On my way back to my room one night, I stopped by the post office and found a letter waiting for me. I could tell it was from Inchun by the handwriting on the envelope. But when I opened it, I found that Inchun had only written a few words. He had enclosed a letter from Mother. It seemed strange, as I had prepared so many self-addressed envelopes for her.
Dear Nuna,
Mother and I thought we would write to you together for a change. It's hard to believe this is my first letter to you, when you're almost at the end of your first year at college. By the way, Father Lee may be going to America in the near future. He plans to visit you. I hope everything is going well at school.
Your little brother, Inchun
I grimaced in frustration after reading his short note. He had always been taciturn, but at least when I was near him, I could glean so much from his expression. I longed to hear what he was doing. I wished he would tell me that he missed me.
Mother's letter would be more heartening, I knew.
My dearest Sookan,
May must be a very busy time for you with all your papers and tests. I am praying that you do well. I know this first year has been very difficult for you so far away from home. I worry that you are trying to do too much, that you are trying to be perfect in everyone's eyes. Please give yourself the time to grow and to know yourself. Trust your heart. You are a young woman now.
If you ever feel hurt or tired or empty, I hope that you will remember what I have always told you about taking that suffering, and creating a pearl around the pain. Don't let the hurt poison you. Difficult times can make you rich and strong if you remember this lesson. It has always helped me. I think it has already helped you, as well. Your life has been hard, and you have come through all those difficult times enriched with enormous wisdom for someone so young.
By the time you receive this letter, I hope that you will be getting some much-deserved rest, and will get to have some fun with your friends over summer vacation. Father Lee is going to visit America, and if he is in New York, I know he will try to see you.
I am always with you.
Your loving mother
Her letter was dated May i, and Inchun had not sent it until the 30th. Confused, I stared at the sheet of paper. They had never written together like this before. Of course, there was no reason they shouldn't—or wouldn't. Still, I wondered if something was wrong at home. Was Inchun trying to hide something from me? Mother usually mailed her letters right away. Besides, the tone of her letter was somehow different.
Maybe she was simply worried because she hadn't heard from me in a long time. I felt guilty for not having written during the entire month of May. I had been swamped with papers and exams. And I had wanted to send a letter full of good news after I had gotten through everything successfully. I guess Mother knew I was struggling to finish the year.
I began to write Mother a long letter, telling her that I had completed all my exams and papers, and had officially gotten through my first year of college in America. I told her all about Ellen's intense romance, Marci's departure to Greece, our plans to all room together next year, and my full-time job at the administration office. As soon as I finished, I walked across the empty, moonlit campus, and dropped the letter in the mailbox.
The next day, I filed and typed all morning. I was on my way downstairs for lunch, when I saw Sister Casey.
"Sookan," she said, "I was just coming to look for you. You have a visitor here all the way from Korea."
"Father Lee? Already?"
"He had some church business in Philadephia, and he stopped in to see you before heading to Rome."
Sister Casey looked strangely solemn, and I started to worry. "Has he been here long, Sister?"
"About an hour. He spoke with me, and with Sister Reed. We both wanted to tell him how proud we are of you. He was so happy to hear that you are doing well here." She smiled and placed her hand on my shoulder, and we began walking down the marble stairs to the sitting room on the first floor.
When I had received Inchun's letter, I thought I would be excited to see Father Lee. But suddenly, I felt frightened. I wondered if Mother was all right. I looked at Sister Casey, but she seemed to be avoiding eye contact with me.
Father Lee was sitting with Sister Reed, and as I entered the sitting room, Sister Reed stood and opened her arms to greet me.
"Here she is, Father Lee. Our pride and joy. Sookan, we will let you visit with Father Lee. Sister Casey and I will be in the next room. We'll see you later, all right?" She smiled, but I saw the concern in her deep green eyes.
I bowed deeply. "It's wonderful to see you here, Father Lee," I said. Then, abruptly and ungraciously, I asked, "Is there something wrong at home?" I hadn't even thanked him for taking the time out of his busy schedule to come see me. I was too nervous. I needed to hear him tell me that everything was okay.
"Sookan, why don't we take a walk?"
I shook my head. Something was wrong.
"Father Lee, if you don't mind, I would rather talk here. Is my family all right? Has something happened?"
He motioned to the seat across from his and I sat down, waiting for his answer. His black suit was crumpled, and he looked tired and drawn. Watching his every movement, I waited impatiently for him to speak. He wrung his hands, and cleared his throat.
"Sookan, I am sorry that my first visit with you has to be such a sad one. I came here because I wanted to tell you in person. Your mother ... your mother has joined God in Heaven," he said almost inaudibly.
I wasn't sure that I had heard him correctly. Had he really said that Mother had gone to Heaven?
"But I just got her letter. She only mailed it two weeks ago."
"Sookan, I know it's hard to believe," he said, "but your mother is now with God."
"You mean Mother is dead!" I shouted, jumping to my feet. "She is dead, and no one told me until now!"
He stared down at his hands, then looked up at me helplessly. "I am sorry, Sookan."
My head started to pound. I sat, buried my face in my hands, and sobbed.
Father Lee poured me a glass of water and handed me his handkerchief.
I wiped my eyes. "When did she die, Father?"
"On the first of May," he answered.
"But she wrote to me on the first of May."
"Sookan," he said, sighing, "your mother was hospitalized in mid-April. She had fainted, and they found out it was a cerebral hemorrhage. After about twelve days, she seemed to be improving. She was doing nicely for a few days, and we were all hopeful that she would fully recover. It was during that short period that she spoke to your sister and brothers. She asked that they not tell you anything until your summer vacation began. She said they must let you finish your first year without worrying about everyone at home. She wrote you a letter during that miraculous time. We were all there. She asked Inchun to hold on to the letter and to send it later with a note, so that you wouldn't worry. Then, she asked me to bring you these things in person. She seemed so lucid and strong, but she knew she was dying. She finished what she wanted to say, and then slipped into a coma. She died very peacefully. She seemed to be smiling when she died, as if someone had come to welcome her."
I held the small package that Father Lee had brought me. It was wrapped in a blue silk scarf that Mother had made. She always made scarves out of remnants of silk, saying that scarves always came in handy. She would stay up hemming the edges late into the night. She didn't need any light to do this type of sewing, and she liked staying up and looking at the moon. There had been so many nights when she had stayed up sewing to keep me company as I studied.
As I numbly played with the knots in the scarf, Father Lee talked about Mother. "She was the most amazing woman I've ever known. I have always loved her as if she were my own mother, and she always treated me just like a son. She was so gentle and yet so strong. So wise, and yet humble. She had a hard life, but she was always there to help and comfort others." He paused. "There wasn't room i
n the church for all the people that came to the funeral. The whole town was there, weeping. In all my years as a priest, I have never seen anything like it. So many people loved and depended on your mother. Inchun mentioned that she liked the mountains, so we buried her high above the city."
I didn't speak, and suddenly, I didn't even have the energy to cry. I just sat, thankful he was there and wishing he would never stop talking. I think he knew, for he continued.
"You know, Sookan, what made your mother so special was her ability to accept people. She firmly believed that one was born with one's nature. One could try to change but would ultimately remain the same. Because she believed this so firmly, she appreciated people for their strengths. She managed to overlook their weaknesses and never criticized them. She also believed that each person was born with a destiny. She never tried to impose her will on any of her children. She wanted each of you to pursue your own path. Until the very end, she wanted to make sure that you had your chance. She didn't want anyone or anything to stop you. She wanted you to live your own life and, most of all, to be happy. I think you know that."
Sister Reed came in and invited Father Lee to have some lunch and to stay at the college for a night. He thanked her, but said he must leave soon to catch his plane to Rome. He bade her goodbye.
"Sookan, your mother wouldn't want you to be sad, you know that. You have to make yourself happy and successful for her. That's what she wanted."
I nodded and wiped my tears in silence.
"I will come see you again," he said, and quietly left.
Clutching the small package, I stared at the spot where Father Lee had last stood. I couldn't believe that Mother was dead and buried. It was too much for me to bear. I ran to my room.
There, I opened the little package. In a silk pouch that Mother had made was her thin, white gold wedding band. I put it on and pictured the ring on Mother's hand. How busy her hands had always been, cooking, gardening, and sewing for all of us.
Despite what Father Lee had said, I stayed in my room and cried for the rest of the day. Why had I left? Mother hadn't wanted me to leave. No one had. Why had I been in such a hurry to come to America, just when Mother needed me most? I hadn't been a good daughter. I had been selfish. My sister had been right in all of her letters. I remembered how sad Mother had looked when I boarded the plane. That was only ten months ago. Why hadn't I waited just a little longer? I should have been there to talk to her that last time. Why, I hadn't even sent her that little present in time! I kept reproaching myself over and over again, and cried myself to sleep.
Several hours later, I awoke. The crescent moon was high in the sky. It was fuller and brighter than the night before, and yet the world had turned black for me. I sat on my bed for a long time, feeling helpless, then walked toward my desk and took out Mother's letters, all nine of them. I hugged them and cried. As I began to read them one by one, her words brought her voice to me. I could almost see her tired but peaceful face, wanting to pass on all the support and wisdom that I needed from her. In each letter, she told me she was proud of me. She told me not to worry about things at home. She wanted me to be happy.
Even in her final letter, it was clear that she wanted me to have the confidence to focus on my work and on my new life here. She didn't want anything to defeat me, not even her death. That's why she told me about the pearls, again. She didn't want me to lose hope. I had worked hard to settle in here, and Mother had worked hard to make sure that I had that chance. I couldn't let it all go to waste. I would pull myself together. I would struggle to form another pearl within me. Clutching her letters, I fell back to sleep.
Chapter Eighteen
The following morning, I rose with the sun and attended six-thirty Mass. Then I went to work, and finished the filing that was left. Sister Reed stopped by to see me. She told me that she would like to hold a Mass in memory of my mother that afternoon in the main chapel. After the Mass, if I wanted to get away for a while, she would arrange everything for me, she said. I thanked her for the kind offer but told her I wanted to stick to my summer plans.
At the Mass for my mother, Sister Reed sat next to me in the front pew. Sarah and Jimmy, all dressed up, sat to my right. Professor and Mrs. Bennett were close by, as were Sister Casey and Miss Mullen. Ellen and her parents were there, as well. Ellen peered at me through tear-filled eyes, and I quickly turned away for fear that I would start to cry uncontrollably. I bit down hard on my lower lip. Looking behind me, I saw Marci's parents, Peggy Stone, all of the nuns, and the rest of the administration office staff.
I was touched and grateful to everyone who had come, but I was too numb even to acknowledge them. Everything seemed so unreal to me. I felt as if I were floating in midair watching someone else attend the Mass. I just sat there as Father Fleming spoke. I couldn't even recite the prayers.
As I stared forward listlessly, little Sarah snuggled up against me, and whispered into my ear, "I love you, Sookan." She squeezed my hand.
Suddenly, tears filled my eyes and I couldn't swallow. I tried to clear my throat, and said, "I love you, too, Sarah." I held her hand tightly.
How precious children are, I thought. What power their innocence has. Sarah had brought me back.
When the Mass was over, I was able to muster a smile and thank everyone for coming. Mrs. Bennett asked me to spend a few days with them, and the Gannons and the Lloyds also asked me to come and visit. Mr. Gannon told me he had phoned Marci and that she would be calling me soon.
Ellen pulled me aside and hugged me tightly for a long time. "I am so sorry, Sookan. Please tell me what I can do to ease your pain. Please tell me. You look so pale! Come home with me for a few days."
I pulled away from her tight embrace. I was afraid that if I began to cry again, I might not be able to stop. My family would not like me to make a scene. I stood tall and said, "Thanks, Ellen, maybe later on. I can't right now; I have to work. But how is everything? How is Kyle?"
"He is fine, and everything is fine. You are the one I'm worried about. Kyle sends you his prayers, as does Tom. The two of them wanted to come with us, but I told them not to. I wasn't sure if you would want to see them now. Oh, Sookan, please come home with me. I miss you."
"Thanks, Ellen, but I really can't," I replied.
"You are so stubborn, Sookan. Why won't you let me help you for a change? You've always helped me. You're the one who made me work things out with my parents. You're the one who made everything turn out all right for me. Let me help you now!" she implored.
Then Peggy Stone stepped up and embraced me. "I'm working in the city, now," she said. "Here is my address. When you feel up to it, come visit and we will go up to the top of the Empire State Building. You should see all the lights from there! I know how you always loved seeing all the candles glow in the dining room." I listened and nodded at her gentle attempt to cheer me up.
I thanked everyone again, but said that I just wanted to be by myself for a while. Perhaps I would visit everyone later in the summer.
For the next few weeks, I got up at dawn every morning and joined the nuns in their morning prayers before Mass. I was comforted by their high-pitched hymns reverberating in the domed chapel.
After Mass, I worked at the office without a break until five o'clock. I needed to have something to keep my hours and days filled. I felt detached from reality. It was as though I had been separated from my body. I felt as if my body were going about my daily tasks all on its own, tending to all my work, and smiling and chatting and getting through the day. But at night, I was alone in the quiet of my room. I was alone with my grief. Huddled in a corner, I cried and cried. I'm an orphan now, I kept thinking. I was all alone in this big world.
After a few weeks, I finally remembered to check my mail, and found a small package from Inchun. I slowly read his letter.
Dear Nuna,
I thought you might want to have Mother's reading glasses, so I am sending them to you. Father Lee told us about his visit with
you and the nuns. He said Mother and all of us would have been so proud to hear what the nuns had said about you. I'm not surprised. Mother knew, too. She was always very proud of you.
It is still so unreal to me. Life seems so meaningless. But I know Mother would want us to pick ourselves up, and carry on. I can still hear her voice in my head telling me what to do. In that sense, she is still with me, and I am grateful for that. I'm going to study hard, and keep my promise to her to become a good doctor. I only wish I were a doctor already so that I might have helped Mother when she was sick.
She told no one about her illness, and then she suddenly fainted one evening. Who knows how long she suffered alone? When Mother came to, she emphatically told all of us that she did not wish you to hear any bad news from home until you had finished your freshman year. She wrote her last letter to you in the hospital and told me when to mail it. I think she knew then that it would be the last letter she would ever write to you.
You know that she wants you to continue your studies in America and fulfill your dream. That would please her. Do it for me, too. Please do not come home until you finish your studies. We are all doing okay here. There is nothing you can do for us. So don't worry, and take care of yourself.
Your little brother, Inchun
I stared at Mother's glasses for a long time. Sending them was Inchun's way of telling me he knew my sorrows and was thinking of me. Tears streamed down my cheeks. He needed me, and I was not able to comfort him. Now, it was my little brother who was comforting me. He should have kept Mother's glasses. He was the one who had stayed with her. I wished I could be with him. We had come through so much together, and I felt terribly alone without him during this difficult time. I pushed his letter deep into my pocket.
As the weeks wore on, I received postcards and letters from Marci, phone messages from Ellen, flowers and cards from Kyle and Tom, a box of cookies from Marci's mother, drawings from Sarah, and a sympathy card from Jimmy, which his mother must have bought for him. Ellen's mother sent me pink pajamas with a note that said, "I am always here if you ever want to talk or visit. Hope it won't be too long until we see you." I was grateful to all of them for caring so much about me. I would write them sometime, but not now.
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