Surprise
On Friday I am reminded of how much I savor surprise. The need for quick adjustment tests my agility, mentally, emotionally, physically. How it enlivens. Even bad surprises do that. In the morning I am reflecting and journaling. It is my late husband’s seventh death day. October 20, 2016 – he leaves the world with a last breath in the early morning, here at home. As response, I cuddle close in bed, my hand on his heart, an occasional beat still fluttering for a long while…. He is on his journey. It is not a surprise, and yet I am stunned. Utterly bereft. A deep wailing song erupts from my throat as I keep striking my big brass tube with the mallet, soaring through the empty house, just before dawn on a warm autumn morning – seven years ago.
My commemoration in 2022 here – each year so different. On silent paws, transcendence has been setting in, another kind of closeness. The loss' pain, the disorientation and the grieving, all became compost for my inner growth, inspiring and aiding deep transformation. Loss demands change.
Usually, I let these special-marker days evolve spontaneously. In the afternoon, Emma is back after a two week break to helping in the garden on Fridays. Surprise – she arrives with her partner Henry and their friends visiting from Vermont. Libby and Maisha, married, are on a long road trip visiting family and friends. Instantly I enjoy the easy flow between these friends, all in their thirties. Henry shows them around Karinaland, while Emma helps to fix some pressing “life and death” problem on my email set-up. Then Henry takes Maisha to scout for treats for us to share a bit later. Libby is eager to work. I assign us ivy removal around the wild rose bushes. She asks for instructions, wants to learn, listens, but I can tell she is not a novice. Her body engages with relaxed, open attention as she pulls back encroaching, entangled strands to cut them low and away from plants. Ivy is a great teacher – clever, resilient, winding itself into one’s heart. Emma learned its ways for the first few months, now she is a pro. We share stories of grandmothers, learning from nature, humility. Walking up the hill we harvest a few strawberry tree fruit and Asian pears. For our tea I cut mint, oregano, rosemary and thyme. Reminiscing about Mama Oak, and the abundant riot of colorful nasturtiums in early Spring. Now there is a quiet sparseness to the land, all is preparing for winter, the energy receding into root networks.
Then Henry and Maisha are back, spreading – to our surprise – their Chinese treats on the table: packaged crackers and buns of all sorts, and a moon cake. Having grown up in China, Maisha tells us excitedly of their Chinese supermarket adventure in nearby Richmond. The sun comes out as we are sitting on the Kassandra deck with view of San Francisco and Mount Tamalpais. We share garden herb tea, my spiced apple sauce, the fresh jujube dates I just had ordered with my CSA food box, and nostalgia of Chinese delights, laughter. Thoughtful themes and stories – not shying away from race and death – weave themselves harmoniously in the circle, along with our different backgrounds and age. Libby taking a break from her work of organizing elders to stay at home, Maisha from her social work, both demanding jobs, as well as pandemic hardships and old college fun. Somehow, we arrive at stories of me “laboring” on the republication of Bob’s 1989 classic Black Lives, White Lives. This leads to me talking about my years of utter grief and needed radical adjustments. And how seven years later, I am a different person, grateful for this process of transformation. The spirit of Bob – my ancestor now – finding expression in this round of young friends. What a poignant gift for all of us today. Surprise.
It all ends with the sun setting, so softly, so golden. Me inscribing a copy of the book to the two surprise visitors, and many hugs. I am glad I had missed Emma’s last-minute text asking: can they all come? Of course, I would have agreed, but the surprise gives our afternoon an even more unique glow and flavor. This my day of remembering. Celebrating. Surprise, surprise....
For Libby’s account of the afternoon, please read comment in link below:
https://karinalandriver.blogspot.com/2022/02/interwoven-on-tuesday-at-beginning-of.html
Karina, in reading your evocation of your last day with Bob, I feel so very deeply moved it is palpable-I could hear the gong and your song. How you have been in the face of death is an ongoing teaching in the art of life.
ReplyDeleteKarina, my heart goes out to you on this day of remembrance.
ReplyDeleteAnd I am so glad for you that you received the surprise gift of such a lovely visit with your young friends, and had the opportunity to honor Bob so perfectly by giving them a copy of his work. Thus he, as a teacher, lives on; as he, in the fullness of his being, lives on in your heart and mind.