The great Harriet Rasaka left the world yesterday at nearly 97 years of age. We passed by this fact during our stopover in Ashland and then later for lunch in Eugene, on our way up to Portland.
Even at 97 years old, death is unplanned. Those of us who can be are flexible, dropping or taking our work with us on the homing path back to the place of services — the place of saying good-bye. But good-bye feels so incomplete. I still see Harriet in my dad’s car, borrowed again for this trip, in the parking lot at Fred Meyer’s with the door ajar. How we laughed when the police called my dad, thinking that she was stealing the car.
I see her reading “One Fine Day” on the couch in Seattle to her great-grandchild Lucy. The same book my mom used to read to me.
I wear the shirt she gave me for my birthday just this year. I see her in the picture Leanne took just a couple weeks ago — sharp as ever, beating Leanne at tri-ominos.
I wish I could see her more and I wish I could have known her for more of her incredible life, but mostly I wish I could see what she’s seeing now, in the unique way she experiences it through her own self, as she continues her journey after being incredible and much loved during her stay on Planet Earth.
Love You Harriet.
things were going allright until then. it had been a beautiful day in san francisco; the kind where you experience both uncanny clarity and baffling mistyness, all in the span of a day. then it ended in the emergency room, and our relationship also suffered.
<understandably — only since i am writing this with the hindsight of seven years (today in 2008 is the day i’m moving all these ancient relics over). ahh, the glorious righteousness of hindsight… ahh.>
her grandma was visiting this weekend and fell on hayes street at laguna. we were on our way to dinner; she was going to take us out, and we were taking her to the symphony. she fell straight over, and broke her fall by breaking her wrist and smashing her face against the pavement. leanne has been every emotion since then, and i asked her how she felt at dinner tonight and i listened to her.
at home, the washing machine was broken with our clothes soaking inside. leanne yelled from the other room ‘just start the spin cycle over.’ more and more frustrated that she wasn’t paying attention to what i was saying, i asked her to come out if she wanted to try to help and look at it and listen to me in actuality instead of just calling annoyed from the other room.
<and then it was a tumult. and another thing about the beauty of hindsight: the delete key!>