Mr. Yoo parked his truck, staring forward at the ducks swimming in the lake. He could still remember when Youngjae was just a child, how they would stop by the local bread store and pick up a discounted bread and feed it to the ducks. Youngjae had always been such a happy child, so well behaved and polite. He frowned deeply, reaching over to the passenger seat to get the mixture of fresh red and white flowers.
The man lifted the flowers to his nose, inhaling deeply. He hated flowers, he hated how they smelled. It was nothing but death but it brought him back to the time when Youngjae had come down with pneumonia. Youngjae had only been fourteen, maybe fifteen. He could still remember how sick his son was, to the point where Mr. Yoo had feared he wasn't going to make it. He remembered the way Youngjae's face lit up when he walked into the room, carrying a big bouquet of red and white flowers, visiting his son for the first time since he'd been hospitalized.
Mr. Yoo had always thought it was the flowers that had made his face light up so much but now he wasn't so sure. Maybe, Youngjae had just been happy to see him, to see that he actually cared enough to come. The man made his way towards his son's burial plot, taking in a deep breath as he got closer and closer.
The last time he'd been here was Youngjae's funeral service almost four weeks ago. There had been no plot, no casket. Just a simple standing wreath with his son's picture in the middle. He took in a deep breath when he finally found the plot. It felt so surreal seeing his son's name, a little picture of him printed onto the middle of the expensive stone. The man bent over, gently wiping away the dirt that was marring his son's photograph.
“I brought you some flowers.” The man said as he carefully placed them in the vase. “Remember that time in the hospital? You really liked those flowers, didn't you? They looked like these. . .” He trailed off, staring down at the headstone, his eyes on the photograph of Youngjae. He dropped down onto his knees, eyes filling with tears.
He wanted to go back in time and change things, to be there for his son more. He'd always thought he was doing the right thing: protecting Youngjae from the world until he was grown. I should have been there for him. There was nothing he could do now. Youngjae was gone and he had to continued on for both his wife and Junhong's sake. Life had to move on.
But, for today, he would allow himself to cry and allow himself to think of the 'what ifs'.
“My beautiful baby boy.” He breathed, reaching out to touch the photograph. “I am proud of you, I am so proud of you. I. . . I never showed you enough love. I didn't know how but that's not an excuse. You weren't a failure. I love you.” Mr. Yoo quietly spoke, tears falling down onto the stone and he didn't know who he was talking to in the first place. Youngjae was gone and it was his fault. All of this was his fault. “I'm so sorry, Youngjae.”
“I'm so sorry.”
Mr. Yoo parked his truck, staring forward at the ducks swimming in the lake. He could still remember when Youngjae was just a child, how they would stop by the local bread store and pick up a discounted bread and feed it to the ducks. Youngjae had always been such a happy child, so well behaved and polite. He frowned deeply, reaching over to the passenger seat to get the mixture of fresh red and white flowers.
The man lifted the flowers to his nose, inhaling deeply. He hated flowers, he hated how they smelled. It was nothing but death but it brought him back to the time when Youngjae had come down with pneumonia. Youngjae had only been fourteen, maybe fifteen. He could still remember how sick his son was, to the point where Mr. Yoo had feared he wasn't going to make it. He remembered the way Youngjae's face lit up when he walked into the room, carrying a big bouquet of red and white flowers, visiting his son for the first time since he'd been hospitalized.
Mr. Yoo had always thought it was the flowers that had made his face light up so much but now he wasn't so sure. Maybe, Youngjae had just been happy to see him, to see that he actually cared enough to come. The man made his way towards his son's burial plot, taking in a deep breath as he got closer and closer.
The last time he'd been here was Youngjae's funeral service almost four weeks ago. There had been no plot, no casket. Just a simple standing wreath with his son's picture in the middle. He took in a deep breath when he finally found the plot. It felt so surreal seeing his son's name, a little picture of him printed onto the middle of the expensive stone. The man bent over, gently wiping away the dirt that was marring his son's photograph.
“I brought you some flowers.” The man said as he carefully placed them in the vase. “Remember that time in the hospital? You really liked those flowers, didn't you? They looked like these. . .” He trailed off, staring down at the headstone, his eyes on the photograph of Youngjae. He dropped down onto his knees, eyes filling with tears.
He wanted to go back in time and change things, to be there for his son more. He'd always thought he was doing the right thing: protecting Youngjae from the world until he was grown. I should have been there for him. There was nothing he could do now. Youngjae was gone and he had to continued on for both his wife and Junhong's sake. Life had to move on.
But, for today, he would allow himself to cry and allow himself to think of the 'what ifs'.
“My beautiful baby boy.” He breathed, reaching out to touch the photograph. “I am proud of you, I am so proud of you. I. . . I never showed you enough love. I didn't know how but that's not an excuse. You weren't a failure. I love you.” Mr. Yoo quietly spoke, tears falling down onto the stone and he didn't know who he was talking to in the first place. Youngjae was gone and it was his fault. All of this was his fault. “I'm so sorry, Youngjae.”
“I'm so sorry.”
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