Goodbye

There is a map and I guess it’s pretty consistent. Humans lose interest in food. Our eyes lose focus. We stop talking. In the last stages, our bodies go hot and cold, our feet get splotchy and our breathing irregular.

Then, there is the territory where there is no map. Nothing can prepare us for the final parting. My family was lucky to have had time. We could tell our father how much we loved him, how much we’d miss him and how he was free to leave. Still, nothing is more absolute than when the body goes still. He’s not with us anymore and we lose our bearings.

We had an open house in memory of our father. More than 100 people came. Relatives and friends, distant neighbors and people we didn’t even know. Everone was radiant. They ate and talked and smiled and lingered. It was the singularly sunny day in a month of undependable weather.

It makes me think more about my own end. The amount of time left is a secret. Nobody can tell me the numbers, but I think of death like tent stakes that pull life up taught. It means that there is no slack. Someone told me that I still have at least ten more years of fully productive work. Doing books in Laos makes me weary these days, but that’s not an excuse.

I went through hundreds of photos of my father. He has a radiant and infectious smile in almost all of them that speaks of his spirit in life. He was clear sighted to all the reasons in the world why he shouldn’t smile, but he chose to smile. These days, more than a few people have said that I look like my father. Nobody in my family think there’s a resemblance, but if he could smile through adversity, I would surely like to be more like him.

Dreaming

Some research claims that the only reason humans don’t get confused between nighttime dreams and daytime reality is because once we’re awake, our brain is programmed to erase what we experience in sleep.

Sometimes, during the best of dreams, I am aware in my sleep (if that’s possible) that I must try hard to remember my dream, not necessarily to bring it into daytime reality, but simply because the experience is so precious.

Within minutes after waking, the details begin to erode. Why were we waiting at a ferry dock? Why did I know this person’s entire life story even though we’d just met?

Last night it rained and I slept well. My mind was not occupied with failing students, unsold books or the daily frustrations of doing anything in Laos. Instead, I was told in the dream that I should stop for a day at a certain beach. It started with an “S” and was halfway between Savannakhet and Bangkok.

That map doesn’t quite coincide with present geography. My impeding trip to Bangkok had been smoothed to a convenient arc along a quiet coastline. What is usually a dreary trip was now full of sea breeze.

There is closure in Savannakhet. The students have proved to me that it’s possible to learn. Once young people find their own feet, they are eager to run. They run, but they remember who helped them. Years ago, students in Thailand saw me off at the train. School was finished and our classroom days were over. One student said, “Thank you for helping us to grow up.”

I’m looking at that smooth arc to Bangkok because from Bangkok I go to Seoul and to Seattle. I am going home to be with my father. I hope he won’t mind if I just sit by his side. Parents are the true teachers. We can only thank them by teaching the good lessons we’ve been taught. And then, one day, we have to say goodbye.