No letters came from any of my older brothers. I wished they would write. I wouldn't have cared what they said. I just needed to know that they were thinking of me, and that we were all going through this together. I wanted to scream and shake them. I needed them to say something—anything—to me now.
But I was being silly, I realized. They couldn't share their pain with me. They had to appear strong and dignified. They couldn't let their little sister know how sad and helpless they felt. I knew that each of them probably cried at night when no one else could see. I knew how they must hurt. But they would not write or call until they felt they were strong enough to be of help to me. I understood, but it hurt me all the same.
One day I found a small envelope in my box. The handwriting was Bokhi's.
Dearest Sookan,
Forgive me for not writing to you all this time. The first few months after you left, I was over at your house often, and your mother filled me in on your life in America. But then, life changed for me. Perhaps your mother told you. I am now engaged to a man who my family believes is a perfect match for me. I am sure I will learn to love him. I have met him, and he seems to be a good man. I trust my aunt's judgment.
How can 1 express my feelings at this tremendous loss. I loved your mother as if she were my own. After you left, I felt she had sort of adopted me as her new daughter, and I was so happy being with her.
My aunt and I attended the funeral. The whole neighborhood was there. The church was packed, and people were standing in the doorways. People were wailing and beating their chests shamelessly. I was too sad and numb to even cry. Why must such a lovely person die so early? How could her kind God do this? Now, I am full of bitterness. I know your mother would scold me, but I can't help it. Everyone I love has been taken away from me, time and time again. Sookan, how I miss you and wish you were here!
I will write again. Our paths are now different, but I know you love me and I will always love you. I cherish our friendship. Be well and be strong.
Your best friend, Bokhi
Hidden behind Bokhi's letter had been one from my sister. I decided to wait, and put the letters in my bag. When I got back to my dorm room, I reluctantly took out my sister's note.
Dear Sookan,
I grieve for Mother and I pray for her night and day. Although you have not taken the time to write to me personally, I have been following your life as best I can from reading your letters to Mother.
As soon as Mother fell ill, I wanted to write you. How worried our brothers and I were about Mother, and how we wished you had been here. But during that short period of time when Mother was able to talk to us clearly, the most important thing she wanted to tell us was that we should not disturb you until you had finished your first year of school. I hope you realize how deep her love for you was.
Mother's death was very peaceful. She was smiling as she slipped away. But how we all wept as she left us. Our brothers cried for days. I am still crying. I cannot believe Mother is gone. I remind myself that she is in Heaven with God.
Now that Mother is gone, it is you and I who must look after our brothers. Our responsibilities are greater than ever before. We must make sure that they are taken care of, and have all that they need.
When the coffin was being lowered, many of our relatives and neighbors took off their lace veils and placed them on the coffin. It was a lovely gesture. Lace is very expensive here, and it was dear of them to part with such prized possessions. I would like you to replace their veils for them. I will send you their names and addresses.
After the burial, we spent hours fixing mother's tomb. We even went back the following day to do more work. Her tomb is on the top of a hill overlooking the Han River. It took us so long to climb up and down that my legs are still sore. It was a sad two days of planting flowers.
I pray that you are well and that God will bless you with peace.
Your loving sister
I regretted that I had not been at Mother's side for the past ten months. I wished I had been there to talk to her at the hospital. If only I could have attended her funeral and helped to decorate her tomb. I still could not comprehend it all. As I read my sister's letter, it still sounded so unreal to me.
I took a deep breath and thought of my mother, who was always so gentle and calm. I must get hold of myself, I kept thinking. But I couldn't. I missed her, and I couldn't stop thinking about her.
I felt at once guilty and sorry for myself for not being with the rest of my family to share the sorrow with them. I could tell that my sister resented my absence. I was hurt that she did not understand how painful it was to be away from my family during such a difficult time.
But I remembered what Mother had always said about not being able to change someone's nature. Father Lee was right; that was one of Mother's fundamental beliefs, and because of it, she accepted all of us for what we were. Mother understood my sister, and accepted her. But it was clear now that Mother also knew how my sister demanded things of me. That was why Mother had asked everyone not to disturb me until the end of the school year. It was uncharacteristic of Mother, for she almost never interfered in our relationships with each other. She usually trusted each of us enough to let us handle our own affairs. But she knew that the news of her death would overwhelm me. She wanted to make sure she had taken care of everything for me before she died.
I realized I must accept my sister, as my mother had done. Nothing would change her, not even Mother's death. I saw now that she had her own shortcomings, insecurities, and anxieties. It was my responsibility to try to understand her as a human being. I was older now. I had to realize that no one was infallible. I could respect Theresa without obeying her blindly. And beneath it all, I knew she cared for me in her own way and was doing the best she could. No matter how hard I tried, I could not sever our familial ties. She was my sister, and we were bound by my mother's love for us.
As I had done so many times before, I took out Mother's last letter to me. I reread her words of encouragement and trust. She knew how I would feel, and did not want me to be consumed with sorrow and bitterness. She wanted me to turn my pain into pearls of wisdom and understanding. "Tough times are the times when one gathers one's pearls," I remembered hearing Mother say to me long ago, as we worked together in the kitchen. I would make myself stronger within, I resolved, and then, perhaps, I could be more forgiving and accepting of my sister. That would make Mother proud, I thought. I would do as she wished for me. I would gather my pearls and forge ahead. I would finish college and figure things out from there. I didn't know what my future would bring, but I would do as Mother had always told me. I would follow my heart.
With new determination, I piled up all the letters I had received from home and wrapped them tightly with the blue silk scarf Mother had made. I put them deep into my desk drawer. There, I saw the little box of loose pearls, still waiting to be fixed. Feeling resolute and newly calm, I sat at my desk and began to restring my pearls.
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Born in Pyongyang, North Korea, Sook Nyul Choi spent two and a half years as a refugee in Pusan during the Korean War and later immigrated to the United States to pursue a college education. She now lives in Boston, Massachusetts, and is a full-time writer. She is the author of the highly acclaimed Year of Impossible Goodbyes, which Kirkus Reviews called "a vividly written, compellingly authentic story" and Publishers Weekly called an "account of the triumph of the human spirit in an unjust world."
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