Closing the Book

All of you who know me know I am a man of few words. I don’t show a whole lot of outward emotion, but despite the past knickname of Japanese Spock, I am human and have a lot of emotions that roll around in me. So bear with me as I spill whatever jumbles of words onto this page. It gives me something to do and helps to calm the roiling emotions that are tumbling about right now.

The call came from the nurse at just past 7 this morning. My mother had passed away. I was oddly calm, the nurse I could hear her voice breaking, and she was only with her for the night. Once again, I have to send out enormous amounts of gratitude to all the ER, ICU and staff at Queens for their compassion, kindness, professionalism. I hope that they understand how valuable they are to us. To have this level of compassion, and still carry it out day after day. I couldn’t do it, I have a soft heart, I couldn’t deal with it time and time again. Esp in the neurology dept, I’m sure they see a lot of tradgedy, and as amazing as medical technology can be, I’m sure a lot of what they see can’t be treated all that much.

The morning was nice. I didn’t bother my Dad. There was no need at the moment. I saw my mother’s tea ceremony binkake, just as she left it. That is the picture above, where I have placed her glasses. My dad did get up, and I soon broke the news to him. Understandably it was emotional, and yet also quickly also was calm. I guess there was a bit of closure. We had breakfast and calls were made. One of which was to the bosama of Jodo Mission where my mother closely worked with. I’m am infinitely glad of this. He was at the hospital when my Dad and I arrived. He is a young man and having personally worked with my mother, he was quite shocked also, but also maintained a solid composure and performed the makuragyo-last rites. The bell, chanting, rhythm, words of the sutras have an incredibly calming effect. It brings order to the chaos of emotions. His words brought great comfort, and regardless of what religion you ascribe to, the ideas are universal. I have to believe in tamashii/soul. Having seen my mother last night, and then this morning. There is no doubt in my mind. I had brought my camera with me this morning because we realized we had precious few pictures of my mother, in fact I have none. But seeing her body this morning, I couldn’t do it. As the bosama said, it is merely a body now, an empty vessel. Her tamashi has ascended and left for gokuraku. Probably she had already taken a preliminary visit and came back to let us say good bye. When we left yesterday evening and were standing at the door looking at her, as my dad said, she did truly look like a tenshi, otokesama, an angel. And by all accounts, that is how she went. I am thankful for that. And considerate to the end, my mother spared us the decision whether to stop the nutrient feeding. She simply stopped breathing.

Why she left us so early, that is something the bosama said we have to discover ourselves. Something we need to come to terms with. He personally said that is something he needs to deal with also, he also feels kanashimi-sadness and grief, on why someone so vibrant and active with the Jodo Mission and Urasenke Chado society was suddenly gone. I can’t figure that out. I don’t know if I can come to terms with saying that it was her time and that whatever god above was calling for her. I’m more comfortable believing that the stroke was really a random medical event, but once that occured, her tamashii was being guided. She was still with us up to ICU. I still remember the sheepish smile she gave us. But the hemorrhage from the stroke was severe. After the second CT scan, when she came back was when things were strange. It showed the hematoma had grown. I think her consciousness was struggling. She was reaching out with her good hand, but not for anything specific. Her tamashii was in the strange and undoubtly frightening inbetween. But soon it subsided and I think her soul had seen beyond and was at peace. From that point on it was like she was sleeping and you couldn’t wake her. She’d occasionally move her good hand to move the blanket if they had fallen down a bit, or sometimes tug at the uncomfortable nasal hoses, or once even to protect her modesty when the nurses shifted her position.  Her breathing was relaxed, even ever so lightly snoring sometimes, occasionally yawning. Sometimes her good hand would struggle in a movement as it wasn’t very strong and most of the rest of her wouldn’t move, and I’d help her and move her into a more comfortable position. I think she was resting for her final transition. Her consciousness was no longer in this world. And this made it a little easier for me, seeing her so peaceful, and oblivious to our world. Her tamashii was at rest and was not struggling to hold onto our world. And then this morning she was ready and left quietly. Careful not to bother the nurse and waiting for 15 minutes after she checked her.

There’s all kinds of scientific explanations, but having seen my mother, you cannot convince me otherwise that there is no human tamashii/soul. There is something there beyond the bag of chemical reactions sending electrical pulses around, the chains of molecules binding together. She really was gone. Her body really is empty. Now, I really can’t understand some culture’s obsession with keeping the body and burying it. Cremation makes so much more sense to me. The soul has left, there’s no point in keeping the body. The bosama was right in saying that the body now is merely a symbol that is used to remember her. It now really is a bag of chemicals, it should be sent back to the elements (my words, not the bosama).

And so now I close this book. It will not be forgotten, it will live in my memories forever, but there are no new pages in this book. It is done. There are other books that certainly will carry on what was in this book, but this one is ended.

Mom, maybe it’s the inscrutible stoic Japanese thing and I know I never really said it, but you know I love you. What I am I owe to you and Dad. Mom, I know I got from you my packrat tendencies, my soft pushover heart that has a hard time saying no, my low blood pressure, my affinity for working with my hands on small things, my absorption of Japanese culture by osmossis, my thin feet and fingers, and a million other things I don’t realize. Mom, I love you. I still don’t understand why you went so early. Did Buddha need a chado sensei, ikebana sensei, and awesome cook so badly right now? I don’t understand. But I take solace that you went with, and am at peace. Mom, watch over us and especially Dad. I can tell you I’m not done crying yet. I’ve only had one all out bawl fest so far. Lots of mini crys. I know there’s more to come for a long time. I’ll always be sad that you’re gone, but I’ll be okay.

Once again, I apologize to everyone for the long windedness of all this outpouring. This was actually written over the course of this entire day. But it feels good to put down these thoughts of mine. Thanks everyone for the support. I’ll be counting on it furthur.

Mom, wherever you are, I hope they’re being real good to you, because heaven knows you’ve been so good for all of us.