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evong
I woke up early this morning to attend Evong’s father’s funeral. The sun was shining and the air smelled fresh. The widow and her two daughters stood by the priest and alternated between soft crying and looking on listlessly as if waiting for a great black hole to swallow them up. The ceremony was in Korean so I did not understand most of it, but the shared grief was evident and when they began singing hymns softly in Korean, the sadness swelled and congealed into something I wanted to reach out and touch. I watched Evong and saw strength and grace, masked by disbelief. Evong, my heart. You are beautiful.
Shortly after the burial, it began to rain.