A Long Escalator Home, and What I Tell My Son About Being Alive

Today I went to a coworker’s father’s funeral. I bowed, I sat with the family, I went home late.

The Core Story

In Korea, what happens after someone dies depends on where they died. If it happens in a hospital, a doctor writes the death certificate on the spot (doctors were already watching, so there’s no reason for police to step in). If it happens somewhere like home, especially if the person was alone, police come first to confirm the cause of death (they have to rule out foul play before anything else). Only after that can the body go to a funeral home.

Many families hire a funeral company to run the whole thing. Some do it themselves. The chief mourner, usually the eldest son, sends word to everyone the person knew. These days that’s mostly a text message.

Visitors burn incense and bow twice. Instead of shaking the mourner’s hand, you give a small bow. Dark clothes, socks even in summer. Condolence money comes in odd numbers, 30,000 won, 50,000, 70,000, closer friends go higher. The food is almost always yukgaejang, a spicy beef soup.

Here’s the part I saw with my own eyes. People crack jokes. They talk loudly. Not because they don’t care, but because nobody wants the mourner sitting there crying alone for three straight days. A Korean funeral home is a quiet place for grieving and a loud place for the living, at the same time.

On the way out, I took the subway home. There was an escalator that went down so far I couldn’t see the bottom. I took a photo for no particular reason (maybe it just matched the day, something you had to go all the way down before you could see the end of it).

I got home late. Raon already knew I’d be late, so he and his mom had dinner without me.

When I finally told him where I’d been, I explained death the way I always do, backward. First I list what being alive gets you. Playing. Eating something good. Seeing your family’s faces every single day. Then I say what death takes away. All of it, at once.

Parenting Note

I don’t know what Raon took from any of this. I didn’t ask. The order I use, alive first, the opposite second, stays the same every time. I don’t spell out the lesson. I let him land on “so today is fine” on his own.

Closing

Raon, we didn’t eat dinner together tonight. I’m glad you and your mom went ahead without me.