Name: Kim Cho-ae (김초예) Age: 17 Occupation: Junior at Danwon High School (Class 9) Siblings: Two younger sisters Kim Cho-ae (17) was like a mother to her two younger sisters. Both her parents were busy with work, so she would prepare every meal and snack for her sisters and also helped them with their schoolwork. To her mother she was like a friend. They went grocery shopping together and she enjoyed going for walks with her mother. Until the second grade, Cho-ae was trouble with poor health. She was busy going in and out of the hospital, especially during the transitional seasons of spring and autumn. Her mother would say that eating well was the key to becoming healthy, and no matter how busy she was, she made sure that Cho-ae got all three meals and snacks. Thanks to this dedication, Cho-ae became healthy enough to leave the hospital behind. She was a bit reserved around strangers, but around friends she could be cheeky and had a cheerful personality. From a young age, she constantly talked about wanting to work with children with speech disorders. As she grew older, she decided her dream was to become a nurse, because, she said, “It’s easy to get a job.” She called her mother on the first day of the class trip, on April 15 to let her know, “I’m going to bed early,” – these became her parting words. On hearing the news of the Sewol Disaster the following day, her mother called Cho-ae countless times, but she wasn’t able to hear her daughter’s voice. Cho-ae returned to her mother’s arms on April 25, 10 days after the disaster, and she now rests with her friends at Hyo-won Cemetery in Kyung-ki. Cho-ae’s mother and father have not returned to work, their days are spent rushing to-and-fro for Cho-ae’s sake – to collect signatures for the petition demanding the passing of a Sewol Bill. A Letter From Her Mother To our beloved eldest daughter Cho-ae. Whenever we called, “Cho-ae! Cho-ae! Our eldest daughter,” you would reply, “What is it? Mom, Dad?” We can never no longer hear your voice. Whenever you thought we were tired you would give us a hug and say, “Mom, Dad, I love you.” But now, no matter how much we call out to you, we can’t see you. Now it is just your mother and I, walking down streets that we used to walk down with you. We walk those streets and say “Remember when we were here with Cho-ae..?” Choe-ae, your mother and I were so happy as we watched our beautiful daughter grow over the past 18 years. We still can’t believe that it’s no longer possible to hug you or hear your voice when we want to. Cho-ae, our eldest daughter, will you wait for us awhile? In the days to come, your mother and I will go to find you in the Lord’s arms. Be happy with your friends and teachers until then. We love you daughter. From Dad.
Posted on: Tue, 16 Dec 2014 07:14:00 +0000
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