Forensic doctor who has examined 3,000 bodies: 'Preparing for death is preparing for life'
Professor Yoo Seong-ho / Hankook Ilbo
After completing four autopsies in a single day, Yoo Seong-ho, a professor of forensic medicine at Seoul National University College of Medicine, sat down to discuss what he has learned from 27 years of examining the dead. As a contracted forensic pathologist for the National Forensic Service, Yoo performs body examinations and autopsies twice a week. Unlike most doctors, he is, in his words, “a doctor you meet only after death.” Over the past three decades, he has examined more than 3,000 deceased individuals.
Yoo’s role is to uncover the stories that bodies tell, determine the cause and manner of death and restore dignity to the deceased. Far from becoming numb to his work, Yoo has spent 14 years writing an annual farewell letter — not out of despair, but out of a belief that imagining and preparing for death allows one to live each moment more fully. His reflections are collected in his recent book, “Forensic Pathologist Yoo Seong-ho’s Farewell Notes,” where he also published his own will for the first time.
Death is life’s mirror
Yoo says the bodies that arrive on his autopsy table reflect changing social realities. “Recently, I’ve seen a sharp increase in deaths from isolation,” he said. “Many are discovered too late, in advanced stages of decomposition. It started about 10 or 20 years ago, but now it feels overwhelming.”
While older men who lived alone used to make up most of these cases, Yoo has also seen a growing number of women in their 30s and 40s dying in isolation. “Most didn’t have jobs. It shows how devastating unemployment can be,” he said.
Another trend is the rising number of industrial accident deaths among foreign workers. “These are often young and healthy individuals with a strong will to live,” Yoo said. “It’s heartbreaking. Sometimes, we find traces of kimchi stew in their stomachs — their last meal before heading to work. They probably thought they were just starting another day.” Yoo paused, adding softly, “I don’t follow any religion, but when I meet so many people who never had a fair chance in life, I can’t help but hope there’s somewhere better for them.”
Professor Yoo Seong-ho / Hankook Ilbo
Yoo admits that working closely with death has reshaped his view of life. “The word ‘autopsy’ comes from the Greek autos (self) and opsis (to see),” he explained. “In a way, examining others means confronting your own eventual death. It makes you think more intensely about living meaningfully.”
While some colleagues have left forensic medicine after struggling with the trauma of examining abused children, Yoo found another perspective: “Life is precious precisely because it’s finite. Since we never know when it ends, we must savor every moment.”
Yoo’s work has also influenced how he processes personal loss. “When my mother passed away in the summer of 2022, I realized that you can’t truly ‘overcome’ the death of someone you love,” he said. “But because I had long contemplated mortality, I was able to prepare for a farewell without regrets.”
He chose to respect his mother’s decision to receive hospice care rather than continue with painful treatments. “Death belongs to the dying person,” he said. “We talked openly about the options and made decisions together. That time helped us both.”
‘We plan our trips but not our deaths’
Professor Yoo Seong-ho / Hankook Ilbo
Yoo believes society needs to prepare better for the end of life. “People meticulously plan every detail of a vacation but leave their final moments to chance,” he said. “Without preparation, we risk unnecessary suffering — for ourselves and for those we leave behind.”
In Korea, Yoo noted, conversations about death remain taboo due to deep-rooted beliefs that discussing mortality brings bad luck. Still, he sees gradual change, particularly among older women, who lead the way in writing advance directives and living wills. “Having taken care of their families all their lives, they now want to take charge of their final chapter, too,” he said.
Letters to the future
Every December, Yoo writes a will — not for legal purposes, but as a letter to his wife, son and potential future grandchildren. “I assume I have 30 years left, so these are messages they’ll receive in the future,” he said. He prints them on paper, seals them in a box and keeps them private.
His instructions are practical and deeply personal: “If I need assisted care, please don’t feel guilty about sending me to a facility,” one line reads. Another requests that his wedding suit be used for his cremation and that white wine be served to guests who want a drink at his funeral.
For Yoo, writing these letters is less about death and more about life. “Thinking about the end helps you decide how you want to live,” he said. “People often cry while writing their wills, realizing what truly matters to them.”
Yoo emphasizes that there’s no universal definition of a “good death.” “Rather than aiming for a perfect ending, I think about living ‘a life that felt good enough,’” he said. “I want to be remembered as a good son, husband and father. That, to me, is a good life — and a good death follows naturally.”
This article from the Hankook Ilbo, the sister publication of The Korea Times, is translated by a generative AI system and edited by The Korea Times.