A Last Meal

by Theresa Chung

Korean Romanization - English Translation

Halabeoji - Grandpa

Halmeoni - Grandma

Samchon - Uncle

Maknae-imo - Youngest Aunt

Kuhn-imo - Eldest Aunt

Umma - Mom

Appa - Dad

Unnie - Older Sister

Ban-chan - Side Dishes

As tradition, my family would fly from whichever New York airport that had the cheapest tickets to Fullerton, California every summer to spend time with my umma’s side of the family. It was never quiet with so many kids and adults in one house; everyday was eventful, whether we took collective naps on the cool floor or threw each other into the swimming pool.

 Summer 2016 - Fullerton, CA

The last time I went to Fullerton for a vacation, I was fifteen-years old, a rising junior in high school. I was also having the worst experience with puberty, which had turned me into a terrible teenager. Every conversation with my parents ended with me annoyed at them for “never understanding me.” Umma still recalls how I always slammed my bedroom door.

 On the last day before umma and I had to return home, I had to complete summer AP U.S. History homework that I had pushed off. I only realized I had spent the whole day writing when umma and halmeoni started to prepare dinner in the kitchen. I asked umma what we were eating. She said leftover ban-chan and rice.

 I whined that I didn’t want to eat more rice and leftovers. I wanted something good, like fried chicken or grilled meat.

 Umma told me to just eat what’s given. We weren’t going to make food since there were only five people at home. I now suspect it was also because umma didn’t want halmeoni to feel obligated to make anything, especially since the chemo was taking away the energy that had once let her spend days making me mujigae-ddeok, my favorite rice cake, which requires sitting in front of a fire in 80-degree weather to make. I didn’t think to consider halmeoni’s health, putting my desires before her.

 I ignored umma’s words and scavenged for food. I walked over to the wooden pantry. Success. A box of Kraft Mac and Cheese. I grabbed it and told umma this was my dinner. She gave up and told me to do whatever I wanted.

 Umma set out a few plates of ban-chan on the table, which was strange because in past years, halmeoni would cook enough to cover the entire table. I re-read the directions on the box as I cooked the mac and cheese.

 Dinner felt gloomy. As the last meal I would eat with halmeoni, the mac and cheese wasn't good. I regretted eating it instead of halmeoni’s ban-chan, but being a teenager, I wouldn’t allow myself to show umma I made a mistake.

 The last night of the last vacation in Fullerton was uncomfortably quiet. The house had always felt empty once samchon decided to move his family away and maknae-imo didn’t sleep over as often. There were no giggles from cousins who couldn’t sleep, or songs sung by my halabeoji.

 The next morning, I found myself holding back tears as we packed for the airport.

 Halmeoni woke up early to make sure we had packed everything. As we put our shoes on, she shoved a package of coffee milk boxes into umma’s purse, reprimanding us for forgetting it. We had bought it at the supermarket days before, halmeoni taking notice of how much I liked it.

I gave my halmeoni a last hug, feeling how she was still soft to hold. That was the last time that I touched halmeoni, as I couldn’t bring myself to touch her while she laid in her casket.

 Like every summer before, halmeoni stood outside and waved as the car pulled out, my eyes wet with tears that I was too ashamed to let out.

At the airport, umma and I poked straws into the six cartons of the coffee milk while in line for the security check. We knew there was no way we were going to throw away the milk and so we chugged it before we made it to the scanner.

May 2017 - Albany Airport, NY

Umma decided to miss work for four days to fly to Fullerton. Halmeoni was no longer on chemotherapy and was forgetting who her children were at times.

Appa and I picked umma up from the airport the day I took the APUSH exam.

Only three days later I received a late-night phone call from my cousin, who I have heard cry just once in my life.

The three of us returned to the airport at dawn on the 9th, only this time we were all flying to Fullerton. It was the first time we had ever purchased such expensive tickets and paid for the overpriced airport parking fee.

 Spring 2017-2021 - Experiencing Guilt

Every day since May 8th…

I have asked myself why I chose to eat the mac and cheese that night. I ask myself when I crave mac and cheese. I ask myself when I see store-made mujigae-ddeok. I ask myself when I ask umma to make my favorite summer food of oi-ji, pickled cucumbers and she responds with how halmeoni was the only one who could make it how I liked it, and then we fall silent.

 I have hated my fifteen-year-old self for putting her stupid pride and teenage angst before everyone else. Because of her, I lost my chance to eat halmeoni’s food one last time. I don’t remember the last thing I ate that halmeoni made. I only remember that I ate the dreadful mac and cheese.

 I have felt useless. For years, I never knew what type it was nor did I ever ask. Umma told me that it was simply cancer. That’s all I was to know.  

For years, I’ve asked myself, why did umma never tell me what it was? I never knew what was happening, what symptoms were present, that halmeoni was tired… Umma and her siblings talked to each other about the appointments in Korean, words that I was unfamiliar with even in English and thus words that I could never understand. Leaving me to ask these questions to myself, umma decided to depend heavily on unnie the whole time.

 Unnie was older, smarter, and preparing for medical school, so she was more familiar with the terminology. She helped translate during halmeoni’s appointments even though she was busy studying for the MCAT. I knew nothing about the human body or cancer. I avoided phone calls, self-conscious about my Korean and fearful of embarrassing myself. I didn’t do anything to help halmeoni.

 Fall 2018 – Interstate 90, MA

While driving home from college in Boston, I finally mustered up the courage to ask appa what the diagnosis was. Liver cancer and… Throughout the conversation, I also realized why I was never included in conversations about halmeoni. It wasn’t just the cancer, it never is. My umma’s side of the family dealt with many struggles that come with being immigrants and being human. Life was never easy for them, but that was nothing they wanted to make obvious to the children. This is typical within Korean families as we Koreans are very prideful people. The adults in my family have endeavored to allow their children to enjoy blissful, naive childhoods, and to some extent, I feel gratitude towards their efforts.

 2019-2021 - Processing Grief

My anger towards umma for not telling me everything about halmeoni has long dissipated Even when halmeoni was dying, I focused on myself. I hadn’t thought about how my umma had to hear her own umma had died just days after she had left to go back home to work. That my umma had to spend years living so far away from her umma while her siblings were always there with her. That my umma had to deal with her daughter being so cruel at a time when she needed support. Only years later have I realized how selfish I was.

 Since May 8th, 2017, I have come to college in hopes of becoming a doctor. Sometimes as I do homework that mentions metastasis, I wonder if it would’ve been better if halmeoni had lived longer. But would I have felt better after taking heavy science lectures? After reading research papers full of jargon? Would I truly have thought I was doing something to help, or would I have continued to feel useless in this uncontrollable, solution-less situation?

 I don’t know, but I do know that I must forgive my younger self for choosing to eat the mac and cheese that night. As much as I resent her for her decisions, my younger self is still me. She deserves to be forgiven.

As a fifteen-year-old, I knew nothing about death, so I didn’t know how to process my grief. But on this never-ending path to forgiveness, I have learned that there is no proper way to experience grief. I realized it years after halmeoni left before I could show her a better version of myself. And I realized it weeks after kuhn-imo had ended her own fight with cancer and decided to leave us for halmeoni.

August 2021 - Growing Up

I didn’t realize it until a few weeks after kuhn-imo passed, but I didn’t hate myself as severely when she died, despite feeling the same frustration towards oncologists and money, or lack thereof. I questioned if it was because I unconsciously liked halmeoni more and if I was a bad person, but it wasn’t that. Guilt hadn’t shrouded the grief I felt for her passing. I mourned kuhn-imo without being overwhelmed with selfish thoughts. I was able to send her off in a more peaceful manner. Of course, I regret being unable to mourn for halmeoni in a better way, but I believe she would feel proud, knowing that I am trying to make peace with myself.

Theresa is a fourth-year student attending Northeastern University in Boston, MA. She is pursuing a major in the Health Sciences as well as a minor in English Writing. She hopes to attend medical school and also to continue to write both nonfiction and fiction.

Read more from our Writing to Heal: College Student Stories series.