It has been a while since my last blog. How time flies. It is already December, and the semester is slowly coming to an end at the community college where I teach. As my life goes on, there is a longing in my heart to hold on to the beautiful memories shared with my brother.

Time to pick up where I left off.

The next day we went back to my brother's resting site. It was another beautiful, sunny day in Korea. The autumn sky so blue that Koreans call it adoringly the "high autumn sky."

My father seemed obsessed with cleaning out the chamber where my brother's urn was. Because it is subterranean, dirt had accumulated inside and it seemed damp. He had ordered Yung-Un to buy coal, COAL?, to place inside the chamber. She found some coal pieces that are used by interior decorators to purify the air and absorb moisture. I didn't know such things existed. 

After everything was clean to my father's satisfaction, we bowed again. I felt like it would be a long time again until I come back here. It is a remote site. Brother, until I see you again. Sadness came over me. Winter is coming. I could not stop thinking how cold it is going to get under the stone inside the Earth.

We made our way back to Seoul. My mother, who is a Buddhist, arranged for a 7-week vigil for my brother at the temple where she is a member. The temple was like an oasis in the middle of the concrete jungle, the futuristic mega-city called Seoul. It sat on top of a 5-story granite building, but the temple itself was made entirely of wood. Compared to the coldness of the granite of the building, the wood seemed warm. I thought again about how cold the granite chamber seemed where my brother's urn rests. The temple structure was not highly decorated like other temples I had seen before. It was plain. It was how my brother would have liked.

We met one of the monks in a smaller building on top of the roof. He explained what was about to happen. It was me, my sister, my mother, my father, Uncle Yong-Woo, Yung-Un, Hongkyu, and Kyurie. We all sat on little sitting pillows and crossed our legs. Surrounded by little Buddhas. Nice breeze blew through the open doors.

Then we began the process of calling the deceased's spirit so that it can begin the 7 step journey into the next world according to the Buddhist tradition. We chanted as one though I didn't really understand the meaning of what we were chanting. The sound, the breeze, the surrounding, the air--everything together was incredibly moving.

I heard what I needed to hear from the monk during this calling of the wandering spirit. There's only life and death and everyone has led a life that was both good and bad. My brother's life was special, not because he led a special life, but rather a meaningful one that will continue in his family and his children.

Our job is not to mourn the death, but to celebrate the life my brother led in this world and to guide him gently into the next one with our devotion. Our devotion to him, to his memory, and to his safe journey into the left life.

I was incredibly grateful to be my family's side at this time of sorrow.