I've stopped blogging here. I've found that I like Wordpress better.
You can find my new blog here: A Bend in the Road.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Sunday, November 6, 2011
the Earthquake
I was not quite ten weeks pregnant when the 9.0 magnitude earthquake struck off the coast of the Tohoku region of Japan. Although Geordie and I made it through without any injuries or damage, it changed our lives. For today's Nanowrimo writing session, I spent a good chunk of it writing down my memory of that day. Here's an excerpt about the exact moment the earthquake hit, just those first few minutes as it happened and before I knew the full extent of the damage.
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March 11.
A Friday. A good day, then, because Geordie would be coming home. He’d meet me as I was finishing work, and we’d probably have dinner together in Loc City. Ramen, maybe. Then home to relax a bit together and to talk about the week. Those were all the plans we had made.
My shift started at five, though I usually went in early, around four. I did my hair in the morning but would not bother with getting fully dressed until three or so. A little after one, I sat down to the computer to write an email to my brother. I had been putting it off, as I often do; I am not the best of penpals. As I wrote, the apartment began to shake – another earthquake, a minor occurrence in Japan, for the most part. It gave me something to share with Ryan, and I added a sentence about it to his email.
The ‘quake started small. It felt like any other ordinary earthquake, one of dozens I’d felt since I arrived in Japan. After the few seconds of shaking, you go back to your usual business, as though nothing had really happened. One had woken me from my sleep on Wednesday morning, a little stronger than usual but nothing to get worked up about.
But the shaking did not stop. Instead, it intensified. That made me pause.
“Don’t panic,” I said aloud to myself. It would die down in a moment; it always did. I had never before been in an earthquake that had actually scared me.
Then a can of soup fell off the shelf above the kitchen sink, and I knew that this was not an ordinary earthquake, that it was something big, that I could not just sit there and wait for it to stop. Other things began to fall, including one of my rose pictures in the hall. I leaned over my computer and took down my diploma so it wouldn’t fall on the monitor.
I stood and pulled open the curtains of the sliding glass door at the front of the apartment. Across the narrow street was an empty house, and a couple hours earlier, two men had shown up to do some work on the interior. They ran out into the street as the shaking continued, holding their arms out to balance themselves. They spoke to each other. Often, I could hear when people on the street spoke, but because of the noise of the earthquake, I couldn’t hear the workmen. Some earthquakes are quiet, but with some come a rumbling, a deep and earthy sound like terrestrial thunder. This earthquake brought that sound.
Everything in the apartment moved, rattling about, a surprisingly tremendous noise. I suddenly did not what to stay in the apartment any longer.
I had on only a t-shirt and a pair of around-the-house boxer shorts. Grabbing the closest pair of pants to me, I pulled them on and put my cell phone and wallet into the pockets. I went into the hall and pulled on my heavy winter coat, leaning against the wall for support. Without bothering with socks, I slipped into my shoes and reached for the front door. My hands shook as I laid them on the door handle, and I thought that it was not just because of the earthquake’s shaking and the cold. After at least one minute, the ‘quake still had not abated. It felt like it would never end.
I can’t say how long exactly the earthquake lasted – somewhere between two and three minutes perhaps – but it felt like an eternity as I stood on the street and watched the houses shake on their foundations. The street moved – back and forth – and the electric lines overhead swayed and jumped, pulled taut before sagging and then going taut again. No tall buildings were in the area, so I didn’t worry about anything falling on me, but those wires made me uneasy. It was hard to stand up straight; I rocked from side to side as though I were on a boat.
Most of the buildings on my street were residences, but because it was the middle of a week day, not many people were at home. Only a few came out into the street, and all of them save for the workmen and myself were elderly. They clung to fences or carport supports and said very little. A crash came from the home across from my apartment, and one of the workmen ran back inside.
After a time, just as it felt like the earthquake would never end, the earth began to calm, and the shaking died away. It did not stop altogether, not immediately, but the buildings ceased their swaying, and it was possible to walk easily again. I stood in the street, pulling my coat around me, shivering with cold and fear. I did not know what to do.
My direct neighbor in the apartment home came outside and into the street, looking around amazed but unshaken. She said to me in Japanese, “Are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m okay,” I said. “Are you?”
“I’m alright.” She nodded her head and added, “That was very big, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Very big,” she repeated. “Probably a 5.”
It did not occur to me until later, after I knew the full magnitude of the earthquake, that I realized she meant that by the Japanese scale, which tops out at 7.
She waved at one of our neighbors down the street and called to them, leaving me alone. My thoughts flew to Geordie; I didn’t know where the earthquake had originated, but I was sure he had felt it to some degree. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed his number. All lines were busy, as I had guessed they would be. That didn’t stop me from trying again.
I went back into the apartment to survey the damage. Only one plate in the sink had broken, probably from the soup can that had dropped on it. Books and other odds-and-ends had fallen off the coffee table and my tall bookshelf, but nothing had broken. My desk had been pulled away from the wall. The wall on the left side of the window over the couch had cracks at the window’s edges. Everything was in disarray, but that seemed to be the extent of the damage. The power was off.
The aftershocks came steadily, some of them stronger than other earthquakes I had felt in the previous two years. The sliding doors that separated the two rooms rattled constantly, and I knew I could not stay there. I decided to dress properly and go to work. I could think of nothing else to do.
-----
March 11.
A Friday. A good day, then, because Geordie would be coming home. He’d meet me as I was finishing work, and we’d probably have dinner together in Loc City. Ramen, maybe. Then home to relax a bit together and to talk about the week. Those were all the plans we had made.
My shift started at five, though I usually went in early, around four. I did my hair in the morning but would not bother with getting fully dressed until three or so. A little after one, I sat down to the computer to write an email to my brother. I had been putting it off, as I often do; I am not the best of penpals. As I wrote, the apartment began to shake – another earthquake, a minor occurrence in Japan, for the most part. It gave me something to share with Ryan, and I added a sentence about it to his email.
The ‘quake started small. It felt like any other ordinary earthquake, one of dozens I’d felt since I arrived in Japan. After the few seconds of shaking, you go back to your usual business, as though nothing had really happened. One had woken me from my sleep on Wednesday morning, a little stronger than usual but nothing to get worked up about.
But the shaking did not stop. Instead, it intensified. That made me pause.
“Don’t panic,” I said aloud to myself. It would die down in a moment; it always did. I had never before been in an earthquake that had actually scared me.
Then a can of soup fell off the shelf above the kitchen sink, and I knew that this was not an ordinary earthquake, that it was something big, that I could not just sit there and wait for it to stop. Other things began to fall, including one of my rose pictures in the hall. I leaned over my computer and took down my diploma so it wouldn’t fall on the monitor.
I stood and pulled open the curtains of the sliding glass door at the front of the apartment. Across the narrow street was an empty house, and a couple hours earlier, two men had shown up to do some work on the interior. They ran out into the street as the shaking continued, holding their arms out to balance themselves. They spoke to each other. Often, I could hear when people on the street spoke, but because of the noise of the earthquake, I couldn’t hear the workmen. Some earthquakes are quiet, but with some come a rumbling, a deep and earthy sound like terrestrial thunder. This earthquake brought that sound.
Everything in the apartment moved, rattling about, a surprisingly tremendous noise. I suddenly did not what to stay in the apartment any longer.
I had on only a t-shirt and a pair of around-the-house boxer shorts. Grabbing the closest pair of pants to me, I pulled them on and put my cell phone and wallet into the pockets. I went into the hall and pulled on my heavy winter coat, leaning against the wall for support. Without bothering with socks, I slipped into my shoes and reached for the front door. My hands shook as I laid them on the door handle, and I thought that it was not just because of the earthquake’s shaking and the cold. After at least one minute, the ‘quake still had not abated. It felt like it would never end.
I can’t say how long exactly the earthquake lasted – somewhere between two and three minutes perhaps – but it felt like an eternity as I stood on the street and watched the houses shake on their foundations. The street moved – back and forth – and the electric lines overhead swayed and jumped, pulled taut before sagging and then going taut again. No tall buildings were in the area, so I didn’t worry about anything falling on me, but those wires made me uneasy. It was hard to stand up straight; I rocked from side to side as though I were on a boat.
Most of the buildings on my street were residences, but because it was the middle of a week day, not many people were at home. Only a few came out into the street, and all of them save for the workmen and myself were elderly. They clung to fences or carport supports and said very little. A crash came from the home across from my apartment, and one of the workmen ran back inside.
After a time, just as it felt like the earthquake would never end, the earth began to calm, and the shaking died away. It did not stop altogether, not immediately, but the buildings ceased their swaying, and it was possible to walk easily again. I stood in the street, pulling my coat around me, shivering with cold and fear. I did not know what to do.
My direct neighbor in the apartment home came outside and into the street, looking around amazed but unshaken. She said to me in Japanese, “Are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m okay,” I said. “Are you?”
“I’m alright.” She nodded her head and added, “That was very big, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Very big,” she repeated. “Probably a 5.”
It did not occur to me until later, after I knew the full magnitude of the earthquake, that I realized she meant that by the Japanese scale, which tops out at 7.
She waved at one of our neighbors down the street and called to them, leaving me alone. My thoughts flew to Geordie; I didn’t know where the earthquake had originated, but I was sure he had felt it to some degree. I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed his number. All lines were busy, as I had guessed they would be. That didn’t stop me from trying again.
I went back into the apartment to survey the damage. Only one plate in the sink had broken, probably from the soup can that had dropped on it. Books and other odds-and-ends had fallen off the coffee table and my tall bookshelf, but nothing had broken. My desk had been pulled away from the wall. The wall on the left side of the window over the couch had cracks at the window’s edges. Everything was in disarray, but that seemed to be the extent of the damage. The power was off.
The aftershocks came steadily, some of them stronger than other earthquakes I had felt in the previous two years. The sliding doors that separated the two rooms rattled constantly, and I knew I could not stay there. I decided to dress properly and go to work. I could think of nothing else to do.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
a bit of a hiatus
I'm proud of myself for sticking to my goal of posting every day. I've worked through a lot of the things that have been on my mind this month, and it's felt good to get my thoughts written down. It's helped. I'm still a long way from "feeling better," but it has helped me come to accept what has happened. Most importantly, I've been able to share Lauren and her story with so many people, and that's wonderful. It's the best thing that I could do - for myself and for her.
November is almost here, and soon, I'll be working on that 50,000 word goal. To make things a little easier for myself, I'm going to cut back on my blog posting. I'm aiming for 2-3 posts a week. I don't know if what I write for Nanowrimo will ever end up on this blog. For one thing, I'm taking a creative non-fiction approach and thus it will be more story-like than loosely-organized-journal-entry-like. I won't be editing it until after November (and considering how busy I'll be in December, I probably won't get around to editing before the new year), and I certainly don't want to publicly display any of it until I've edited it. So, the blog is going to have to take a backseat to the 1667 words I need to get out each day in November. I don't know when (or if) I'll start posting daily again. As I said, I'll be busy in December, and there might be some periods of time when internet access isn't even a concern for me. But I'll still be writing about Lauren, and I'll still be trying to post some of it.
Also, a brief hiatus will be starting as of the end of this post. Today, we're flying back to Florida, and I'm going to take a few days to recover from jetlag and see some of my family for the first time in almost two years. Also, I'm going to be meeting my in-laws, which I'm very excited about. I want to spend a couple days just grounding myself within my very loving family and sharing Lauren personally with them. I intend to be posting regularly again by next Friday. I don't want to leave this blog in the dark for too long.
So, have a good weekend, all! I'll be back again in no time.
November is almost here, and soon, I'll be working on that 50,000 word goal. To make things a little easier for myself, I'm going to cut back on my blog posting. I'm aiming for 2-3 posts a week. I don't know if what I write for Nanowrimo will ever end up on this blog. For one thing, I'm taking a creative non-fiction approach and thus it will be more story-like than loosely-organized-journal-entry-like. I won't be editing it until after November (and considering how busy I'll be in December, I probably won't get around to editing before the new year), and I certainly don't want to publicly display any of it until I've edited it. So, the blog is going to have to take a backseat to the 1667 words I need to get out each day in November. I don't know when (or if) I'll start posting daily again. As I said, I'll be busy in December, and there might be some periods of time when internet access isn't even a concern for me. But I'll still be writing about Lauren, and I'll still be trying to post some of it.
Also, a brief hiatus will be starting as of the end of this post. Today, we're flying back to Florida, and I'm going to take a few days to recover from jetlag and see some of my family for the first time in almost two years. Also, I'm going to be meeting my in-laws, which I'm very excited about. I want to spend a couple days just grounding myself within my very loving family and sharing Lauren personally with them. I intend to be posting regularly again by next Friday. I don't want to leave this blog in the dark for too long.
So, have a good weekend, all! I'll be back again in no time.
thank you
I just want to take a few moments here before Nanowrimo starts - and I devote even more of my time to writing! - to say "thank you" to all of you who have been reading my blog this month. I know it probably hasn't been easy going along with me on this journey, but it has been comforting to have companions. I appreciate that you have stuck with me and continue to offer support, even if it's just by coming here and keeping track of what's happening with me. It makes me feel a little less alone.
Also, thank you for the comments. I've received some very wonderful and touching comments and emails from you all, and they really do make my day. They help me remember that there is a whole group of people out there who care about and remember Lauren, that Geordie and I are not alone in mourning her absence. That means so much to me.
Thank you, for everything.
Also, thank you for the comments. I've received some very wonderful and touching comments and emails from you all, and they really do make my day. They help me remember that there is a whole group of people out there who care about and remember Lauren, that Geordie and I are not alone in mourning her absence. That means so much to me.
Thank you, for everything.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
my new reality
So, I had a really good day with my husband on Wednesday. We went out to a nearby town (Mishima) that we’ve always meant to visit but never had the chance to do so while I was pregnant. We've been through Mishima dozens of times before – it’s the largest train station in our area. We changed trains there to get to our hospital, and it’s also a shinkansen (bullet train) station, so we always came through here on our way to Tokyo. We’ve always wanted to be able to linger but never could. Today, we did. We visited Rakujyuen, a big and extremely beautiful park that had imperial connections during and after the Meiji Restoration. In addition to the extensive gardens, they have a small collection of animals and a petting zoo, which Geordie enjoyed. He’s a very hands-on type of guy.
Then, we walked to Mishima Taisha (Mishima Big Shrine), which we knew was large but was much larger than expected. It was getting dark by that time, so there weren’t many people around, but it was obvious that the shrine was preparing for an upcoming celebration – Shichi-Go-San. This means “Seven-Five-Three,” and it’s a traditional festival day that celebrates the growth and maturation of children; specifically, boys aged three or five and girls aged three or seven (hence the name of the festival). The children are dressed up in colorful kimono and taken to their local shrines to be blessed and for families to pray for their continued health and growth. Shichi-Go-San is held on November 15th, but sometimes children visit earlier than that, for various reasons. By the time we got there, it was really too late for anyone to be there for any celebrations, which was good. It’s hard for both of us to be around young children now. It hurt a little bit thinking about how I would’ve liked to bring Lauren to a shrine in a few years for her Shichi-Go-San visit. I used to like to think of how pretty she would look in a kimono, how proud we would be of her.
And I’m so angry now! It was hard to be angry in such a peaceful, beautiful place like Mishima Taisha, but I feel it now. Why did this happen to her - to us? Why is it that we have to let go of our dreams for the future? Why are we the ones who have to mourn our daughter, while others can continue to dream and smile and laugh and LIVE?
In these quiet moments, I find myself taking all these hopes and dreams I had for Lauren and turning them over, and I can almost feel them happening. She's so real to me that I can see her doing all these things that I wanted her to do, I can hear her laughter – I may never have heard her voice, but I can hear it and know that it's her. I can see her in my mind, standing there before the shrine, dressed like a flower, and she looks back at us because she's run ahead – she's just like her father, curious and impatient and needing just to GO and run – and she's so lovely in the sunlight, a free and wild creature, unruly dark curls bouncing around her face, and she smiles like a supernova. And her father hands me the camera, and she squeals as he chases her and catches her up in his arms and swings her around, and I am filled with so much love for them because they're mine and I belong to them. THIS is how things are supposed to be, THIS is what should be the reality, and the cold, gray darkness I'm living now is just a nightmare that will pass into the night.
Except this nightmare never will pass; it is my world now. It is my every waking moment, the pain of which is so great that I often think it shall destroy me. Shatter me into pieces. Again. And again. Every day, I try to put myself together again. Some days I’m more successful than others. Some days, I fool myself into thinking I’m alright again. But the illusion never holds up. I look into the mirror of myself, and I see there the happy, laughing mother and her bright-eyed daughter, and I know it should be me and Lauren.
But it's not. And the anger at how unfair it all is flows out of me, and all it leaves is emptiness. The anger doesn't help; nothing can help. I will always have an empty place inside me, an empty place in my life where Lauren should be but isn't.
Then, we walked to Mishima Taisha (Mishima Big Shrine), which we knew was large but was much larger than expected. It was getting dark by that time, so there weren’t many people around, but it was obvious that the shrine was preparing for an upcoming celebration – Shichi-Go-San. This means “Seven-Five-Three,” and it’s a traditional festival day that celebrates the growth and maturation of children; specifically, boys aged three or five and girls aged three or seven (hence the name of the festival). The children are dressed up in colorful kimono and taken to their local shrines to be blessed and for families to pray for their continued health and growth. Shichi-Go-San is held on November 15th, but sometimes children visit earlier than that, for various reasons. By the time we got there, it was really too late for anyone to be there for any celebrations, which was good. It’s hard for both of us to be around young children now. It hurt a little bit thinking about how I would’ve liked to bring Lauren to a shrine in a few years for her Shichi-Go-San visit. I used to like to think of how pretty she would look in a kimono, how proud we would be of her.
And I’m so angry now! It was hard to be angry in such a peaceful, beautiful place like Mishima Taisha, but I feel it now. Why did this happen to her - to us? Why is it that we have to let go of our dreams for the future? Why are we the ones who have to mourn our daughter, while others can continue to dream and smile and laugh and LIVE?
In these quiet moments, I find myself taking all these hopes and dreams I had for Lauren and turning them over, and I can almost feel them happening. She's so real to me that I can see her doing all these things that I wanted her to do, I can hear her laughter – I may never have heard her voice, but I can hear it and know that it's her. I can see her in my mind, standing there before the shrine, dressed like a flower, and she looks back at us because she's run ahead – she's just like her father, curious and impatient and needing just to GO and run – and she's so lovely in the sunlight, a free and wild creature, unruly dark curls bouncing around her face, and she smiles like a supernova. And her father hands me the camera, and she squeals as he chases her and catches her up in his arms and swings her around, and I am filled with so much love for them because they're mine and I belong to them. THIS is how things are supposed to be, THIS is what should be the reality, and the cold, gray darkness I'm living now is just a nightmare that will pass into the night.
Except this nightmare never will pass; it is my world now. It is my every waking moment, the pain of which is so great that I often think it shall destroy me. Shatter me into pieces. Again. And again. Every day, I try to put myself together again. Some days I’m more successful than others. Some days, I fool myself into thinking I’m alright again. But the illusion never holds up. I look into the mirror of myself, and I see there the happy, laughing mother and her bright-eyed daughter, and I know it should be me and Lauren.
But it's not. And the anger at how unfair it all is flows out of me, and all it leaves is emptiness. The anger doesn't help; nothing can help. I will always have an empty place inside me, an empty place in my life where Lauren should be but isn't.
Japan: a photo gallery (II)
Another ten of my favorite photos from life here in Japan. This group starts at the beginning of 2010, the year Geordie and I started dating. I was less active in 2010 than I had been in 2009, but I still got to see a lot of wonderful things in Japan, and I had the added bonus of having Geordie for company.
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| Geordie and sheep at Hitsujiyama Park in Chichibu, March 2010. |
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| Weeping sakura at the Daruma temple in Takasaki, April 2010. |
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| Daibutsu at Kamakura, April 2010. |
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| Kenroku-en in Kanazawa, May 2010. |
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| Waterfall in Nikko, November 2010. |
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| Geordie makes friends with a black lemur at the Nagasaki Bio-Park, Jaunary 2011. |
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| Geordie (and Rabbit) and the deer at Nara Park, March 2011. |
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| Windmill at Kasumigaura, May 2011. |
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| Dancers at the summer Susono Awa-Odori Festival, August 2011. |
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| Jizou memorial statuettes for deceased children at Hasedera Jizou-do, October 2011. |
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Japan: a picture gallery (I)
I had another busy day today and didn't get much writing done. So, what I'm going to give you in this post are some of my favorite pictures from my life here in Japan. This week has been hard as Geordie and I say goodbye to this beautiful country we've come to love so much.
These are just the first ten of twenty pictures I want to post. I encourage you to click on the pictures to see larger versions - some of them are much better when they're bigger! Look for more in the next posting.
These are just the first ten of twenty pictures I want to post. I encourage you to click on the pictures to see larger versions - some of them are much better when they're bigger! Look for more in the next posting.
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| Let's start this off right: Mt. Fuji from Gotemba, March 2009. |
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| A lion guardian at a shrine in Takayama, January 2009. |
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| Weeping willow tree in Takayama, January 2009. |
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| Sakura over a shrine in Utsunomiya, April 2009. |
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| A huge statue of Kannon-sama in Takasaki, April 2009. |
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| Wisteria at Matsumoto Castle, May 2009. |
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With Benni-sensei in Maebashi, during an autumn festival, October 2009.
Behind us is an omikoshi - a portable shrine - which is carried around
Easily one of my best expriences in Japan.the town, presumably to show the god its domain (or to show the people their local god). Benni-sensei and I were among the group of shrine-carriers, and we were also honored by being asked to carry for a short time the lanterns that led the way in front of the omikoshi. |
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| Maple trees at Mt. Tsukuba, November 2009. |
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| Tsurgua Castle in Aizu-Wakamatsu, New Year's Day 2010. |
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| Meoto Iwa, the wedded rocks, in Ise, January 2010. |
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