousin, started to shake silently and his hands covered his face. Tears pricked my own eyes, but I begged myself to save them for later. Halmonie, my grandmother, moved closer. She placed her gentle hands on Halbuzie’s unmoving form. Although I could barely speak any Korean, I was thankful to at least be able to understand some. I would never forget the words Halmonie spoke to Halbuzie. We were standing around the casket continuing to just look upon Halbuzie. This was not going to be enough to see him for the last time. “Jib-e ga,” let’s go home now, Halmonie said to him, while fxing up his tie, like she always did. Uh oh, I thought, here come the waterworks.

December 2015 I was little again, and eating with my family and grandparents on both sides. “Let me pay,” Halbuzie argued. “No! You paid last time,” Grandpa Bill replied, reaching to pull out his wallet. “But we’re in Toronto! You can pay when we go to Ottawa,” Halbuzie said, gesturing with his hands. They were going back and forth—bickering like children over who was going to pay for the meal. Siena, my sister, and I were laughing at them. Every single time we went to eat, Halbuzie would always try to pay for the meal. It was meant to show the love he had for us. “Oh, it’s okay, we can decide later,” Daddy stated, attempting to get the grandparents to settle down. I smiled, wanting to see who was going to win. Food came and we all dug in. My grandparents on both sides were eating with my family because we were all in Toronto

at the same time. Toronto was where Halmonie and Halbuzie, my grandparents on my mom’s side, lived. Grandpa Bill and Grandma Joy were visiting from Ottawa. “What’s so funny?” Grandpa Bill suddenly asked, startling me. I looked up from my mouth-watering food to see Halbuzie grinning like a maniac. I wanted to know too. He was smiling so wickedly and chuckling. “I already paid,” he fnally confessed. I burst into laughter, unable to stay silent. It was such a Halbuzie thing to do. “Il-eona jib-e gaja.” Wake up, let’s go home. Halmonie said a little louder, gripping Halbuzie’s hand. I felt my heart beat a little faster, not wanting to hear what was going to be said next. It was good then that none of the other kids would understand her.

December 2014 My head was buried in the crack between the couch cushions. I wished everyone would shut up. The world was getting too loud, and I felt like I was drowning in the noise. I didn’t understand how my family could stand this. The arguing, shouting, calling each other bad names, and for what? To prove their point? To win the argument? It was pointless, and yet they wouldn’t stop. I was crying, I could taste the salt in my mouth. The wetness against my cheeks that I tried hard to hide. My frustration and anger because they wouldn’t stop arguing. Wasn’t family supposed to always be there for you? Why weren’t they there for me now? I was drowning in it and all I wanted was for someone to comfort me. Tell me it’s okay. I jumped as a gentle warm hand pressed against my back, thinking someone must be wondering why I was crying. They might make me talk, then they’ll know I was crying. But the hand just patted my back, created a rhythm I could breathe to. I concentrated on the hand, and let it comfort me, soothe me. Thank you, Mommy, I thought. Because it must be my mom right? She must be the one comforting me. “What are you doing? Stop fghting,” a deep voice

commanded. The hand at my back continued to ground me, and I turned my head, looking to see where Halbuzie’s voice was coming from. It took me a little while to recognize he was the one reassuring me. That it was his hand that gave me what I needed, the comfort and reassurance. I wanted to thank him, to tell him that I wouldn’t forget his warm hand on my back, consoling me while I cried. I never did.

“Wae il-eona?! Jib-e ga.” Why aren’t you waking up?! Let’s go home. She slapped his chest lightly, in an efort to wake him. I was crying by now. Silent tears trickled down my face as I watched the scene in front of me. I wish he could come home again too, I wanted to say. I already miss him. We watched as Halmonie fell to the foor in front of us, weeping for her husband. I felt empty, we all felt empty, like a dinner party where the host was missing. It was a fragment of what could have been whole.

There are so many memories I wish I could have bottled up, kept for myself to look back upon. When we learned of his cancer, my mom made sure every time we saw him we hugged him and told him we missed him. I’m so glad she always made us do that because I don’t know what would have happened otherwise. Some nights, I stare at my ceiling, wishing I could see his face. Hair streaked with grey and gold rimmed glasses staring back at me. I’m terrifed that the time will come that I’m unable to picture his face and my memories will start to fade. But for now, I am content. I see his face and I smile. I imagine the smile he had when he knew he was able to pay for the meal. The hand against my back. An empty body, with its soul waiting to reunite with his loved ones again.