When my mom returned from the funeral, she was devastated. She let out this distinctly Korean wail and kept calling out, “Umma, Umma,” crumpled on the living room floor, her head heaving sobs into my father's lap as he sat on the couch and wept with her. […] I’d never seen my mother's emotion so unabashedly on display. Never seen her without control, like a child. I couldn't comprehend them the depth of her sorrow the way I do now. I was not yet on the other side, had not crossed over as she had into the realm of profound loss.
[…] I could only think of the last words my grandmother said to me before we returned home to America.
“You used to be such a little chickenshit,” she said. “You never let me wipe your asshole.”