Can Go Home Again

I wish somebody had taken a photo of this scene: Jip’s mom blessing Jip’s grandma by pouring water on grandma’s wrists. Behind mom, a long line of us touched each other lightly on the back, symbolizing our participation in the blessing. Forming the chain were Jip’s brothers and their wives, and me and Jip.

Jip couldn’t see her linked-up family, but she knew exactly what was going on when I reached over to touch her at the end of the ceremony honoring the fourth anniversary of her dad’s death. Lots of neighbors looked on in main room of the family home, as did five monks, who had just finished chanting and were about to begin eating the meal that the guests had spent much of the previous day preparing for them.

Last year Jip waited until it was too late to say that she wanted to go down to the village for this annual event. I felt badly telling her that she’d have to wait until another time. Then mom surprised me this year when I phoned to say that both of us would be coming. She said it sounded like a lot of bother to bring Jip, and that she wasn’t planning anything too special anyway.

We insisted, explaining that Jip hadn’t really hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye, because we were in Seattle when the real funeral took place. I think everyone was glad we came. It meant that the merit making took place at home instead of at the temple, which translated into more work for mom. But surrounded by her whole family, the smile on her face was just as broad as the one on Jip’s.