Michiko's America

September 11, 2001 drew a clear line in my sky watching habit: before then I’d always hope for blue skies without any clouds; after 9.11 though, I’ve always looked for clouds in the sky.  I can’t forget that blue sky without a spec of a cloud that looked serene and ominous.  So delirious, deceptive, and destructive.

My initial fear of the blue skies has faded over time, but my habit of looking for clouds persisted.  I had forgotten about the reason why I started looking for clouds until last September.  One of my friends, with whom I’d paired up for double’s tennis matches for many years was diagnosed for stage four cancer.  Although I didn’t know the diagnosis right away, I sensed something very bad had happened.  Almost immediately she decided against any advanced medical treatments, and to let the disease take its course.  Some friends felt that she should not give up without a fight, but I took it that she decided to live her life on her terms.  She knew that she would suffer either way, and she chose quality of life over an extended life with extensive, painful, and probably expensive cancer treatments.

I started looking for clouds more often.  I didn’t know why looking at the clouds could comfort me.  But I couldn’t think of anything else to do in order to distract me from the prospect of losing her.  Our tennis group continued on, playing once a week and with a new member.  When we switched sides between games, I’d look up and find clouds, and was amazed by how different the skies were each time I looked up.  One Tuesday, at the beginning of our match, many muffin-shaped clouds looked as if they were marching somewhere.  Then, half way through the match, a never-ending tapestry was being woven across the sky.  When the match was over, two jet streams were going over the trees as if they would wrap around the world like a ribbon on a present.

They seem to choose the height where they want to be.  But the truth is that they have no control over where to go, and what shape they’ll have the next moment.  The other force, wind, moves them around.  The clouds seem to accept this without resisting.  Sometimes, they disappear but always come back.  This is the life cycle of water that quenches our thirst, soaks the fields, and in turn feeds us with all kind of food.  For me, clouds are like rivers in the sky.  I see life in them.

Looking at the sky, I’m aware I am nothing.  Strangely, it gives me solace knowing that I’m a tiny dot in the history of humanity, and in the end what I do or don’t do probably doesn’t matter much.  It’s okay to feel helpless.  It’s probably an illusion that I can do something about anything.  It’s okay to let your friend go.

One Tuesday I was sitting on the steps of the library while I waited for another tennis friend to come back to see me.  We had played tennis earlier, and she was going to take our friend to the doctor’s.  I looked up in the sky.  I saw a duck-shaped cloud.  Then the beak got longer and it no longer looked like a duck.  A few seconds later, a thin and wide cloud came from the right and attached itself to the body of the bird, creating a crane.  Thank you, clouds, for the wonderful gift.

Our tennis group went to New York Botanical Garden two years ago in September, and there I was enchanted by red nasturtium.  I asked my tennis partner, who was quite knowledgeable about gardening, how to spell it.  She wrote it on a scrap of paper that I still keep in my drawer.

On a Sunday morning in May, it was raining hard.  I went outside with the nasturtium seeds that I soaked in water overnight.  I tried to protect the seeds with my umbrella and my back got wet.  As I dug holes for the seeds, I realized how silly I was: the seeds had been soaked and were meant to be blessed with rain.

I didn’t know this then, but the previous night, my friend became really ill, called an ambulance, and admitted herself to the hospital.  She was in a coma by the morning.  She passed away that night.

I was fine, I knew that day would come.  But my body couldn’t cope with it.  I felt I was eviscerated.  I found it strange, that the days went by as if nothing had happened and I was able to perform my work and do my chores.  Habits are a godsend, when your body can’t comprehend or accept what has happened.  It was only a couple weeks ago when she died, but sometimes it feels like it happened a long time ago.  Time warps to trick my mind and helps me go forward with my life.

Our souls are eternal.  I believe that without a shadow of a doubt.  So, her soul is now out of her battered body, and freely traveling through time and space.  I hope she’ll visit my garden so that she can see the red nasturtiums reflecting the summer light.

Meanwhile, I’ll look for clouds in the sky, and remind myself of how helpless I am in the face of physical death.  All I can do is let her go without resistance, like the clouds pushed around by the wind.  At the same time, the clouds give me a glimpse of hope.  The hope that we can do some beautiful things while we are on earth, like the clouds that create wonderful shapes in the sky, however briefly.