Alas, my mother, you have passed away so suddenly.
You lived but fifty-three years, yet begot seven children.
Of those seven, three remain—among them, Dongmin Tan.
The others bore no offspring: two daughters and three sons.
You raised my brothers with untold toil and hardship.
Through trials that ground you down, illness overcame you.
Between then and now lie countless sorrows, a history of heartache.
I could not bring myself to write it all at once, preferring to gather my thoughts slowly.
Now, as I would speak, there are but two points:
first, your great virtue; second, the one grievance that weighs upon my heart.


Your noble character was foremost marked by boundless love.
Near or far, kin or stranger—none was excluded from your care.
Gentle compassion moved all who knew you.
Wherever your love reached, it was genuine and true.
You never spoke falsely, nor harbored deceit in your heart.
Orderliness was second nature to you; not a single detail escaped your watchful eye.
Everything touched by your hand was kept in perfect order.
Your mind was precise, discerning every nuance and feeling.
No matter lay uncalculated, no object could hide its form.
Your purity of spirit spread throughout our family circle.
Not a speck of dust could cling to you—body and soul alike were immaculate.
Five virtues shone most brightly in you; these were the hallmarks of your greatness.
In you, human character seemed lifted up to some higher plane.


As for that one sorrow, it lies at the very end of the Three Guidelines.
Ambitions remained unfulfilled; desires, unattained.
It was in this spiritual anguish that your suffering found its highest expression.
Was it heaven’s will, or man’s doing? It felt as though the earth had tilted on its axis.


Next comes the raising of your children, shaping them into upright persons.
When they were still green, caught between youth and maturity,
I would hold their hands in sickness, my heart aching, my gut clenched.
Yet even then, I called out to each of them: strive always to be good.


And lastly, there is the debt I owe to those dear ones whom I hold most dear.
Some have bestowed kindness without measure; others have labored tirelessly for me.
Whether near or distant, young or old, all deserve my gratitude.


All that has been said thus far reflects the radiance of your virtue.
If I act with sincere devotion, I shall not fail to honor it.


As for what grieves me, I must seek to make amends for whatever has been lacking.
Ever mindful of this, my resolve shall never waver.


The deep grace of your nurturing is like the morning sun, like the misty dawn.
When, oh when, can I repay it? Like a tiny bird flinging itself into the vast sea!


Alas, my mother, though you have passed, you are not truly gone.
Though your body may have perished, your spirit endures forever.


Every day we live is a day to repay our debt of gratitude;
every day is a day to be with those we love.


Today, my words run long, yet time grows short.
Let me set forth only the main points, leaving aside the finer details.


At this family memorial, I offer this single cup.
There will be more to say, and our words will grow with each passing day.


May you partake!