Currently listening to:
�One Sweet Day� by Mariah Carey and Boyz II Men
Sorry I never told you all I wanted to say
And now it's too late to hold you
'Cause you've flown away so far away
Never had I imagined living without your smile
Feeling and knowing you hear me
It keeps me alive
And I know you're shining down on me from Heaven
Like so many friends we've lost along the way
And I know eventually we'll be together
One sweet day
_______________________________________________________
3:32am
Feeling awfully sentimental these days (a few people know why).
I was suppose to go out with my sister and Angela this evening but wasn�t feeling too well. So I stayed in and hung out with the bro. He cracks me up. He has this amazing ability in making people laugh hysterically, and the thing is he�s not even trying to be a comedian. He�s just naturally a very funny kid. Anyway, when my sister came home after her Thursday night escapade, she and I spent some time reminiscing about our past. Funny stories of our first time at a dance club during my freshman year in college (she and friends watching and cheering on from the second floor as I danced the night away with a tall, attractive Japanese naval officer) and the stories of our beloved past pets (oh how we miss them so!). She and I both started tearing up remembering our dogs who passed away so many years ago. I had locked myself in my room and cried for six hours straight when my dog (an absolutely adorable and loyal cockerspaniel named Ricky) died when I was 17-years-old.
And I started to think if my heart ached that much over a dog, how much more upsetting would it be to lose a close family member or a friend? I can�t even imagine what it would be like.
And then I remembered the tragic winter of 1995, and it made my heart sink with grief. I went to the bookshelf in my room and took out one of my old journals (I have a total of six journals which I kept throughout my college years). I read the entry dated December 17, 1995. It was my first winter break from the college of William and Mary. Although my first semester had been an exciting adventure, the workload from classes was extremely stressful. I desperately needed the break from school. But coming home proved to be anything but peaceful or relaxing.
I discovered my father�s mother had passed away two days before I returned home for the break. She had lived with us briefly while we were kids but then moved back to Korea where the rest of my father�s family lived. I didn�t know her that well, and my memories of her are few.
We knew my father was distraught and heartbroken when his brother called to tell him, but he didn�t show it. He was the stereotypical Asian male. Self-reliant, strong, stubborn, and stoic. The only time I had ever seen my father cry was when he had lost his father a few years back.
Then came the second time.
On Sunday, December 17th, I was working at the convenient store my parents owned in Richmond, Virginia. It was just me and my father at the store that day. On the other side of the world, my relatives were holding the funeral for my grandmother back in Korea. My father couldn�t afford to fly out there. We just didn�t have that kind of money (at the time, I wasn�t even sure if I would be able to afford returning to college the next year). But despite the distance, my father was asked to offer a long distance eulogy. His younger brother called him at the store earlier that day and as my father recited his handwritten eulogy over the phone, he burst into uncontrollable tears. He could no longer remain stoic or hide his grief.
He wept uncontrollably like a lost child. After hanging up, he went into the back of the store into the manager�s office and continued to wail in unbearable grief. He cried so loud that customers heard it as they walked in and kept asking me what the sound was. When they realized it was crying, they asked me if everything was okay. With tears in my eyes, I lied to them and said everything was fine. "One Sweet Day" by Mariah Carey and Boyz II Men was blaring over the speakers, and as I listened to the words, I couldn't hold the tears back. Even now when I hear the song, I always think about that day at the store.
About half an hour later, my father emerged from the back with swollen eyes and a red nose. Without looking at me, he walked past me and went behind the counter. My heart ached for him, and I wanted to reach out to him and give him a big hug. But back then my father was not the affectionate type. Instead, my attempt to comfort him came in suggesting we close the store early and head home. He needed his rest. But he responded saying, �Business is business. We can�t just close whenever we feel like it.�
So the day went on as usual, other than the fact that my father was exceptionally quiet. The regular shoppers at our store were accustomed to seeing a huge grin light up across my father�s face and hearing a hearty laugh escape his lungs. Today, he could only nod to greet the customers and force the corners of his mouth to curl up ever so slightly.
At 11pm, we closed up the store. We headed home as I drove the minivan while my father sat in the passenger seat. During the forty minute ride, he and I were both silent at first. Then fifteen minutes went by and he looked over at me and asked me, �Do you remember her?�
�A little bit. But not very much,� I replied.
My father then proceeded to tell me what a wonderful woman she was. He told me stories of his childhood and the memories he had of her as he was growing up. He confessed what a little rascal he was, always giving his mother a hard time. He smiled telling me these stories, and we even shared a few laughs. I was happy he had such fond memories.
We fell silent once again. But shortly afterwards, he described to me in a very low voice how much his chest, his mind, his heart, and his soul hurt at that moment. How much he wished he could have been at the funeral or at least have flown out to see her before she died. He had so many regrets. He stated all this almost as if he was speaking to himself. And then he finally said, �I wish I could die right now.�
I couldn't believe what I heard, and it pained my heart to hear him say that. He had never been so open or candid about his feelings with me. It also scared me, because I knew his grief was heavy and deep. I was afraid of what he might do. I pleaded with him, �Please don�t talk like that. We need you. I promise in a few years from now, life will be so much easier for us. You won�t have to worry about a thing. I�ll take care of you.�
He smiled at me and said, �You�ll have your own family to worry about. You won�t think about me and your mother as much in the future.�
It�s now been over five years since that day. And although I'm not married and I certainly don't have any children, I have been terrible about keeping in touch with my parents. I sometimes feel that I�ve neglected my duties as the oldest child and have broken many promises to them. I want to make it up to them.
But I hope they know how precious they are to me. I honestly don�t know what I would do without them. Or any of the precious people in my life. These amazing individuals, friends and family alike, mean the world to me.
And on that grateful note, I'm off to Richmond for the weekend to spend time with a few of these wonderful individuals. One more bridal shower. One more wedding. One more sweet day.
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