I've been to Korea twice with my parents to visit my ten aunts and uncles and many, many cousins. Both times, we ventured out of Seoul to a small village near Tongduchon, up near the 38th Parallel. After making the rounds of family visits, my uncles took us out to the countryside to visit the graves of our ancestors.
The first time I went with them, I had no idea where we were going or why. It seemed like we were just taking a scenic drive in the countryside. After driving for half hour or so away from my #2 uncle's house, we parked alongside a busy road, waded through a thicket of tall grasses to a hillside covered with neatly-groomed round burial mounds. The site is edged by trees and not visible from the road or marked in any manner. If you were driving by, you would not know that a cemetary is hiding there. After trudging up the hillside, we found a small black obilisque with white writing on it--the grave marker of my grandfather. In 1990, on my first visit, my grandmother was still alive; in 2000, she had passed away and her grave was next to my grandfather's.
At the gravesite, my uncles spread a small cloth on the ground, brought out fruits, soju, and some tiny ceramic drinking cups. My mother and her brothers then lined up in order of age, stood facing my grandfather's grave and solemnly bowed. Then, together, they got on their knees, bowing their heads low to the ground several times. When they were done, they each drank a cup of soju, and then poured a second cup on the grave. "For Father," my mother explained.
After the children did their bows, it was my turn, along with my cousins who were along for the ride. On our second trip, my husband and sister-in-law were with us, and took their turns bowing, along with my nephew, who was only 20 months old at the time. He mimicked what the adults were doing, and showed his respect. He was remarkably quiet during the entire ceremony, as though he intuitively knew that something solemn and ponderous was happening. Afterwards, we sat on the ground and they drank the remaining soju and talked about their parents. My mother cried just a little on the second trip, remembering her mother. She had not been able to attend the funeral, and this was her opportunity to say goodbye.
My mother explained to me that this was the way that they took time to remember their father and mother, by offering themselves, bowing low before those who gave them life. They offered up a few of grandmother and granfather's favorite things. My grandfather apparently was a bit of a drinker, so they bring the best soju they can find to share with him. My grandmother liked sweets, so they bring fruit and candies to her. They leave behind a little offering when they go, but they have some of it themselves, a little picnic in remembrance. Sometimes they tell stories about their parents and laugh together at their funny recollections. My mother was devastated by my grandmother's death, which was made more difficult for her by that fact that she could not be there for the funeral. This was her opportunity for closure, to honor the mother she missed for twenty years before ever making her way back home.
My mother told me that when she was a little girl, she would get angry with her mother and run off into the countryside and return when it got dark. Her mother scolded her, and she told her mother, "When I get older, I am going go far, far away from here!"
Her mother softened and replied, "I hope you don't, because I will miss you."
"Why? You have all these other children. Why would you miss me?"
"Because," my grandmother replied, "I have only one of you."
They performed this ritual as way of remembering the past without
remorse, in remembrance of their parents and their ancestors, to tie
past and present together. They come to this place often to include
the spirits of the ancestors in the celebrations of the living world,
to remember where they came from. The come on Chusok (harvest festival), on
their birthdays, and anniversary of their deaths. They made a point to
stop here with my mom to celebrate my mother's coming home, returning
with the prodigal daughter. My mom is the only one in her family who
ventured outside of Korea. Since she came to the US in 1961, she has
not been able to visit often. Her homecoming is a big family
celebration.
Both times I have participated, this ceremony touched me, seeing my mom and her brothers, all in their sixties and seventies, bowing low in respect. I have never felt more tied to my Korean roots that I did while standing on that hillside with my family, bowing in respect to those who came before us.
My American family lays wreaths and flowers on the graves of my grandparents, but not with any regularity, and always with a great deal of tears and sadness. I adored my American grandmother, but have only visited her gravesite once, because it seemed so hollow and sad. I was only reminded of how much I missed her, and not of the joy that having her in my life brought to me.
I want to make sure that my son knows where he came from, that his ancestors were good, kind, hardworking people who would have loved him had they lived long enough to meet him. We started a birthday tradition in our family to go through my son's baby book with him, and point out photos of our grandparents who died before he was born. My husband's mother passed away suddenly, one year before my son was born. They never met each other, but I know they would have been crazy about each other. We scattered her ashes from a hot air balloon over the New Mexico desert, so there isn't really a place to go to "visit" her or a ritual to remember her. I'm a bit at a loss as to how to ensure that he knows that this wonderful person existed, had the same eyes as his dad, and that he gets the auburn in his hair from her.
How does your family remember those who have passed? Do you share memories with your children of parents and grandparents that you knew but they will never know other than through photos? How was this information passed along to you?
--Glennia
