Part 1_In Search of Comfort

By the power of shame
The plague of misfortune
I am a father
Temperature of Silence
In search of comfort
I have to cry today
Pain that someone has already experienced
With sadness
Not so bad

Part 2_Regret keeps me awake

A sad and admirable beginning
wife's face
It doesn't snow on Christmas
Sadness keeps me awake
A heart that cherishes beautiful scenery
It's still warm
your trembling
It's okay to be shy
hi
Knee

Part 3_The Well of the Heart

Hit the nail on the head
Is it really okay?
Old informal language
Soft irritation
It's hard to hate
Mind Scale
Can I always be honest?
A person who resembles a seagull
3 seconds
precious words
Take a step back
Well of the Heart
A better person

Epilogue_I will be high and good

He spoke with great effort.
“It’s not my father who passed away, it’s my son.
“I am the father.”

Sadness came without warning.
Having lost his son, the poet faces a pain that no one can replace.
He worries that his pain will spread to those around him, and he locks his heart in the hope that people will soon forget the great misfortune that has befallen him.
Sometimes, it's frustrating to not be able to fully express your feelings even to those close to you, whom you believed would empathize with your cries more than anyone else.

What kept me from collapsing at that time was the time I spent with my son.
At the death registration, he is shocked by the questions about the deceased's assets and education, but he recalls the countless memories his son left behind that cannot be recorded on the death registration.
Despite the good intentions of those around him who suggest he move so he can forget his son's traces, he cannot leave the room where he slept with his son and the path he walked with him.
I don't want to leave.
How can we fathom the heart that resolves not to try to ignore sadness but to embrace it and live on?

Life goes on even in sorrow

But looking at Giacometti's "Walking Man," I thought that perhaps comfort is not something that comes to you, but something that you seek out.
It occurred to me that I should approach the comforter and speak to the comforter.
I felt like the people around me had been waiting for me to feel better enough to tell them my sad story and offer the comfort they had prepared.
I was moved to tears.
_Page 42

What makes this book even more poignant is that he doesn't dwell solely on his own pain.
He expresses his deep affection for his wife and family, and calmly shares the big and small reflections he has discovered in life.
Unusually for a young writer, he grew up in the countryside and in Part 2 he looks back with respect on the honest lives of his parents and grandfather.
I find myself smiling quietly at scenes where he talks about his love life with his wife or is jealous of her innocent first love.
Part 3, which contains advice to weigh praise and criticism on a "mental scale" when criticism is difficult to bear, tips on being honest without hurting others, and ways to deal with annoying people, will make you perk up your ears.
As he reflects on his company life while watching his beloved colleague leave, and as he delicately discerns the culture of speaking easily to younger people and the habitual language used in everyday life, we can gauge how seriously he values ​​life.

One step to not forget someone precious

And then I lost my son.
I was lost in my sorrow.
Now I was sure that there were no more happy days left.
But that doesn't mean I can give up everything.
So I decided to live a life of fulfillment instead of happiness.
I promised to become a better person.
Pages 201-202

There are many ways to mourn someone.
Rather than wallowing in sorrow over his deceased son, Yoo Byeong-rok chose to become a “better person.”
Instead of giving in to the harsh breakup, I find courage once again.
This book is his pledge to not give up on the terrible tragedy and become a better person.
It is also a fervent promise to not forget his son.
It would be absurd to say that we are in pain for him in the face of the unspeakable pain he has endured, but we can suffer with him.
The little finger he extends with all his might may be a silent consolation that the reader of this book can offer.

Now the son who had that name is no longer in this world.
There is no one left to bear the weight of the name that tells us to live a high and virtuous life.
But we cannot allow that name to be forgotten.
I'll just put that name on my shoulder.
I will live uprightly and virtuously in my son's name.
_Page 211