"Gwaenchanh-a, gwaenchanh-a," she said. It‘s okay, it‘s okay.
Korean words so familiar, the gentle coo I‘d heard my whole life that assured me whatever ache was at hand would pass. Even as she was dying, my mother offered me solace, her instinct to nurture overwhelming any personal fear she might have felt but kept expertly hidden. She was the only person in the world who could tell me that things would all work out somehow. The eye of the storm, a calm witness to the wreckage spinning out into its end. - P118