Life and death and the rest of it

I came to Thailand to write my story, well, part of it. I want to write the part of my story where I fell in love--yes--the storybook kind...but not the storybook ending. In January 2009 the physical side of that love fell into something else, and I have fallen into sadness, despair, and grief...but with that "fall, fell, have fallen" I look for what remains of the other side of that love, the spiritual side, and fall becomes "transcend" and awe at what each individual is capable of.

I chose Thailand because everything is different and foreign from my previous experiences, my previous stories, yet I feel I am getting closer to some type of spirituality that I seek. On Monday one of the Thai climber's mother passed away, tragically, from a brain hemorrhage. As part of the climbing community I was invited to attend his mother's Buddhist funeral. It would have been a chance to see another view of death, an eastern perspective. But, I got scared. I think I got scared because I saw it as a chance to experience something in order to write about it, to observe it, to perhaps even to take it to analyze, to try and make sense of, I don't know. But it shouldn't be about that. Perhaps it seems easier to be able to create some meaning, but that's just not the story. It is such a personal and sensitive time in a family's life, a family's existence that it shouldn't be commented on, it should just be. But, it wasn't just that. I have been there, and that feeling of loss is universal, and I was scared to return, even if indirectly, to that feeling, to feel loss.



All I know, thus far, without doing any research, is that in Buddhism family and friends mourn the passing of a loved one for three days at a temple. Every night people are welcome to come and pay their respects to the family. On the third day the person who has passed is cremated. It probably would have been beautiful and perhaps even peaceful to be a part of such a ritual. But for some reason I wasn't feeling a strong desire to attend. I do not know Muad, the climber, very well and I am very tired today. My heart didn't feel open, my heart is just quite sad and weak.
I have thought a lot about my mother today and the beautiful individual that she was. It was 8 months ago today that she also passed away. I remember how in my talk at her funeral I asked everyone to do something "in the spirit of Ann, my mother" once a month. I asked everyone to challenge themselves to do it, yet I have rarely done it. So, a few days ago I decided that today, July 2, was going to be my day to do something Ann-esque. It just happened to coincide with the day of this Buddhist funeral. My mom would always go to funerals and support the individuals and their families who were feeling such pain. She really was quite an amazing woman. But, I didn't go to the funeral. Instead, I went to the climbing shop and donated some money to the family. When I walked into the shop they asked me if I wanted go to the cremation tomorrow. I instantly had a flashback to that day when I stood and just stared at the door where they had taken Fede's body to cremate it. How I just sat there and stared and stared and could hear the machines inside and how long it took. I think I was hoping to see his spirit come through the door and tell me "vas a estar bien, gringa". It never happened, but the machines did eventually stop, and I eventually stopped staring.

I truly believe, and I can only speak for myself, that cremation is the most natural way for a body to finish its physical presence on earth. Especially when I was able to take his ashes to the most beautiful mountaintop and send him on to his next journey.

What I find overwhelming is the way these two deaths (Fede and my mom) are beginning to intertwine, once again, like that 8. I was told to mourn them one at a time, but things are never done that way, its just not the way life works.

When I was in Malaysia last weekend we wandered into a Buddhist temple that was in front of the guesthouse where we were staying. It was quite beautiful with bright red lanterns hanging everywhere in front of it. When we entered the temple I remember seeing a monk sitting in front of a computer, surfing on the internet and I thought, "a true sign of the times". We proceeded to walk through the temple and it seemed that the Buddhist statues in this temple were slightly different. I decided to ask the monk what kind of temple it was and the monk said, "Tibetan". As soon as the monk spoke I realized that the monk was a she not a he. She was very petite, like a child actually, and she had the biggest, kindest smile in the world. She asked us where we were from and then she asked me about my necklaces. I, of course, couldn't hold back and told her that one was mine and one was my husbands who died last year. I think I shocked her a bit, I seem to keep doing that. Anyways, she gave me a c.d. with some music for meditation. She said that it would help me...


I pray for Muad and his family tonight, that they find some moments of peace, that they realize the family that they still have and that those ties grow stronger and closer. That they tell and share stories of the woman that she was, that they celebrate her in their own personal and sacred way.
The ties that I have created and realized over my journey of grief are with me tonight, so is Fede, my mom, my family in Utah and in Argentina and all of the people that have become my community over the past year and a half.

I think I have started to write my storybook love with Fede, but it is much more than that, intertwined with other storybooks. I am starting to tell the story of so many, I tell my story, they share theirs, perhaps pass it on...this is a true sign of the times.

Life and death and the rest of it....