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How’s your first taste of Seoul?” he asked, looking up at the ceiling, lying next to his mom.

“Nothing special,” Mom said, and laughed. She turned to look at him, and started to talk of times gone by. “You’re my first child. This isn’t the only thing that you got me to do for the first time. Everything you do is a new world for me. You got me to do everything for the first time.

Mom’s hands were frozen ... a rebuke tumbled out of his mouth, asking her how she could follow a stranger just because he told her to. Mom scolded him right back: “How can you live without trusting people? There are more people who are good than people who are bad!” And she smiled her typical optimistic smile.

“Did you like being in the kitchen? Did you like to cook?”...Mom’s expression asked, What kind of question is that? And then she murmured, “If you only do what you like, who’s going to do what you don’t like?”

“So—what—you liked it or not?”

Mom looked around, as if she was going to tell you a secret, and whispered, “I broke jar lids several times.”

At night you lay across her lap and listened to the stories she told you. You remembered how your aunt used to slide an arm under your neck at night to fashion a pillow for you. Even though she had left this world, you still remembered your aunt’s scent from those childhood visits.