Chapter 12 Part Two The Twenty-Two-Year-Old First Lady

One day when I was traveling with my friends, I suddenly received a call from my boarding aunt, saying that my mother had an accident and asked me to go home early.Sitting alone on the return train, my heart was always thinking of my mother.When I got home, I found officials sent by the embassy standing at the door. Everyone looked very calm, but from their expressions, I had an ominous premonition. They told me to pack my luggage and go back to Seoul. The moment I was sure that my premonition was correct, great unease welled up in my heart.When I asked my family members if something happened, they only showed puzzled expressions and didn't give me a clear answer.

I rushed to the airport before my luggage was fully packed. On the way to check-in, I finally couldn't help but walked to the news area in the corner. At this time, I saw a photo of my father and mother printed on a newspaper, which said The word "assassination" in Dou Da.I quickly picked up the newspaper, and on the first page was a large picture of my mother.In an instant, his whole body felt like being hit by tens of thousands of volts of electric current, and his heart ached like being deeply pierced by a sharp knife.My eyes were instantly dark, and tears kept streaming down like torrential rain.I couldn't accept the fact that I kept crying like this on the way back to Korea on the plane.

When I got out of the airport, I saw my father coming to pick me up. Through his tightly closed lips and forbearing eyes, I could feel the pain in his heart.Seeing my pale and helpless expression, my father's eyes wavered briefly, but he immediately returned to his usual stern expression.My father seemed to want to reassure me, he just bit his lips silently and kept patting me on the back.I clenched my teeth, trying to hold back the tears I wanted to shed, and felt numb all over my body.The murder of my mother threw our family into a state of panic, and that night was so frightening and confusing.

The circumstances of the assassination were broadcast on television for days.During the "8.15" Liberation Day celebration ceremony, several gunshots were fired in succession, and the room became chaotic and uneasy, and people began to run around. The father who was reading the celebration speech hurriedly hid behind the podium.About fifteen seconds after the first gunshot sounded, the mother who was sitting upright in her seat suddenly lowered her head.The first person to see this scene was the father. He strode out and shouted at his mother with his fingers: "Send to the doctor!" The guards quickly picked up the unconscious mother and left the scene.The criminal who shot the gun was caught in a short while, and the fleeing audience gradually returned to the scene.Father went to the podium again and finished reading the commemorative speech according to the original plan.After the celebration was over, he walked silently to the place where his mother had just sat. Beside the empty green chair, his mother's rubber shoes and bag were scattered. His father bent down and picked up the shoes and bag.

Watching those pictures on TV, my body trembled involuntarily.During those days, those scenes were played repeatedly on TV for several days in a row. It was even more cruel for me to bear the media's repeated broadcast of my mother's death as if it were a series.The identity of the suspect was confirmed to be Wen Shiguang, a spy holding a Japanese passport, and the supporting force behind it was Chongryon of Korea, who was ordered to carry out the assassination plan. After my mother was taken to the hospital, I heard that hundreds of citizens gathered outside the hospital.Although many citizens prayed for her, my mother passed away at 7:00 pm on August 15th.

Later, I heard from the head of the secretary's office that when my father heard the news, he suddenly got up and went straight to the bathroom in the living room, and he didn't come out for a long time.Hearing these words, I can feel the grief of my father at that time.Thinking of my mother who passed away without even leaving a last word, my heart began to ache like tearing again.As the eldest daughter, I couldn't accompany her on the last journey, and the guilt in my heart made me cry again. While I was rushing to get on the plane back to South Korea, a large crowd of people mourned my mother in front of the Blue House.From the time when a middle-aged man in a driver's uniform handed a few chrysanthemums to the guards, the crowds of people who came to mourn never stopped.It was pouring rain that day, but those people would rather get wet than leave the mourning scene.

Journalists at home and abroad also paid close attention to the assassination, reporting related news almost every hour. Beginning at 10:00 am on the 16th, we opened the general public to participate in the farewell ceremony. Before 9:00, more than 10,000 citizens crowded outside. This news was also reported by the media all over the world.Tens of thousands of people from all over the country attended the farewell ceremony, including grandmas carried by their sons, grandpas wearing bamboo hats, children with runny noses, middle-aged men and women in neat linen clothes, etc. On the morning of August 19, 1974, the road that the funeral procession was going to pass had been full of people since the early morning.Father watched the hearse leave the Blue House until it completely disappeared before his eyes. He quietly walked into the first lady's office where his mother's relics were left, and quietly closed the door.

The mother's farewell ceremony was held in the square in front of the main entrance of the central hall, while the father was alone at the Blue House.When we returned to Cheong Wa Dae after the funeral, my father held us in his arms with open arms. I still remember that my father's hands were trembling. I don't have time to be sad at all.In order for my family to recover from their grief, I had to pull myself together, but the more I pretended to be strong, the more I felt the absence of my mother.Looking at the traces my mother left around the Blue House, my heart felt as if I had fallen into an abyss.Items that lost their owner, occupying a corner alone.

My mother always likes to put a desk for calligraphy practice in her bedroom, and she will practice calligraphy whenever she has free time. In my opinion, it does not seem like a pure artistic hobby.Whenever my mother encountered difficulties or troubles, she would sit at that desk and pick up a pen to write, as if trying to refocus her mind.Sometimes I help her sharpen the ink by her side. Seeing the seriousness and calmness of the mother who writes, even I, who is grinding the ink beside her, become cautious.One day, I saw my mother was still concentrating on writing late at night, which also meant that she might have encountered a great test that day, so that she needed to worry until late at night.

My mother often told me that she was looking forward to returning to her home in Sindang-dong in the future. "If I can take off the burden on my shoulders, even if I live in a small house, I hope to live happily as a family." When sorting out my mother's belongings, my heart felt as painful as being stabbed by a knife.It felt like my mother would push open that door at any moment and walk in in a white silk hanbok and call my name.It was as if a hole had been broken in my heart, and the cold wind was blowing in, eating without taste, and sleeping without sleep.In this way, a period of days like a walking dead has passed, and the sadness is beyond words.Perhaps because of the excessive psychological pressure at that time, I experienced menopause, my body began to ache everywhere, my immunity weakened, and I even became allergic, sneezing every day.

But I can't continue to be sad. I believe that my father must feel dozens of times more painful than our three siblings.So I decided to cheer up and tell myself that the living must live well, because busy bees have no time to be sad.

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