Lora writing. Our return to Nepal (about 7 weeks ago now), as I have told some of you, was marked for me by the surprise grief at my mother’s death. Grief is sneaky that way; I am reminded in Jan Richardson’s blessing for the dailiness of grief of something that: “will take your breath away… the grieving waits for you/in the most ordinary moments. It will wake with your waking./It will sit itself down with you at the table,/inhabiting the precise shape of the emptiness across from you. It will walk down the street with you in the form of no hand reaching out to take yours. It will stand alongside you in every conversation, nearly unbearable in its silence that fairly screams.” I returned to Nepal after being in all the times and places that my mom was not, and yet was supposed to be, and I found myself caught off guard and out of breath at this place where she had never been and yet was incredibly absent from.
And then floods came, and the devastation and grief were collective– so much for this small country to bear: the anxiety of what might come next, the impacts of global climate change embodied in this particular place and landscape, and the scale and speed of loss and destruction. People all around stepped up, and we were part of responding to the floods with packing sleeping kits and sending material aid. In fact, I will go out to the field this weekend to do some trauma-informed debriefing for our partner organizations. I have been doing that here in the UMN office as our colleagues return from their frequent visits to the areas affected by the Himalayan tsunami.
But beyond material aid, the complications of the dead and missing, or recovered bodies but not identified, are made more difficult as people have to move through the rituals of loss in a time-sensitive way. And when there are no bodies, there still has to be blessings and rituals and then moving forward, always forward, as this place does, impacted by disasters annually, or monthly, weekly. Moving forward because that is what is called upon when your culture and religion understand the importance of impermanence and the place of fatalism (we are not in control—instead we are, as might be said tritely in the Christian West, in God’s hands). Culture gives shape to beautiful rituals, but then, in their completion, requires you to move on. It is a complicated place.
Part of returning to Nepal for us was saying goodbye to those we love in North America. However, when we said goodbye to my stepmom, Grandma Kathy, we knew that we would not see her and hug her in person again. Kathy lived with pulmonary fibrosis (a degenerative lung disease which was hereditary in her case), and we were grateful to see her so many times, to play card games of Canasta, to eat ice cream and share stories, hugs and Grandma Kathy’s love made edible in all forms of delicious foods. And when we said goodbye, we knew her lungs were failing. And so we continued to have video calls after we returned, and on the night of the 20th, before we went to bed, we had one more call because we knew she was not doing well. And we laughed together and teased her about her sugar intake, and she told each of us she loved us, and then we recorded Auggie’s bedtime prayer, and we sang for her and sent it off with all our love. And when we woke the next morning, we learned she had died peacefully with my stepbrothers beside her. And we were so sad, and so grateful. And so, though we didn’t anticipate it, we decided to return to Ontario for two weeks in October, for yet another funeral. It became clearer after her passing that we don’t want to regret missing this important family time. It so happens that the boys have a two-week break from October 11 – 23 for Nepali Dashain holidays.
And then three days after her death, the rain started here in earnest, and there was more flooding and more landslides, and avalanches- I read in the paper yesterday that 276 incidents were reported in a 36-hour period. But there was warning this time, and careful planning, and we cancelled our international expatriate UMN staff retreat, which I had been carefully planning (we are working on rescheduling it for January). And we sat inside in the rain. And we prayed. And then we had my birthday party- it had also been cancelled because I had been sick. So what comes next?
Likely more life, more grief, more living, more delight, and more loving. And hopefully some care for ourselves and each other. And laughter and stories and card games and ice cream to remember those who have loved us into becoming who we are. We honour them and ourselves in our continued grief and love. And hopefully some global action on climate change – (hopefully something comes of these actions announced by a collaborative group of countries and researchers). Though, on climate, I must sheepishly admit that I have loved having a smaller carbon/climate footprint while living here, and now we are taking our second round-the-world flight in 6 months. It is a good reminder that we are always living in the gray and compromised as we strain for justice and continually fall short.
On the Monday morning when I awoke and learned that Kathy had died, I was so glad that I had already planned a day with a group of wonderful women that I connect with here in Kathmandu. They all work in some form of caring/therapy, and we share resources and experiences. We had planned that day to gather and go outside of the city to a sacred place in both Buddhism and Hinduism. And we went to two sacred caves and the temple of Kali, the goddess of destruction and transformation. Our plan was to walk together, share a meal and light candles for those who had died in the floods. I also lit candles for my mom and Kathy. This interdisciplinary, interfaith group of women was such an embodied gift to me that day.
Teach me now
what it means to trust
in the dark vale of night
as I have trusted
in the full light of day.
O Christ, Light my way.
I am grateful for those of you who continue to connect with us and reach out and share life even across the ocean. Through texts, phone calls, emails and little notes. It is a miracle to be a part of such a wonderful community. And thank you for the blessings and poems, including this one:
The Path Worn Smooth
Steve Charleston
If you are walking a long and difficult path
You may find it worn smooth by the number of others
Who have had to pass this way before.
Sorrow and struggle are not new to our human family.
The number of people who have carried heavy loads
Along this same road are too many to count.
You can see the evidence of their passing.
You can also feel their presence
For in their heavy burden
They made their imprint upon the earth.
You can feel them watching over you
Encouraging you to take the next step.
The silent witnesses to our pain walk beside us.
The ancestors of our journey
Lead us to the high ground of hope.
Keep going.
We will be returning to Canada on Oct. 10 for 12 days to be able to participate in the memorial service. If you would like to read more about the marvelous woman that Kathy was, you can read her Obituary and see this note for celebration of life information – it will also be live-streamed.
And then there is life. Life as a family is so rich, and life here in Nepal, tinged as it is with grief, is so sparkly, full of laughter and hope and beautiful places and friends.
