i also realize that our memories are not necessarily accurate. and in the end that doesn't matter. it's not rocket science to admit we make our own reality.
if there's one thing i've learned about myself and these urges - i should follow them, or else they start to haunt me and actually just might prevent me from doing other things.
so... let's start at the beginning. my first clear memory [i'm 2 - so it's really not that clear, but there are flashes that i can see, and really feel if i close my eyes].
we are not home. it's just me and mommy. she is in an all black robe [kimono] - with white that peeks out where it crosses her chest. there are white emblems on the collar too.
we are in a room. it's square. no one is wearing shoes. we sit on the floor [tatami]. there are other people in the room. some of them are in black robes too.
there is a man. he sits in the middle of the room - the rest of us surround him. he has no hair. he is chanting. endlessly.
my legs hurt. they are cramped. but i sense i shouldn't move. or make much noise.
the chanting. it goes on for what feels like forever. all the faces, but none i recognize. when we get up my legs are unsure. wobbly.
... ... ... ...
this was my obasan's funeral. i don't really remember people crying. or my mother being sad. which i know she was. i don't remember who else was there, or any other part of that trip, really. i know what others have said. i think when we flew to japan my mom and i were late... she was running down long airport hallways with me [but i've heard this story so many times i don't know if that's my memory, or my remembering people telling me]. i think someone held up the plane for us. i know i was trying to reassure my mom [so she tells me].
i do know i haven't been to another funeral quite like it. that the smell of tatami, particular incense, and certain kinds of wood transports me back to japan. that if i see an image of a buddhist priest sitting from a certain angle, this comes back.
i also know that i would not want to be a newish mom traveling 1/2 way around the world with my toddler child to say goodbye to my own mother. i think about how strong [and young] my mother was. how until i was a mother there was no way to understand the depth of resources and reserves a mother seems to develop. or that the gratitude you feel for your own mother is magnified 1000 fold when you become one.