By Tabitha Bozeman
This week, I marked Memorial Day weekend in Hungary and Serbia. On Monday, I texted with my family in the morning as they were getting ready to celebrate with family, and I was getting ready to have dinner across the Atlantic. It was sunny and hot where I was, and stormy and hot at home. I was conscious of the differences in our day, but also the similarities.
Memorial Day in the United States is a specific kind of remembering. We remember those who have served our country and have made the highest sacrifice for it as they defend the rights and privileges of being Americans. It is also a good time to remember that time is fleeting and our lives are never guaranteed to be the same year to year. It is a reminder to thank those we love for all they do, to remember those in our families and friend groups, our communities and nation who have prioritized the greater good over personal gain. But, in remembering those who are gone, we are also acknowledging those they left behind. As May Sarton reminds us, though, this is something we must choose to do, intentionally as “We remember consciously to remember the lives we [and others] have lived.”
Several women and I sat outside a restaurant in Belgrade, the capital city of Serbia, and found ourselves chatting about many things–but the discussion focused on people and events from the past. We were, in our own way, memorializing the relationships, and experiences, as well as the people we remembered. As I sat under the restaurant canopy with these new friends I met only two weeks ago, I thought about this act of remembrance and memorializing those who have gone before us. One woman received a call that ended her trip early, a call that no mother ever wants to receive, and that evening I thought about how she was grieving at home while we chatted in Serbia. Each of us had similar thoughts and we shared some stories as remembrances of those we knew and loved. We were a diverse group from Alabama, Canada, South Africa, and Australia, but we all had similar stories and experiences.
There is a Korean term for the connection humans develop when they have spent time with another person, or share experiences with them–particularly a life-changing or traumatic experience, but not necessarily a negative one. The term is Jeong (정). Often, when we think about someone long after our time with them has passed, we can feel like we are “stuck” in remembering. But in Korea, this is just considered part of life and relationships–connections between humans that are not only the result of trauma or romance, but the lasting effects of interacting with those around us in an authentic, real way. Rather than pushing themselves to get over a relationship, or forget someone, acknowledging Jeong (정) is a way to honor the human aspect of our social and emotional connections and experiences.
Khalil Gibran highlights this connection in a similar way by exhorting us to “Let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit.” Celebrating friendships, sharing sorrows, remembering those we have lost are all ways to not only memorialize others, but also our own relationships and life experiences. I may have been a continent away from my family on Memorial Day this year, but I was still remembering with them and with new friends.
Later that night, I called each of my children to check on them, and tell them I loved them. I thanked my husband for all he was doing, and I thought about my grandfather and great-grandfather. Both were proud veterans and I have many childhood memories of looking at their service photos and memorabilia. I loved looking at their enlistment photos and imagining who they were as young people. I thought about the friends they lost during their enlistments. I remembered the family they left behind and how loved they were. This collective memorialization we all create together, both publicly and privately, is its own special kind of Jeong.
