One of my mother's best friends lost her mother. She told us she would have risked the flight home but would have been quarantined for 14 days, and thus she would have still missed the funeral. Instead, she'd hold a service at a local Buddist temple in Long Beach, where the monks could help move her mother to the next stage.
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We drove 20 minutes on the 710 Hwy to the temple. We pulled into the parking lot, walked to the entrance, took off our shoes, and then proceeded to look for her among the mid-sized crowd.
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We met eye to eye and exchange greetings. Her slender frame and thin arms joined ours as we embraced.
Simply, nothing could be said. Silence. No words from my mouth.
I could not think of a sentence that could alleviate her sorrow or could raise the landlocked wings of the jetplane she couldn't take.
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My friend's mother is strong; a passing stranger on the street could easily mistake her petiteness for fragility, but as she walked back and forth aiding the monks and helping the staff at the temple prepare the food –her strides told you otherwise. It was clear that she mustered all her strength and kept it on her like a coat completing task after task. Someone else that might have kept their face stoic or pushed it all down, but she allowed herself to be all four seasons,as she continued to make her way through the temple.
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White taped 'X''s spaced six-feet-apart over the carpet told you where to sit; we inclined our head and prayed, hoping the intention of our words would coalesce with theirs; that our Spanish could shed its cultural coat and join the energy of their prayers in Khmer.
In the time fo COVID, one of the hardest things you can do is try to travel. Whether it be from your home to the store or from the your country to another.
My mother's dear friend lost her mother and could not attend the funeral because of the current international situation. As I have not yet lost a parent,t I cannot imagine how she must be feeling.
I try to process events through writing and so I wrote this.