Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Joy and sorrow shared

I was doing all right till I picked up the birthday balloon -- red and blue and yellow -- blazoned with Birthday Boy! A very much loved balloon that has been dragged all over the house, bounced and tossed, a bit of a Pooh balloon on the way to Eeyore.

In my mind I see a little towheaded boy with big blue eyes and a huge grin thumping his way across the floor to greet me. Or coming down the stairs in the morning with his mom, ready for breakfast, all smiles. Or holding fast to my finger, trudging across the thick green of the backyard.

What was never meant to be became a comfortable way of life. Boomerang, Shared space. Intergenerational living.

A year ago we descended into a large flat in Asia for a brief visit. Unexpectedly we fell in love with the neighborhood and the city, and the little boy blue, only to find at the end that we'd likely never return. The job that kept his dad there was gone, the expectations moved on.

Two months after that the little boy, with parents in tow, descended on my house. For a brief visit. Unexpectedly the visit turned into weeks, months, almost a year. The space stretched, the walls expanded, the noise level rose. And a rhythm and camraderie developed that was satisfying and rewarding. Everyone had roles, places, jobs, spaces. The machine ran smoothly.

And in the middle of the tornado was a little boy with huge blue eyes, growing daily.

Life happened in these months. Death came and visited and we mourned together. Held each other and handed out tissues. Worked through grief and loss and pain. Winter was long and bitterly cold. But birthdays came too and parties. Family time in huge heaps. Children in every corner. Sticky fingers, sticky cupboard knobs, and stickier floors.

I walk through the house and feel the silence.

There's a little green Fischer Price man on the bedroom floor, well chewed. A few toys scatter across the family room. Several wayward blueberries are hiding under the booster chair. How did the little fingers ever let those precious blueberries escape?

Tomorrow I'll wake and go on. Life is very full and I have promises to keep. People to see, work to accomplish, places to go. But now, before I sleep, I'll sit and count the losses and let the tears run down my cheeks.

Life is to be shared and that sharing is rich. Separation is painful and that pain runs deep. Both are there, two sides of the same coin, inextricably linked. Yet somehow the interchange is richer because we know separation will come, know we'll survive, and know we'll come together again. Another time, another city, another life.

Miles to go before we sleep.

Friday, June 19, 2009

Little Boy Blue

Happy birthday, Little Boy Blue. Twelve months ago you entered the world amid the smells and noise and bustle and heat of Hong Kong. In your first week you got a passport, rode taxis, trains, and vans, and then took a ferry across the bay to your home. Now you've traded my favorite 31st window seat for the green grass of an American backyard.

It's been a year of hard losses. First your dad lost his job. Then you lost your adopted country. When you boarded a plane and moved halfway around the world, you lost the wonderful international family that welcomed you into the world. With your parents, you lost a culture and a precious way of life.

In the winter you lost your oldest cousin. You won't have any recollection of her, but she will temper your family and your life. You lost your dad, too, in a sense, when he had to leave to take a job in another state.

Sometimes I wish we could roll back the calendar. We'd sneak away and catch a plane to Lantau, then get the ferry across the bay. Your dad would go find ice cream at McDonalds and your mom would find Mabel and Lynn and catch up on the news. Your poppa would shoot pictures till his heart was satisfied. You and I would walk the streets, and eat ginger candy, and listen to the babble of languages. We'd go find Mr. Wong and he'd stretch his arms wide at how big you are. We'd be home, Little Boy Blue.

But it would be a dream -- because life doesn't work that way -- and it shouldn't. Life moves forward, not backwards. Your roots will influence you forever, but each year will add new dimensions. Take it all and make it yours. Stand proud when someone snickers at where you were born, or asks why you use chopsticks to eat your rice. Call your cats mau mau, and wave tai jien when you go out the door. Don't live in the past, but don't forget it either.

You've lost much, but you've gained more. Two sets of grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins, and bundles of extended family and friends. You've charmed the ladies on this side of the ocean just as you did on the other side. You've found that dads can climb into computer screens and have dinner with you, even from another state.

Soon you and your mom will join your dad and build a new life in DC. The mau mau will dash up and down the four flights of the townhouse, and you'll be close behind. There will be neighbors and friends because your mom and dad always find neighbors and friends. You'll visit the capitol and the memorials, the museums and the zoo. You'll learn to eat crabcakes and grits and put honey on your biscuits. I'm sure you'll find the best Chinese restaurants, and Indian, and Lebanese and all the other ethnic wonders of a big city.

In God's timing, you'll see your birthplace again. Meanwhile, dig your little toes into the thick grass and chase the cottonwood puffs across the yard. It's your birthday, little guy, so celebrate all you have. For all you've lost, the priceless things are what remain.

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

United nations

The chill wind tugs at my fleece but the sun is still shining brightly at 8 PM. Poppies fly a brave orange over in one yard; bright red geraniums and petunia line a driveway. But it's the people that fascinate me when I ride. A bike trip through the neighborhoods is like a trip around the world.

a all orange turbaned Sikh walks with calm dignity down the sidewalk like a tall ship sailing into harbor. His wife saried in bright blue is a bobbing dinghy about eight steps behind him. Perhaps they've been to the Indian restaurant up the street, or maybe they are just out strolling. Two teen girls pass them, dark haired, chatting in Spanish.

We round a corner and an Indonesian man, white Muslim cap firm on his head, is playing tag with his little sons and a golden cocker. They laugh and wave us by, grabbing the little dog so she doesn't chase the bikes.

Another Indian woman is kneeling in her hard planting flowers. A Middle Eastern woman, head firmly covered, ambles down the sidewalk talking in Arabic on her cell phone. A Chinese couple are sitting on their deck.

The neighborhoods are looking settled these days. The trees have almost 30 years of growth behind them and they shade most of the yards. When we first came here the cornfields were still edging the western end of the subdivisions and our yards were only a few years out of those same fields. Trees were rare. Squirrels and birds didn't come for some time. Now the rabbits are rampant, nibbling the edges of well trimmed yards, and the birds and squirrels rule. Possums, coons, and the occasional deer or coyote still range the further neighborhoods and wooded areas.

So very Midwest, and yet so international. A contrast one every corner, in every block. I watch my international neighbors, knowing full well how different this is from their countries of origin. Yet here they are, settling into a new world as I often do in theirs.

We round the corner toward home and come up our circle. Our Hindu neighbor is bringing out his trash cans, baggy pajama bottoms flapping in the rising breeze. Our kids have gone through school together. He liked our kitchen remodel and improved the design into his house. We stop and chat for a few minutes.

India, China, Lebanon, Pakistan, and other peoples, all in one small block of the Midwest. Almost need a passport to go out on a bike. Little wonder that the local school field is busy every weekend night with scores of young men and a game of ... cricket!