Mother

Mother

 

My mother passed away on August 19, 2009. The story of Monica, mother of St. Augustine prompted me to recall my mother. Though I cannot compare myself to the saint in any measure, my mother is in my view comparable to Monica in her dedication to God, her sons and her husband. She is now sleeping next to her husband, my father, in the national cemetery in Daejeon. When my father at the age of 36 was killed during the Korean war, she at 35 was left with empty hands and two little kids to raise. I still remember how hard it was to fill empty stomachs every day.

 

My father was left hardly attended for twenty years in a public burial place near the seashore where my father was murdered by the people’s court. When I left for study to the States in1970, I had his body moved to a hilly mountain place an uncle owned with my promise that I would find another place after finishing my study. Another twenty years was long for a mother to wait for her son to return even for a visit. In fact, one of my good friends helped me to make the visit possible. Only God knew that I would stay in my motherland for a long period.

 

My mother had already prepared, not very far from her home, a nice burial place on a sunny hill for her husband and herself after death. A small graveyard was constructed, and a tombstone was put. My mother was visiting him almost every day by walk, though there was no answer from him. But she did not make bow to the tomb, because she was a devout Christian. She prayed for her sons, friends, and our nation. When Korean Government got into financial trouble during the IMF crisis, she donated all her gold and jewelry.

 

It was time for me to return to the States after ten years of good time with our friends and old folks – March, 2003. Since mother sensed that it would be difficult to maintain the graveyard after my return and learned that my father was eligible to be buried in the national cemetery, she desired father to be moved to the cemetery. Since then, I visited mother every year until 2007. After the following two seasons, my mother could no longer sustain. She was 94. Mother! I missed your last moment. I am not a very good son. Forgive me.

 

Time flies, but memory stays longer. I remember my father was riding a horse back as a local police chief, when I was a little kid. He was a handsome young man, who attracted eyes of worldly women. It took a generation to bring him to honor from the seashore to the national cemetery, his name chiseled on the tombstone. My mother brought the honor into reality. My mother was beautiful, pure, and faithful to God and her husband. She had only one man before and after her marriage. Now, they are together in honor. I am so blessed that I had such a good parent. (March 23, 2013, KYP)