A medical student reflects on her experiences with death, navigating the emotional landscape of loss both within the clinical setting and through the passing of her grandfather. She discovers solace in his calligraphy and the poignant memories it evokes.

Facing Death in Medical Training

Even before her grandfather’s passing, the author was intimately acquainted with death through her medical training. For two years, her days were spent on hospital wards, participating in rounds, completing tasks, and communicating with families. She often found herself delivering difficult news, offering condolences with phrases like, “I’m sorry,” and “I wish things were different.”

Emotional Distance and Routine

The author quickly recognized how easily a beginning could transition into an ending. Following her first months on the hospital floor, she found herself unable to cry. She experienced multiple patient deaths, each followed by a flurry of necessary tasks – writing notes, checking labs, and returning pages. A death simply meant a bed becoming available for the next admission, quickly prepared for a new patient.

While the memory of patients remained, their personal belongings and names were routinely cleared from the space. This routine provided a necessary buffer, preventing her from fully processing the emotional weight of each loss. To slow down and truly observe would disrupt the momentum needed to navigate the demanding hospital environment.

A Grandfather's Passing

At the cemetery, the author walked among the graves, joining her family gathered in a small patch of shade. Her grandfather’s casket lay before them, appearing different than it had in the chapel. She felt an urge to cover it, struggling to find words to describe the scene as the priest swung the thurible.

She could identify the white carnations, incense, and pall, but the scene felt distant and unreal. Returning home, she instinctively engaged in familiar tasks – laundry, cleaning, and organizing groceries – attempting to process her grief through routine.

Finding Solace in Calligraphy

The author found herself able to reduce her grandfather’s final moments to clinical shorthand, a detached summary of his medical history. However, true solace came when she sat with his calligraphy, his seoye – decades of cursive handwriting in bold brushstrokes. These pages, the only belongings she felt compelled to keep, held a profound connection to his life.

A Connection to Home and Memory

She discovered a draft of Kim Sowol’s “Jindallae Flower,” a poem she hadn’t thought of in years, but which had accompanied her from her grandfather’s home to Boston. Reading the poem transported her back to his house, evoking vivid memories of the smells, sounds, and atmosphere of his life. The memories triggered a release of long-suppressed tears.

She recalled her grandfather’s calm demeanor and gentle humor during their last conversation, his pride in her becoming a clinician. She also remembered the patients who came before him, their funerals, and the difficult task of returning their belongings to grieving families.

Tracing the Brushstrokes of Grief

Sitting with his calligraphy, the author traced his brushstrokes, recognizing they were created in a different time and place. She found herself unable to look away, deeply connected to the legacy of his art and the memories it held.