My Korean Boss

Shattered on the Ground

It seemed as if I never had a proper beginning to my life. Devoid of my emotions and my childhood stolen from me, the spark I had was hidden under a veil. The false smiles, the obnoxious compliments, and the look of understanding, when truly, no one could help me in reality.

I stared at the lovely pictures of my mother and father, framed separately and placed away from each other. I was itching to put the pictures together, but the look of the two mahogany coffins forced my eyes to advert to the ground.

Not one hand gently touched my shoulder, not one remark was said to me. I was standing alone in the middle of the aisle, looking on with confidence hiding away the fear, anger, and sadness coursing through my blood.

My beautiful mother decided it was best for her to peacefully leave, after suffering through so much in her life. Of course, she never expected cancer and multiple diseases dragging her down to her death. She held on for dear life, spending her time either suffering through medications too strong for her or speaking to my father and I.

She never questioned nor blamed anyone for the cause of her diseases. She joked about it like nothing, she also wore a veil to ensure my father and I that she was feeling better, that the future of her growing old and seeing her grandchildren were present, fresh in her brain.

But the hallucinations, the loss of memory, and her skin slowly sinking in deeper and deeper told us otherwise. And soon, like the doctor suspected, she wanted to give up. She just wanted her family with her, reassuring her and reminding her of the future she planned for all of us.

My father refused to acknowledge that death was a thing; he believed so strongly that my mother was the immortal goddess he fell for and married. Eventually, we convinced him it was my mother's dying wish and he let her go, painfully watching her deteriorate.

And on her dying day, she was beaming, ready to leave the world and not feel pain. She was head-on ready to face death. She felt like she accomplished everything and knew she left her legacy to me. She wanted happiness for us, feeling like she accomplished the true meaning of love and happiness in the last hours of her life.

"My sweet daughter, live on. Love like I do your father. Work hard like I did. Never give up until you feel like you're ready. You are my hardworking Cher. And don't you ever forget that strong soul of yours, okay?" My mother had smiled saying those words, slowly closing her eyes.

After her death, it seemed as everything would be okay after the mourning period. My father worked extra hard for my life, but he didn't lose himself to the tempting drugs and alcohol. But as the years went by, I said those words too soon.

Secretly, my father had been secretly doing terrible, expensive drugs in his office. He hid away in the night when I was asleep and spent most of his time drinking his sorrows away with... Others. He was trying to hide the pain, thinking I was too young to handle his pain and rage. He blamed himself everyday.

Of course, I threw countless fits at him to stop, but he never seemed to do it. I told him it was what mother would have wanted, but the words went through one ear and came out the other.

However, he did what his legacy was; he never decided to abuse me to take away his pain. He loved me like I was his princess and blamed his problems away at something else. I was his precious jewel and he never shattered it, never sold it away.

Years of trying everything, my father decided it was his turn to give up. He felt like he did everything and instead of happiness and hard work, he found pain and more sorrow. I came back from school on the first day of being a freshman, excited to have new friends, to discover him, dead.