Resilience After Everything . . .

Niko and me making origami cranes for Otsuchi, Japan. 

The word "resilience" isn't a word I'd used a lot-- but I do remember Craig saying early into our relationship that he thought I was "resilient." That word has re-emerged as a regular part of my vocabulary, as part of the daily mapping of my life. Although I always used it, I confess I did look it up again just to make sure I grasped its full meaning: an ability to recover from or adjust easily to misfortune or change (the other definition is a physical one--the ability or property of a material to return to its original form after being under pressure or being compressed). I don't know about the "easily" part, but I did think about the ways human beings can and do adjust to difficult circumstances and attempt to restore themselves to some kind of "normalcy." And yes, this is something we've been dealing with all year. 

At my son, Niko's school (Cragmont) this year they adopted this term for African American Heritage Month as a way to think about the experiences, history, stories of people who survive, endure, suffer, and grow under challenging circumstances. I thought it was a more poetic way to talk about African American heritage--and in a way, they opened the door to children at that school to think about the idea of a "resilient spirit." One of the things they have done in the past during African American Heritage month is to invite members of the community to come and speak about the ways they've overcome difficulty and sought to make a difference in their community. In the past, Niko invited our neighbor, Kenny Pitts, who is a martial arts instructor to come and talk to the kids.

This year, though, Niko immediately identified our neighbor and friend, Irma Newman, as someone who embodied that spirit of resilience. Irma is the mother of Prentice Theodore Gray, Jr., the young man who died in the car accident with our Kyle on March 31, 2010. She is a beautiful human being--full of love, compassion, wisdom, and kindness. When the form came home from school asking students to consider inviting a member of their community to come and speak to Cragmont students, Niko (eight years old, mind you) immediately said, "I want to invite Irma!" I was so touched by this thought that he saw in Irma this tremendous capacity she has to go on, to deal gracefully and lovingly with such terrible loss (she lost her husband only five years ago), and to be so generous and big-hearted to us, to so many young people who were friends of Kyle and PJ. I have marvelled at her resilience. 

I was not there the day that Irma spoke to Niko's class, but I did receive a second-hand account of it. She sat in front of the kids and spoke about why she was there, and spoke about how she came for Niko, and to tell people the story of her own efforts to be resilient in the aftermath of losing her son, and Niko's brother, Kyle. Apparently, her story sparked the children to raise their hands in the air and tell their own stories of loss. One child lost an uncle, another lost a grandmother, another lost a pet, and even one child lost a snail. Irma reported to me later that day that it was hard to be there, but she appreciated it too. She appreciated the way that kids show their own resilience and in their own limited emotional way grasp the idea of loss. 

Since then, I've been working with a group of mothers at Cragmont to raise money for Japan tsunami and earthquake relief. Our friend Tsuyoshi Sasaki's family lived in the small coastal town of Otsuchi which was absolutely devastated by the earthquake and tsunami. We've adopted a project called "A Thousand Cranes for Otsuchi Elementary School." We have been working to raise money, get kids to write letters of encouragementand support and to make a thousand origami cranes. I've marvelled at the energy and enthusiasm of the four women I've been working with--Saori, Haruna, Akiko, and Nicole, all of whom have deep roots and connections in Japan, but who have in their own way tried to convey the spirit of resilience to our Cragmont kids--and to show them how much the Japanese people have had to endure and how patient and resilient they are. If you'd like to read more about this project, check out our blog at: http://a-thousand-cranes.blogspot.com/

All this is a way of saying---I'm seeing resilience everywhere. I am noticing resilience everywhere. I am looking for resilience everywhere. I want to be resilient and share this with others. 

Making it Through Year One

It's hard to believe it, but it's been a year since Kyle and Prentice died in that terrible car accident. While Craig and I made it through the first year, and we each went off on separate trips to commemorate the passage of this difficult year of mourning, I've been struggling to make sense of it. Today is the first day of Passover --or rather the eve of the first day. It's later than last year. On March 30, 2010, we had a passover seder at our house, with Craig's brother Gary, his wife, Gayle, and their two children, Jeremy and Carlyn. Since then, so much has happened. Our lives were instantly altered by the death of our son, his lovely friend and our sweet neighbor, Prentice, and we spent the year in a state of shock and horror. On March 27th, we unveiled the headstone where Kyle is buried, a Jewish cemetary in Colma, CA, and we were surrounded by loved ones who stood by us as we marked the ground were he lay. Only days later, Niko (our younger son) and I went to Hawaii for a week (the Big Island) to give ourselves an opportunity to run away when that fateful anniversary rolled around, and more importantly, to give Niko an opportunity for some fun and relaxation, while Craig headed off to Israel and Palestine to take the trip that Kyle very much wanted to take. The trip was organized by Hasmig Minassian, Kyle's history teacher, and was supported and sustained through the love and vision of many of Kyle's friends and parents of those friends. Craig's been home a week, and I think it's challenging to integrate back into this life; he's full of the recognition that the intensity and love of being in an intense and meaningful place (emotionally, culturally, politically, etc.) that connects him to Kyle, is harder here. We have lives, jobs, the empty place that his death left behind. It's already hard for me too. Hawaii was intense in a different way--full of life and vibrancy, and I so enjoyed sharing the beauty of such a warm, welcoming place with my son.

Today is passover. A year ago (although actually the night before Kyle died) we were celebrating passover in our house. It was our first passover seder in years that we hosted. I wanted it to be special for Kyle. I knew that soon he would be leaving on the adventure of his life--either Israel or I had hoped, college, and that we had to make the most of his time with us. Only weeks before I'd taken him out to dinner and tried to bridge some of the tensions we'd had in those teenage years. We talked about his plan to go to Israel, and the possible scenario he'd proposed to join the army there. I was uneasy with the idea of him joining an army (what mother wouldn't be?), let alone a foreign army. I tried in the best way I could to talk to him about human rights. I also wanted him to know on that March 30, passover, that I understood the importance of Judaism to him, even I did not share a complete understanding of it. I am not religious, and I don't think I ever will be. I also wanted to show him that as someone who has had to stretch and deal with so many challenges as a stepparent, who was, to a great extent taxed by his parents difficult relationship, that I could see him, in all his complexity. That night, that passover night, I took my camera out to take pictures, but for some reason, didn't use it. The next night, March 31st, we discovered he was dead. How could such a terrible thing happen to two young people? How would we go on?

Tonight's passover seder, will remind me of him. The son that was not spared. I don't believe in God but ask the question, why this boy? Why PJ? Why did we have to endure such a terrible fate as parents?
My grief has been complicated by the nature of step-parenting, of course. It was always a challenge to figure out where I stood in the familial order. And I struggle with it still in his death. He was my son too. He lived with me. I worried about him, cared for him, struggled with him as any parent does with a teenage boy? And I wanted his safety, happiness, well-being. I could see and observe things. And yet, I could not affect the outcome. I have lived with that this whole year.

I think of resilience. I think of those who survive terrible things. Parents who lose children in war, who lose children to brutal violence, to suicide. There is no comparing this to any other pain. I will think of him tonight. I will think of Kyle and remember the way we said, "next year in Jerusalem," then. I will think of Craig who was in Jerusalem nearly ten days ago marking the memory of Kyle in the Western Walls. I will think of the hole in the sand that his CAS classmates dug and left a little of Kyle there on the Tel Aviv beach. I will think of the ways that they were touched by learning about this place that loomed large in Kyle's mind--Israel, and yes, it's other half, Palestine. I will go there too. I will pay my respects to Kyle's memory and his dream, and I will look for resilience everywhere. I will look for peace. And I will say, "this year in Jerusalem."

I will always love you, Kyle.