Thursday, April 7, 2011

I find it fascinating how life goes on… Recent devastating events in Japan have rocked that country to its core, with world-wide efforts initiated to help ease Japan’s current and ongoing burdens.
Yesterday, while on my date with my youngest son, we spoke more of what’s been going on in Japan. That triggered conversations about other incidents in our somewhat recent history that left the world stunned when they occurred. One we discussed was the Space Shuttle Challenger disaster. The other was of the collapse of the Twin Towers on 9-11. As I drove along, my son, listening intently and contributing to our conversation, clicked on his smart phone and brought up videos of both those events to help him better understand their magnitude.
We discussed those historic events for a bit longer before switching to happier subjects. I shared how I’d received a call earlier that day, informing me that our oldest son and his girlfriend will be moving back to southern California from up north. Beaming, my youngest son and I discussed how great it would be to have our family closer together. How we’ve missed having our oldest son around. How the two brothers, each having grown tremendously on their own, are now ready to embark on a more grown up relationship with one another. Nothing could make me happier.
Then, earlier today, I got a text from a friend, asking me if I’d heard the news about the most recent aftershock in Japan. I told him I hadn’t as I’d been in somewhat of a media blackout while traversing my mountain trail. He filled me in. All I could do was shake my head in disbelief and have my heart, once again, go out to the people of Japan, for all their suffering.
With a heavy heart, I headed to my Pilates class, during which, I couldn’t help but dwell on the feeling of sadness I felt for Japan and her occupants. Arriving home, I poured myself into the hectic routine of making dinner interspersed with driving my son to and from soccer practice. Later, as we sat around the table, eating and conversing, my thoughts kept returning to Japan. I didn’t want to ruin the light mood everyone else was in, so I kept my thoughts to myself still unable to shake my sadness.
After dinner, I was in my office, getting some work done, when my daughter entered with our granddaughter, Kai, who she placed on the floor. Kai looked from her mom to me and then beamed a toothless grin so full of enthusiasm that her eyes crinkled shut. When they reopened, Kai immediately began her new inchworm technique of crawling straight for me, intent to reach me as soon as she could.
It was in that very moment, my breath caught and focusing intently on Kai, that I finally shook my sorrowful feeling over Japan’s woes, marveling over a new beginning—that of our granddaughter doing the very crawl I’d taught her only days earlier.
I sat there, my gaze shifting from my daughter to my granddaughter and back again. The whole while, my mind vacillated over topics recently discussed: Japan, the Twin Towers, the Space shuttle Challenger, our oldest son moving back to town. And it was then that dawning awareness set in—no matter what, life goes on.
Half a world away, somewhere in Japan, though the country is torn apart, no doubt, there is a little baby taking it’s first tentative crawl just as our granddaughter is. And that’s a good thing, for it’s a tactile reminder that life goes on. People recover. Devastations are survived. Tragedies make us stronger for having endured them. And most of all, no matter how young or old or whatever station in life, the human spirit will find a way to move forward. It may be in the form of a comical inchworm crawl, but that is forward momentum. And in the end, that’s what will carry us through.