Seon Mi turned the sign of the store to read "Close." The day had been suprisingly busy; there had been a steady stream of customers. Some were just hanging around browsing, but she did manage to make a decent sale. She skipped lunch altogether, just grabbing a snack bar while she worked through the day, deciding instead to close shop earlier. She needed to get ready for the evening's session tonight. She wasn't planning on baking anything before, and was only going to bring some tangerines, but she felt compelled to make some raspberry thumbprint cookies. She thought it would be nice to have some sweet treats not just the fruit. I'm sure everybody would enjoy the cookies, she thought, pretending not to have just one person in mind.

Seon Mi set out the cookies, tangerines and coffee, readying up for the evening session. She could hear a muffled hammering from the outside. The support group sign had fallen and Mr. Do tackled the chore of putting the new boards with alacrity. Their sign is a new possession, brought over as a gift by a former group member. Beautiful calligraphy swirled on the boards, displaying the support group name: "Surviving Grief: Finding Healing in Grieving" on one, and another board with their information. Small dainty jasmine flowers decorated the surface randomly. 

Seon Mi laid out the cookies in the platter, the raspberry thumbprint cookies looking delectable piled high. Ms. Choi and Mr. Do had taken a piece each already having been unable to control themselves upon seeing the treats and both were effusive in their praises.

Soon the members started trickling in and started helping themselves to the coffee and snacks. 

Ha Jun came in early this time, hair all windblown and tousled. He took the plate of cookies from her with a ready smile and she saw how quickly he devoured them. He really does have a sweet tooth, she thought, then wondered if he has been eating properly. Soon the Ms. Choi joined the group. She did not rush everyone, but rather encouraged the informal socialization before getting the evening's session underway.

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"Everyday is a struggle. We all know this already. We all go through the motions of living no matter how long ago we lost that someone." Ms. Choi said to the the group of eight people who sat around her in a semi circle. They all showed up, she was glad to note. Some still have their chairs turned slightly away, as if to avoid having to face another person directly, their body language an obvious indication of the nonverbal cues being communicated.

She continued, "Your world felt like it upended itself. It's ok to feel overwhelmed, to feel like you're still struggling. It's ok to feel bad. Sometimes we all just need to hear these words: It's ok to feel the way we feel." Ms. Choi tried to maintain eye contact with each one of them. Some met her eyes briefly; some held them; others looked away. She knew they were all still feeling vulnerable and it will take some time to open up. "Not everybody out there in the world will understand, that we each grieve our own way. And I will say to you, pay them no mind. Pay them no mind. Focus on your own healing. Let yourself grieve, for only then can healing take place."

The hushed voice of Mrs. Gim cut the silence that followed Ms. Choi's statement. Her husband sat next to her shoulder to shoulder, but an invisible breach still lay between them. "People are quick to say I'm sorry. Everywhere I go, I heard this: I'm sorry for your loss or so sorry to hear. Then they'll say even more worst words, things will get better; it's alright..." Her hands fisted at her lap, knuckles all whitened. "I'm tired of hearing this. Why do they say they're sorry? Did they cause her accident? I know people try to mean well. But how can they say it will get better? It's not all right. My daughter is gone; nothing can bring her back. Nothing is going to be all right again. So why would people say this?" Her eyes are bright but no tears escaped. Her lips are pinched so tight they seem bloodless, set in a grim line. 

Ms. Choi asked gently, "What was she like, Mrs. Gim?"

"Yu Na was just like any teenager; crazy about idols, crazy about kpop. She loved to dance. She danced along with those videos. She told me, you wait and see, eomma, I will be like these girls one day, pretty and famous. And she would prance around the house, those silly dance moves these young people do nowadays." She paused, remembering. "She loved makeup too. It was so easy to make her happy, just buy her makeup or lipstick. Didn't have to be expensive kinds either. She worked hard on her dancing, even though she wasn't very good at it. Such a silly girl, to go on diets just to be skinny to look just like them idols; she even asked me to cook light foods so she wouldn't be tempted. And I did; for her, I did it...She was so silly most of the time... but she was my silly lovable girl." She choked out.

Mr. Gim remained quiet all this time, head bowed. His hand reached out to grip his wife's hand tightly. At this, her control broke and hot tears streamed down her face, her shoulders quaking. 

Ms. Choi moved to kneel in front of Mrs Gim and held her, letting the woman cry; her emotions all the more raw from her soundless tears.

Not a single eye was dry. They all understood Mrs. Gim's misery; each of them carry a loss just as burdensome. 

After a while, Ms. Choi stood, patting the woman's back and took her own seat. Her voice was slightly shaky, as she addressed the group once more.

"Thank you, Mrs. Gim, for letting us share the memory of Yun Hee. We all have heartbreaks here, though our stories may be different. But it doesn't matter the circumstances, the burden we feel is real. Words we say are powerful. And for us who are grieving, words offered though may have been kindly meant can be hurtful instead. We know this, but our hearts still feel the cut of those words. Sometimes, the empathy of silence is just as powerful as words that can be said.... Does anybody else have anything to add or share?"

Mun Yee raised her hand. She sat close to her grandmother, Mrs. Sung, whose hands remained clasped in one of hers. Mrs. Sung appeared frail, her clothes hanging on her slight frame loosely. Mun Yee held onto her for support, as if the old lady would be carried away by a puff of wind.

"We lost my grandfather a year ago. He was sick for a very long time. My grandmother brought him home when there was nothing else to be done in the hospital. We thought he would leave us quickly, but he lingered and she took care of him for months and months." She took a loving look at Mrs. Sung, giving her hand a squeeze. "My grandparents met when he was 22 and she was 18. They had an arranged marriage typical of their day, but they fell in love. He was very charming and swept her off her feet, right, halmoni?"

Mrs. Sung gave a faint smile, but didn't look up. Her hands kept themselves on Mun Yee's as if she were her anchor. "My grandparents have never spent a day of their life apart, until he got sick. Even then, halmoni was in the hospital with him all the time.  After he died, we all grieved. I didn't think anything else was wrong. I didn't realize halmoni has fallen so depressed. She kept losing weight; she hardly spoke. We weren't talking much because I was too busy working; I didn't notice." Mun Yee turned to her grandmother, "I'm sorry I haven't been there for you, halmoni. We lost haraboji because he was sick; but I don't want to lose you because I didn't notice you are heartbroken." She turned and hugged her halmoni, both crying. It was hard to see who was comforting who.

Ms. Choi passed around box of tissues. She took a deep breath and clasped her hands. Her practiced eyes see the hurdle each one needed to overcome and felt compassion for the burden they must carry. She knew that not everyone can open their heart for everybody to see. And these people sometimes tend to carry their hurt out there in the world without anybody realizing how debilitating it can be.

"Thank you Mun Yee for sharing. We know how difficult it is to open up and share. We have our vulnerabilities and sometimes it is easier to keep things buried, thinking it is less painful and easier to bear that way. And I want to tell you it is ok to feel that way, too. We all cope differently. Our goal here is not to magically erase our heartaches; that is impossible and impractical. Our purpose here is to find that we are not alone in our grief and in the process, hopefully gain some insight and respite by finding support from each other." She paused and looked at the group. "I want to thank you all for coming today, for bravely sharing your stories with us and letting us know we are not alone. The future is still hard to see right now, and it's ok if we still need to keep reminding ourselves to take a step everyday, to put one feet in front of the other, to take a breath in and take a breath out; but let's work on facing this together, one day at a time, one night at a time."

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It was a heavy and emotional evening. When Seon Mi walked back in the room, she saw Ms. Choi talking with Mrs. Sung and Mun Yee in the corner. Mr. and Mrs. Gim were still sitting quietly; the lady had stopped crying and she sat with her head on his shoulders while he gently patted her back. 

Mr. Do is pensive too, perhaps remembering his wife. He stood drinking his coffee quietly on the side, back turned from the room. She didn't see Dae Suk or Ha Jun after she came back from washing her face. She cried while listening to Mrs. Gim and Mun Yee. Her own grief sharp even as her heart hurt hearing the others' stories. So she left to wash her face and to pull herself together. 

Seeing that everybody was caught up in their own reveries, she decided to step out to get some air. It was already dark; the streetlamps were lit, bathing the streets with its glare of yellow lights. A few people were still out, perhaps hurrying home or meeting friends. When she stepped out, the sign from the window fell, the chain breaking that was keeping the sign secured. She stooped to pick up the sign and grimaced as she tried to fix the link chain. She struggled a bit to straighten the metal piece and was startled by a voice behind her.

"Maybe I can help, Seon Mi."

She turned around startled to see Ha Jun. "I didn't see you out here. I thought you had left."

He took the metal piece from her hands and deftly straighten the bent link, re-attaching it to the rest of the chain.

"I stepped out to get some air. I was standing just over there." 

Ha Jun had stepped out, feeling his emotions were too close to the surface, too overwhelming. He was not ready to share this part of him yet. He stood there in the shadows, trying to calm himself, letting the cool air wash over him until he felt ready to leave... Until Seon Mi stepped out, eyes glancing past him unseeing, hidden as he was in the blanket of darkness. He saw her eyes were red rimmed too. She had been crying along with everybody else.

"I think I got this fixed. It should hold now. Shall I hook this below the other one?" He held the board which had the hours and contact numbers written on it. The top piece of the board had stayed in place. 

"Yes please. Thank you."

"It's nothing. Are you leaving? It's starting to get dark out."

"I will in a bit. I just want to make sure Ms. Choi doesn't need anything else."

"Do you mind if we sit out here for a while? I don't feel like going back inside."

"Sure." She followed him to the sidewalk and sat on the curb. "Are you ok, Ha Jun?" She turned to him, eyes concerned.

"I'm fine. It just got a little too much. Is it always like this? How can you stand it?"

"It does get emotional most of the time. People sharing their grief is a harrowing experience. But then we also recall the good memories in the process. I find comfort that I'm not the only one grieving. I find it easier to talk with people who feel the same as I do. Like right now, with you."

"I'm not good at talking. I'm better at internalizing and letting it out in my canvas or paper." He paused, then blew out the air he didn't even know he has been holding. "I don't think I can talk about Ha Jae here."

"It's ok. You don't have to; it's not required." Seon Mi said, looking across the street past the cars and the bustle of the city, past the people walking about. She hugged her knees to herself. "I didn't share about Nam Sun until months later. Even then, it was mostly just with Ms. Choi."

"I haven't spoken about Ha Jae with anybody just Dr. Kim, my therapist. And now you."

"You can talk to me about Ha Jae whenever." She turned to glance at him briefly before looking away again. "Ha Jun, I have to tell you something. I hope you won't think badly of me."

"What is it?" He sat forward to catch her eye.

"I looked you up online." Seon Mi whispered, not daring to meet his eyes.

"Ah. I thought it was something more serious." 

"I read about Ha Jae too. I'm sorry I didn't mean to intrude."

He was quiet for a bit, then turned to her. "I'm actually glad you did. There were alot of articles about him, good things. At least now you have an idea of what kind of person he was. To be honest I find it a relief; I wouldn't need to explain much."

"I did learn alot about him, but I read about you too."

"And? What is your conclusion? Do I fit any other less generic psycho-analytic theory? I've started collecting various diagnoses under my belt. Maybe you can tell me something new." His voice sounded bitter.

Seon Mi reached out a hand and laid it gently on his arm. "Friendship. We both could use a friend."

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Her voice kept reverberating in his mind even hours later, as he stood looking out the window in the wee hours of the morning.

The city around him has quieted down, this urban jungle he's come to call home. From his apartment window set high up, he can see above the rooftops of most of the other buildings, past several miles towards the east of the city. It is dark now, but from where he stood he can almost see a little patch of the city park. In the daytime, with the sun shining brightly, this view is glorious, a source of inspiration. He would look out and find something new every day. When he moved here, it was with a need to get away, for both solitude and seclusion, truth be told. Instead he found himself settling down, finding something akin to a home here and for a while before his problems had re-emerged, even a little bit of peace. But he has come to realize running away did not make things disappear either; it just delayed the inevitable. His grief tagged along, unwanted baggage that it is, holding him in an unshakable grip, rearing its unwanted presence when he least expected. 

He thought of their conversation; her offer of friendship, and with it that spark of something he is hard pressed to identify. He cannot deny his loneliness; her presence has been like an oasis in an otherwise desert that has become his life. Even in his current state of misery he could not ignore the way she pulled at him. 

"Friendship is a luxury we can at least afford, don't you think?" Her voice though sad-tinged, matched the lightness of her hand as it rested briefly on his arm. He looked down seeing her delicate wrist, the smallness of her hand; even in the jaundiced light of the streetlamps, her creamy skin glowed. Ha Jun turned to her, their eyes meeting, holding each other's gaze for what seemed like the longest time. Their locked gaze hinted at something, a tugging on his consciousness, waiting for him to stop and take stock. This something is akin to a promise of hope when there had been no hope before, lending him a spark of light in the darkness he's found himself mired in; this life that has become like one long sleepless night.

.

Seon Mi stood on her rooftop balcony. It's late yet sleep has been elusive for her too. The small string of lights she  gave a hazy, murky light in the dark. She has made this rooftop a place of refuge, even though it is just a meager of a space. She had attached a small canvas to serve as a canopy, a shelter from the sun during the summer, and underneath it, old cushioned seats and a wooden crate that served as a table. She has a variety of pots and planters all over the ground, a veritable garden where she grew flowering plants as well as vegetables. She even have a wooden box of cat grass/catnip for her Romie cat, one large enough for him to roll around in and enjoy. She sat down, tucking her feet under her and held her cat, petting him as much for her own comfort as his. 

"Do you think I was too forward?" She's long developed a habit of  talking with her cat, very much her way of thinking out loud. She thought of tonight after the session they've had. Even mired in her own emotional morass, she recognized in him a kindred spirit, a palpable connection. And before she could further examine the underlying impulse on her part, she had reached out and offered her friendship.

Ha Jun did not appear surprised, and much to her relief, did not appear to spurn her, at least not outright. She blushed now remembering her impulsiveness, at the way he gazed back at her, his eyes searching hers deeply with an expression she could not fathom. She nuzzled the soft, silky fur of Romie cat, welcoming his heat to cover her own warmed cheeks. And she thought of Ha Jun wondering if he is awake, if he is just as lonesome, and how might he be coping tonight.

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