Forever in our hearts

 12 years have flown by without a deep dive into grief. These stories helped me overcome the loss of my mother - the first real impactful passing. Since then, there have been many adventures and several other passings - my father, their dog and now, one of the hardest since - my beloved Chico.

I wasn't supposed to have any pets - I would go to the SPCA to get my fix and give a little love to the babies waiting for their forever home. This day, I saw 2 dogs in a cage - a medium size mutt and a wee little 4.5 lb tan chihuahua with a nonchalant attitude. For purposes of curiosity, I asked if I could hold him.

In the meet and greet room he was placed in my arms and he acted like he wasn't impressed. He had a shaved part of his leg from being dropped off with a broken leg after biting someone. Since coming to know him, I believe he was in the wrong home that aggravated him until he couldn't take it any longer. I was advised he wasn't good with children. He proved that he was the sweetest with the youngest humans. Chico continued to act like he didn't care one way or another and thanks for the hugs.

My rental didn't allow pets but there was something about this little one that he HAD to become part of my family. I called my dad and BEGGED, pulling out all the daughter mannerisms so he could act as my landlord and I could use his address to adopt this dog. Surprisingly, he acquiesced after much pleading. 

On Oct. 10, 2008 Chico officially became part of our family. 

First on the agenda was to change his name. In the age of Taco Bell's campaign, I didn't think it was really cool to have a boy chihuahua named Chico. Really?!? But he was not having any part of a name change. This was my first introduction into his stubbornness and strength of mind which I grew to adore. 

He loved his stuffies and would methodically pull out the stuffing, throw it all over the house and keep the carcass in his bed. He received a pink bear that was slightly bigger than him. This became Humpy Bear when 8:00 at night, every night, he would have some love time with humpy bear without fail. In one of the house moves, humpy bear disappeared. 

Chico moved with me 8 times, always finding his spot. I believe his favorite space was in New Kent when he got his own room. He shared it with a couple dressers and a make-up table but in essence it was his room. This was also the space where he got a last goodbye when Uncle JJ came for a visit after passing and after peeking in our room, went next door to say bye to Chico. 

Chico was the best big brother. He introduced Lilith to the comfy couch and shared his clothes (more on that later) but was not happy when Lilith took his beloved squirrel. They loved playing dress up and going visiting during her short life. 

Chico shared the same love to Idgie when she came into our lives. 

And was a great big brother to Basquiat and to Zen.

When Pops passed, Poppy became part of our pack and Chico had no problem including him as they had been pals for quite some time. Mom had gotten Poppy right before Chico came into our lives when she was first diagnosed with breast cancer. Poppy was with us until 2018.

 

As long as anyone didn't mess with his bed, his food or his space he was happy to show the new kids the ropes. In the last year of his life, he was spoon fed for his meals and Basquiat and Idgie happily waited for him to finish so they could lick his bowl. Sometimes he didn't feel like eating so they got a bonus meal on those nights. 

Speaking of dinner time, 5:00 was the magic hour. Starting at 3:00, Zen would start the charades of letting the others know it was almost time to eat. Starting at 4:00 and sometimes earlier, Chico would make his rounds circling the first floor until time to eat. Unfortunately, Zen would wait in hiding and swat his legs as he passed by and we would hear a scramble of nails on the floor as Chico regained his footing. 

Until Chico got too chunky for his clothes, he had a great wardrobe. He was particular to what he would wear, standing still and refusing to move if an outfit wasn't to his liking. He had his own bag to carry changes of outfits so he would always be prepared. 

Chico was always up for adventures. He would ride in my messenger bag for bike rides at the oceanfront. Approaching hurricanes begged for beach time so he and Poppy could play with the foam the waves created. He would bury down into my jacket when the obligatory first snow walk commenced. He saved me from many snakes during hikes at First Landing State Park. 

His adventurous spirit also got him in trouble - he was infamous for stealing food if left in the vehicle. Whether it was steak or schwarma, he was an opportunist. Once when Drake cleaned his room, he came across the nose of a pig that topped a pot pie I had made. Chico had stolen it during dinner one night. Luckily it preserved well and didn't mold because it was found a year after that specific dinner. His bed was the lair for stolen items and we never knew what would be found there. 

Chico was also the inspiration for artists

And he put up with me in so many ways

Chico was my sidekick, adventurer, soother and best kiddo for so many years. I am grateful for all the lessons he taught me and blessed me with. 

 He's coming home today for the final time. 

The best gift ever

After a little reprieve down memory lane, there’s a wee bit of holiday tradition that needs to be shared.

In our family, my mum was the keeper of mirth. Christmas, while not traditionally celebrated in Japan, was no different occasion to incur such mirth.

The unwrapping of presents began like any other household – gathered around the tree waiting for your name to be read on the tag. However, after a couple of gifts, there ultimately would be unnamed gifts, ones who were left unlabeled accidentally. We would at least open one gift that belonged to another.

Then the odd request would be spoken… “Hey Pat, why don’t you get the shaving cream for me?” That would mean my brother would have to go to my parents’ bathroom and under the shaving cream cap would be a hidden bill. Usually ones but often fives and occasionally a ten, my parents would hide money throughout the house. My mischievous brother would take forever getting back because he was hunting all other potential hiding spots, cheating to get more cash. Once a couple more presents were opened, another odd request would be asked, each child taking turns to find hidden cash. What never failed was my parents would forget all of the hiding places. Sometimes throughout the year a lucky recipient would find a forgotten bill hidden behind a frame or tucked under a doily.

This tradition evolved as we got older and had kids of our own. It was still done at my parents’ house but there was no ulterior goal; it was all about finding money. They would corral us in a bedroom with the door closed and hide money throughout specified rooms – usually the front room and the kitchen. Once it was all complete, they would unleash us to the wilds. The first year, it was a free for all, fend for yourself chaos. My brother would usually park himself at the door and tear down the hall to be the first in the room. My memory recalls flying couch cushions, rug burns from diving towards dropped cash and utter mayhem. Plus a lot of screaming and laughing and boos for missing a hiding spot.

After that tornado experience, they changed tactics. After hiding the money, they would drag each person to a different starting spot around the rooms. This was beneficial to the little ones but never stopped my brother from tearing through on his mission to find the most cash. Even quiet ones quickly got into the spirit and cheered when a bill was found.

Over the years we've had variations of the cash hide-n-seek. During a summer gathering, my mum and I stuffed bills into balloons and strung them across the living room. After being blindfolded, the person had one chance to pop a balloon with a needle taped on the end of a stick. During a highly stressful time in publishing, my boss and I hid money throughout the workspace to create a breather in the deadline. We made the caveat that once someone found 3 bills regardless of the denomination they had to stop searching. At one point there was a remaining bill tucked in the acoustic ceiling tile in the kitchen. As I directed the seekers that they were getting warm, one person spotted the lone bill. The table had to be climbed on to reach the bill but it was not stable for 5 people to jump on at once. We did break the table but the relief from the stress was worth it.

Our first Christmas without mum didn't change the tradition, though we missed hearing her rich laughter and gasps at what we wouldn't do to find money. Pops took a huge stack of two dollar bills to be found. Even at the end of a sweaty side splitting time, all of the bills weren't found. I do believe one of the last bills was found over the summer tucked away under a rug.

The great memories were started, though, when the air was cold and the scent of Christmas was in the air. It was one of the many unique traditions in our family but by far was the one chock full of laughs, screams and hilarity.

Day 7 – Bittersweet

How should the soul not take wings
when from the Glory of God

It hears a sweet, kindly call:
"Why are you here, soul? Arise!"

How should a fish not leap fast
into the sea from dry land

When from the ocean so cool
the sound of the waves reaches its

How should the falcon not fly
back to his king from the hunt

When from the falconer's drum
it hears to call: "Oh, come back"?

Why should not every Sufi
begin to dance atom-like

Around the Sun of duration
that saves from impermanence?

What graciousness and what beauty?
What life-bestowing! What grace!

If anyone does without that, woe-
what err, what suffering!

Oh fly , of fly, O my soul-bird,
fly to your primordial home!

You have escaped from the cage now-
your wings are spread in the air.

Oh travel from brackish water
now to the fountain of life!

Return from the place of the sandals
now to the high seat of souls!

Go on! Go on! we are going,
and we are coming, O soul,

From this world of separation
to union, a world beyond worlds!

How long shall we here in the dust-world
like children fill our skirts

With earth and with stones without value,
with broken shards without worth?


Let's take our hand from the dust grove,
let's fly to the heavens' high,

Let's fly from our childish behaviour
and join the banquet of men!

Call out, O soul, to proclaim now
that you are rules and king!

You have the grace of the answer,
you know the question as well!
~Rumi

Yesterday, July 16 2011, was a bittersweet day… a day when we made the hardest decision of our lives and said goodbye. The balm in my heart was the peace she finally received.
The start of this project was in anticipation of this day. It’s been an amalgam of thoughts with snippets left for this particular blog. Now that it is here, I found those words just a little difficult to put down. In fact, I gave my brain a little rest yesterday and didn’t write to just be in the day and to reflect.

It is the first anniversary that is almost as hard as the process. When I spoke with my brother, he said exactly how I was feeling, “It’s still not real.” Upon hearing the voice of my mum’s friend on the phone checking up on us, the sound of a Japanese accent brought back so much of what I missed that was my mum. It was so nice that the spirit of my mum lives in so wide of a spectrum. Her friend had called to let us know her church prayed for her and her family today.
But just like each day since one year ago, we wake up and have our coffee, go into our garden, cook our things and live life. We go through our moments and travel through our day in the hecticness of modern day life. Yet in looking back, I see a little different color to each day. I see the shade of red that was one of mum’s favorite colors adding a hue throughout the day. I see the traditions I carry each day in honor of her.

One such tradition is lighting incense for her…usually at night when I go to bed. It’s my tradition that I brush, put the dog in his crate, and stop to light incense for her and say goodnight. Or say thank you. Or say help. Or say anything else that comes into my mind. It is a moment of reflection that has come into my life as a direct memory of watching mum do the same with her deceased. From the Japanese incense she used to use, to the stones in the dish that was like what she used, my little spot of tradition is my daily dose of Japanese. It is also in this spot that she had her first bowl of rice in this house. Tradition dictates that the first bowl of rice in a new pot goes to honor those that aren’t with us.

Through conversation and reflection, I know her passing from this realm is just a journey of her spirit and she lives through and in each of us. She lives on through the stories, through the traditions and through the ways our lives would not have been if it wasn’t for her presence. For that I am so thankful.

Just like her jovial spirit, yesterday had some awesome moments that brought great smiles. Perhaps it was a response to some prior blogs I had written.
We had helped Pops clean and organize his garage…a daunting task. We made it through the piles and sorted. We approached the end of the garage where boxes were piled up. The only way to do a task is with the spirit of Mary Poppins so with one box grabbed we began the journey of this task. The boxes held a lot of mum’s clothes so we sorted into donations, things we would like to keep, etc. One box in particular had shoes and bags. After a couple of pairs of shoes sorted, there were the acupressure shoes I had written about. I immediately put them on and in painful glory relished wearing these shoes. My feet had been hurting and it was a glorious pain that I walked back and forth in these shoes. I brought them home with me and I look forward to the owies as I walk in them.

A little further in the box, was a packet of Japanese health things. Upon looking inside, it was the batch of acupuncture needles…With The Chart!!! Woohoo! I get to experiment… perhaps to the lament of those around me.

So…Mum..thank you for these little gifts. Thank you for the wonderful traditions and memories. Thank you for being you and for giving each of us the amazing spark that was you.
Thank you.

Day 6 – 24 hours isn’t enough

Everyone has been made for some particular work, and the desire for that work has been put in every heart. ~Rumi

It is with sore feet and a full day that I am finally having my moment with mum and writing. She amazed me with her ability to accomplish a large list of tasks in one day. I’m sitting here with half of my insanely long list of things I wanted to get done actually finished…there wasn’t enough day to do it all. Mum, on the other hand, would have her house meticulously clean (she really did spring cleaning about weekly), cook the food she wanted to cook, make the things she wanted to make and still have time left over in the day. That’s what it seemed to me anyways.
I always talk to mum when I wipe the floor – her philosophy was a floor should be wiped with a rag on hands and knees. That is the only way to make sure all crevices are clean and I agree. I use the convenience of a mop when I am short on time but I do so with guilt that mum is watching and letting me know I missed the corners.

As I made dinner, I reflected on how what I was cooking was reflective of my life as a whole. I made black beans to go with rice, eggplant from my pops’ garden and I watched over the batch of pickles that were cooking. The eggplant was cooked the only way I know how, the way mum did it. A little oil and stir fried and topped with soy sauce – that is yummy goodness. Rice was made the only way also – in a rice cooker. As we sat down for dinner, I had a plate full of mum’s goodness as I also broke out the seaweed topping that we grew up on, had my happy eggplant and my Japanese rice. This is a happy meal full of many memories of lunch with mum.

The pickles are something I learned a year ago. Canning always intrigued and scared me. My partner’s heritage insists that when the summer cucumbers start coming off the vines, the smell of pickles cooking isn’t far behind. It’s pretty cool to go into our stash and get a jar of something we had chopped, stirred and canned. The sweet pickles we make taste like heaven ,too. What rocks is that we get a lot of cucumbers from Pop’s garden so it’s a great merging of families – all in a little jar. My mum would pickles watermelon rind which I’ve seen in country stores in Virginia but I know they are far different from the ones she made. I don’t think soy sauce is an ingredient of American watermelon pickles. I lament I never got the recipe of her watermelon pickles; they tasted like summer in small little bites.

With exhaustion I went to bed to finish this blog in the morning. As I watched the weather, I realized the heat was starting early so I went out to the garden first thing and did the yard before the sun would be too brutal. I remember mum would go out in the yard before the sun came up to make sure her skin wouldn’t get dark. Since it was wicked early, she edged the yard with scissors as to not wake the neighbors. Pops got her a handheld edger but she preferred her way. Even before most people would get out of bed she would have her flower bed and garden looking crisp and ready to greet the day. I now get it…get things out of the way before the wicked sun zaps all energy.

Mum’s energy was almost unending and I am amazed at all she did. When we were young, she did everything and took care of 3 wee ones. Most of my memory was once we came to the United States and she went to work but I remember even then she would take on so much. I would help her tear down the uniforms for her to repair. Even though I goofed a lot, she would be thankful for the help of taking off buttons and patches as she sewed into the night. Her spirit carried into her work and she had a loyal following of Marines. At her funeral there was a retired Marine that came to pay his respects, he never forgot mum and had some wonderful things to say about her. She left that job a while back but her memory still lingers.

My hope and thanks carry through the traditions I use every day. Mum set an example and like Mary Poppins she had her way of doing things. As I go through my tasks, invoking her way of doing things makes the job go a little faster. And even though she may be watching to make sure I get the corners done, it is with a smile that I scrub a little harder…just for her.