After touring KAIST led by a team of KAIST professors, we headed for the crematory about an hour away. It was, for the lack of better words, a modern marvel. Modern. Granite everywhere. The walls and floors were gleaming. Neat beyond description. So clean as if to say that this process of burning the dead bodies is just that. A process. Nothing more, nothing less. The coldness of the place angered me.

There was one large waiting room and off the hallway there were waiting rooms for the families while the bodies were being cremated. There must have been at least 8 furnaces, all of which had numbers on them. Each one was hard at work, burning the bodies of the departed, literally turning to dust every evidence of a life that had once been.

As the coffin was led into the furnace numbered 8, it dawned on me that it really was our last chance to imprint on our minds the physical dimensions of my brother filling that coffin. That was it. He was to be reduced to ashes after this process. The space that he occupied as a human being, a husband, a father, a brother, a colleague, and everything else that he was to those around him, was about to be reduced to that of an urn. Then the workers asked if we wanted the leftover bones to be preserved or to be pounded down to ashes. It seemed to me to be an incredibly cold thing to say to those who were so deeply grieving. There was such coldness that I perceived there, from the physical building made of stone to the attitude of those who worked there. I don't know if that is because it was their job, or if it was because they do not want to emotionally involve themselves in each process.

After about an hour, it was signaled to us that the process was over. We were led to where we were to see the body coming out of the furnace. I had such mixed feelings about this. Tom Kang, one of my brother's oldest friends whom I love dearly, led us away. "You don't need to see this." While I deeply regret not having been able to see my brother one last time before he was placed inside the coffin, I do not regret the decision not to see his body come out of the furnace.

His ashes were gathered in an urn that Yung Un had chosen. It was held by Kyurie and led outside in a procession of grieving people. Kyurie was the picture of calm. I wondered how a young girl of 18 could be so brave. We boarded the bus and drove to our family's burial plot on the hillside.

When we finally got there, I was finally able to hold the urn. All that was left of my brother was inside that urn about a foot across and a foot and a half long. It was still hot. The hotness of his ashes made me indescribably sad. He was never to be warm again. Ever. My brother, all of his almost 6', 200+ pounds of flesh, was reduced to this hot pile of ashes inside this beautiful green urn. As Kyurie sat holding the urn on her lap, I hugged it. It's still hot, Kyurie said. It was the first time I could hug my brother since I had gotten home. Finally. As I lay my right cheek on the hot lid, I broke into a loud wail. I  I couldn't stop and I couldn't let go of the urn. It was the second saddest moment of my life.

The weather had been cloudy all morning, but when we arrived, all the clouds cleared away. As if to say: this way into the next world. This way into the vast universe.

My brother is now surrounded
by these beautiful mountains.

We proceeded up the hill. The view from the hillside was breathtakingly beautiful.

We placed the picture of him smiling on the edge of the opening of the subterranean catacomb-like structure about 2-feet deep consisting of 8 sides for the 8 brothers of my grandfather's. Each brother had been allotted enough space to accommodate all the urns of his direct descendants. On each stone that covered the 8 sides, the names of the descendants had been carved. Including mine, my husband's and my children's. It was a bit of a comic relief, seeing the American names of my family among all the Chinese characters. My family will not be there after we depart this earth, neither will my sister's family. We married out of the family. The names carved on the stone slab were mere reminders that we were daughters, not sons, of the Shin family.

We placed the urn inside. Each one took a turn to say their last good-byes. I kissed the urn many times as my brother was known for his kisses. Octopus kisses. My last physical good-bye to my brother. It was my third saddest moment of my life.

My father spoke for a while. I really think this was his way of coping. He was talking proudly of what his son had achieved in his short life, much more than he himself achieved in his long life.

My mother, on the other hand, was quiet.

When the heavy granite cover was placed back onto the top of the catacomb, I thought about how his hot ashes will eventually cool. And how cold my brother will be under all that stone and inside the earth. He was a hot guy in his life. He had always been so hot that my dad, when he got too cold in winter in our drafty old house of my childhood, he would climb into bed together with my brother just to warm up. It seemed to me to be such a weird contrast. His hot body in life and as ashes and the cold stone catacomb.

We spent that night at my brother's beloved house. HE. LOVED. THIS. HOUSE. It sits at the foot of a hill. It's serene there. His garden has all of his touches, from the persimmon tree to the manicured pines. His beloved dog, Bonnie, greeted us. Poor thing. Doesn't know where his human dad is. She paced along the fence like she always does, looking for something or someone.

My mother and I slept badly that night. We split a Valium pill. This was maybe the 3rd time in my life that I had to take it. But this night, we really needed it. My mother was having an anxiety attack, and I just couldn't put the day behind.

When my mother's breathing finally became rhythmic, I slowly drifted into sleep next to her, listening to the gentle sound of her quiet snoring.

The next day began early.

We had to be at the funeral parlor at 6:30 and leave at 7. We gathered all of our things from the adjoining suite where Yung-Un, Kyurie, and Hong-Kyu had been sleeping. Once we gathered all of our things, we went outside and packed them into cars. There were 2 buses waiting to take all the family and the guests to the crematory via KAIST. KAIST had arranged an unprecedented memorial in my brother's honor.

There was a hearse behind the bus. The funeral parlor director motioned for 6 people to come and retrieve the coffin. Then out they came carrying my brother's coffin. It was a very simple pine coffin. My brother was in there. It contained the last physical evidence that my brother had ever been on this Earth.

Up until then I had this stupid thought in my head. The quacks at the hospital have misdiagnosed. If anyone can come back to life as if in an Edgar Allan Poe story, it would be my brother. Of course, there must have been some sort of mistake. My brother had always been injury-prone, survived many accidents. This must be one of them. He just needs to wake up and show everyone that all of this had been a huge mistake.

But my brother didn't wake up.

As the coffin was being carried, there was no sign of resistance. No one screaming, LET ME OUT!, or knocking to be heard. He wasn't coming back. He didn't survive this time.

I had never ever been sadder at that moment than at any other moment in my life.

The coffin was placed inside the hearse, we boarded the bus and began the slow ride to KAIST.

My brother's colleagues at KAIST had arranged a tour of all the places my brother had occupied. His mailboxes. His office. His lab. The faculty lounge. It all had traces of my brother. There were motorcycle paraphernalia in his office. 2 helmets. 2 pairs of boots. In the corner.

As we entered the lobby of the Graduate School of Nano Science and Technology, we saw there were maybe 200 people gathered on a Monday. One of his students spoke on behalf of all of his students. Then one of his colleagues spoke on behalf of all the professors. Then finally, the president of KAIST spoke these words:

추도사 (追悼辭)

우리는 이제
우리의 자랑이었으며, 사랑했던 동료
신중훈 교수님을 보내드리려고 합니다.

아직도 3일전 비보에 놀란
쓰리고 황망한 가슴이 가라앉질 않습니다.

이 슬픔과 안타까움은
잊혀질 수 없음을 우리는 잘 알고 있습니다.

신 교수님은
부모님과
세상에서 가장 사랑했던 아내 홍영은 사모님,
따님 규리와 아드님 홍규,
그 외의 가족분들,
지도를 받아온 제자들,
국내외 동료 선후배들의 추억과 그리움 속에서
영원히 함께 할 것입니다.

신 교수님은 늘 정직하고,
권위적이지 않은 분이셨습니다.

아내와 두 자녀에게
어느 누구보다도 더 친밀하고 사랑스러운
가장이었으며,
동료 선후배들 사이에서는
형처럼, 아우처럼, 친구처럼
격이 없고,
동시에 항상 정의롭고, 지혜로운 분이었습니다.

신 교수님의 교육과 연구
그리고 학문을 향한 꿈과 열정은
KAIST인들의 귀감이었고,
동료 선후배들에게 베푼
그의 깊은 우정은
KAIST인들의 가슴을 항상 따뜻하게 했습니다.

신중훈 교수님!
견디기 힘든 슬픔을 뒤로 하고,
이제 당신을 놓아드리려고 합니다.

교수님도 너무 갑작스런 이별의
슬픔과 회한을 내려 놓으시고,
고요하고 평화로운 곳에서
편히 쉬시길 바랍니다.

KAIST인들도 신 교수님의
꿈과 열정이 헛되지 않도록
열과 성을 다해 정진하겠습니다.

사랑하는 사모님, 따님 규리, 아드님 홍규가
이 큰 슬픔을 이겨내고,
굳건히 생활할 수 있도록
항상 지켜 봐 주시리라 믿습니다.

KAIST도
가족분들이 큰 슬픔을 이겨내고
행복할 수 있도록
최선을 다하겠습니다.

안녕히 가십시오.

KAIST 총장 강 성 모

***

We are about to bid our final good bye to our beloved colleague, Professor Shin Jung Hoon, who was also a great source of pride for all of us. 

The feelings of shock and grief that we felt upon receiving the sad news of his passing three days ago are still present in all of us today. 

We will never forget this immense grief and sense of loss.

Professor Shin will live forever now in the beautiful memories and remembrances in all of us -- his parents, the love of his life--his wife Yung Un, his daughter Kyurie, and his son Hong Kyu, and his other family members, his students on whom he bestowed so much of his wisdom, and his colleagues here and abroad.

He was an honest, loyal, and modest man.

He especially loved his family, he was a good and loving husband to his wife and good father to his two children. At work he treated all colleagues as equals regardless of rank or standing; he was a brother, friend to everyone without a trace of formality while at the same being fiercely loyal to and wise with everyone.

His passion for research and his teaching, and his vision for the future were sources of pride for KAIST, and his generosity and friendship never failed to warm the hearts of everyone who came across his path. 

Professor Shin Jung Hoon!

We are now preparing to let you go by putting our indescribable sorrow and grief behind. 

We would also call on you to let go of the pain of your sudden departure and to find peace and tranquility in your final resting place. 

We at KAIST will do everything we can to continue your legacy, your passeions and your dreams, and your visions.

We believe deeply that you will watch over your beloved wife, daughter, and son, and help them overcome this deep grief.

We at KAIST also promise that we will do our best to help your beloved family overcome their grief and find happiness again.

Good bye.

President Kang Sung Mo, KAIST

***

It was truly moving. Everyone was grieving. Not just us. The world in which my brother navigated as a scientist, colleague, and mentor was grieving, too. 

My baby brother
at one year old

I am following my friend Debbie's suggestion that I journal about my emotions following my baby brother's untimely death.

That's right. My baby brother, the invincible, the indefatigable Jung, died on September 30th in a motorcycle accident. As I write this, it is still very hard for me to believe that he is gone.

The last picture of the
 three of us together

My brother had been the model of health. He was bench-pressing close to 300 pounds, he was becoming huge. He was quite proud of it. Before that, he had tried many ball sports, but was never good at any of them. In high school he played basketball every day after school with his buddies with no improvement. He was also slow, so much so that his German schoolmates called him Ackergaul. But bench-pressing was different. I hear that he was becoming somewhat of a legend at the gym at the school where he taught. It was a science, read geek, school, so it wasn't like there were jocks he had to compete against. Still it was obvious that he spent a lot of time at the gym and loved every minute he spent there.

When I got the news, I had just gotten up to get ready for work. It was a Friday. I had just made a trip to Chicago with Bobby the previous weekend, so I was looking forward to having a relaxing weekend. Then I saw this very simple message from my sister on my phone.

Jung left this world a short while ago in a traffic accident. 

I called my mother. She was on her way to Daejeon where my brother lived. What happened? She was calm. Jung died in a traffic accident. Can you believe it? We are on our way. Can you come? Yes. I will look for tickets right away. How long can you stay? As long as I need to. Can you stay for 10 days? Yes, I can. Who should come? Dad wants just you. Just you.

Then I messaged my sister. What the hell happened? He must have died in a motorcycle accident. I knew this would happen! Yes, that is what I hear. He was hit by a cab making an illegal turn. Had he been in a car, he would have walked away from it? Perhaps. I was mad. I wanted tell my brother, I TOLD YOU SO! NOW LOOK AT WHAT HAPPENED!

I immediately started looking for tickets. It was too late to catch the day's flights to Seoul. I settled for looking for flying out the next day. Finally I found a flight that left the next morning from Raleigh to arrive in Seoul in the evening on Sunday. I set up all of my classes up online for while I was to be gone, then I started packing. What does one pack on such short notice? How is it that brother died without any notice? Nothing had sunk in yet. As I was packing, I was still in disbelief.

I am in fact still in disbelief only to be interrupted by moments of reality.

I called my mother and told her of my itinerary that night. As we were video-chatting, my mother, clothed in Korean mourning garb, asked me if I wanted to see Jung's funeral picture. Then she turned the phone. She said, Look at him, smiling silly. And he was. He always had a great smile. And he was smiling like he always did.

That night I slept horribly, perhaps getting 2 hours of sleep. The whole flight to Seoul is a blur. My memory picks up when I got to Seoul. I found the ticket booth for the shuttles, and got myself a ticket to Daejeon. I then called my mother. I should be in Daejeon around 10. During the whole ride, I was dreaming of alternately between my brother being dead and my brother being alive.

It was overwhelming seeing everyone at the funeral parlor on the basement floor of the hospital where brother had been taken. The hallway was covered with flowers that had been sent. All white Chrysanthemums as white is the color of mourning in Korea. Chrysanthemums from individuals, universities, groups, mostly names that I didn't recognize.

Then I entered the room where people were paying respects. Kyurie and Hongkyu were sitting along the one side of the room as if in a receiving line. Then I saw my brother's picture. With that silly smile too happy for someone who just died. And I lost it. I couldn't stop my tears. The reality was sinking in. I changed into the mourning outfit. My mother was worried about me having had a long trip and being hungry, so led me into the hall across the hallway where meals were being served to guests.

My brother's octopus lips were not
popular with nieces and nephews

My mother calmly told me what was been happening on the day I arrived. My brother's body had been placed ritualistically into the simple pine coffin. She wished that I had been there. It is a custom in Korea that you don't open a casket once it is sealed. I wished that I could have come earlier so I could have seen my brother one last time. Kissed him one last time. He had always been such an avid lover of kisses, especially for his sisters, nieces, and nephews, we sometimes called him octopus lips. I not only regret, I am hopelessly and infinitely sad about it.

My father assured me that my brother looked at peace. There was not a scratch on his face. In fact, there were only three places that had been opened and sutured up on his right side post-mortem as he was brought into the hospital already dead. He had died very quickly. My father was very matter-of-fact. So much so that I wondered if he knew that his beloved son had died. How is it that he is so calm?

At about one o'clock, my mother, my sister, and I headed for the hotel. The next morning was to start early at 6:30 with the cremation and the interment of his ashes scheduled. We have a family plot on the mountainside in the country about an hour and a half south of Seoul. My sister and I talked a little, then I tried to sleep. quietly. I heard my mother finally fall asleep, starting to snore quietly. I slept maybe for 3 hours. I was still walking between dreamland and reality.

As I write this, it still seems like a dream to me, not just a dream, but a dream that is many times removed from me. It does not even seem like my dream. It seems like someone else's dream.

I got into the car as I left my last class today at UNCW. I am getting back into my normal teaching routine. I am finally dealing with this. Jung would be proud. Then the tears welled up in my eyes. They come from nowhere these days. I have sane and very normal hours during the day, immersed in work. Then once or twice a day, suddenly I think about my brother. Sometimes because I think of something to ask him, only to tell myself, no, I can't. He's gone. Or I see Bobby and how much he looks like my brother. I am not sure if this is normal. I guess one cannot be sad all the time or normal all the time after a loss like this. My normal hours are longer, but my sad moments are stronger. We will see how things go. But for now, I am really, really missing my brother.

This is something that weighs heavily on my mind. I am as progressive as people come. Online surveys say that I am more of a Green Party supporter than a Democratic Party supporter. But I am not idealistic. Rather, I am pragmatic. I know that Hillary Clinton is not my ideal candidate, but she has a good chance at winning and Jill Stein none. I choose Clinton because the idea of getting some progressive ideas to become reality is better than getting NO progressive ideas to become reality. Think about it. Wouldn't it be better to have some than none at all?

Have you noticed that the majority of Stein voters are white? I am not saying that all are. Most are. And they seem very angry. They all claim that they are going to "vote their conscience" because Clinton is too hawkish, or Clinton is no better than Trump (really?), or whatever. In my mind as a person of color, these are people who would not lose much if Donald Trump were president. But if you are a person of color, LGBTQ, or otherwise different, you stand to lose a lot. Trump has promised that. If you are a person of color, you DO NOT have the luxury of "voting your conscience" because you know full well your vote affects you directly.

If you are still "voting your conscience", you may sleep better at night, but be aware that you are behaving unethically. Philosophers have written about the ethics of voting in the same way. Voting is actually not a personal act. It's a very public act because your vote affects the public at large. If you "vote your conscience" and vote for a candidate with no chance of winning or doing anything for you, you are basically telling people of color and LGBTQ people that you don't care about them. You are telling them that you care more about yourself than those who may be harmed by your action. "Voting your conscience" is one of the most selfish actions you can take right now.