Life's Journeys

"Who's going to tell her?"

Both my children looked at me as I stumbled down the last few steps of what had to have been the tenth set of stairs we'd gone either up or down within seven minutes, afraid the latest bit of bad news might kill me. "Well," my son began, falling on the grenade for his sister. "The good news is we're staying at the Ritz Carlton."

Okay, good news maybe, but old news. I'd known that since before we even stepped on the train for Tokyo. It's nice to have a daughter who travels a lot. I waited, even though I had a pretty good inkling of what they were going to tell me.

"We kind of went the wrong way." Of course we did. Which meant at least ten more sets of stairs, half of which would be going up. Thank God we all have our health, I thought, summoning up the wisdom of my grandmother. What else matters, really?

Traveling around Japan is easy and convenient in the sense that there are lots of trains heading to just about everywhere. And there are lots of signs, many even with English translations, particularly in the larger cities. And when you find the relevant signs (no easy feat, sometimes) they even tell you how long it will take you to travel from point A to point B. At first glance, the times all seem padded -- kind of the way airlines calculate arrival times just so they can guarantee themselves lots of on time arrivals. I don't think that's the reason for the padding on the Japanese subway; the truth is, when you factor in all the walking and climbing time in the stations at both ends, the counterintuitively long estimates actually add up. Japan may look small on your average map, but it's an awfully big and crowded place. If life really is about the journey, here in Japan that can be a royal pain in the ass.

We were all testy yesterday, my two older children and I. Their dad's companion of over three years finally succumbed to cancer, and we all occasionally got swept into our own eddy of thoughts. She had become a family member, for my daughters at least. My son had not gotten to know her as well as his sisters had -- Japan is a bit of a trek -- but he feels the loss keenly as well. It hit me harder even than I had expected. I had only met her a few times, but my daughters adored her, she made my ex happy, and I still can't, for the life of me, figure out why God would snatch away a fifty-two year old woman who appreciated all that she had in life and had always taken such good care of herself. Sometimes people simply fall through the cracks, I suppose, for no apparent reason, and the rest of us just need to keep moving.

During our trek through Tokyo, we visited an outdoor market, where my daughter decided to buy a sake set for her father. She was leaning toward a set with two cups, and I tried to steer her toward one with four. The thought of giving someone recently uncoupled a two cup set struck me as painful. My kids both thought I was being ridiculous. That happens a lot.

We are back in Kobe, now, home base. Today, though, we set out again on another series of train rides -- another journey -- this time to Kyoto and Nara. Armed with my first good night's sleep since we've arrived and more than twenty-four hours of reflection on our family's latest crisis, I am looking forward to the trip. It will be arduous at times, at least the parts when we're wandering through train stations trying to transfer. And it is still hot as hell here, but today we won't be carrying around excess baggage. No metaphor intended; I refer to the actual overnight bag we shlepped around Tokyo all day yesterday after leaving our posh room at the Ritz. The other excess baggage? Well, that's a bit difficult to unload.

If there is good news today, it is not that we are staying at the Ritz, so my kids will have to come up with something else if they find themselves needing to soften any blows. We are back at the Sheraton, more than adequate, but a veritable fleabag compared to our digs in Tokyo. Thoughts of it will be little consolation at, say, three in the afternoon when they inform me I have to retrace my steps and drag my ass up even more stairs.

There is plenty of good news, though. It's a new day, we have our health, and we are lucky enough to be able to spend all this time together in this place halfway around the world from what I call home. We grieve because our family, which had expanded for a time, has shrunk again. But, knowing us the way I know us, I am guessing that, like the home where we had dinner several nights ago, the small home that seemed always to have room for one more guest, our hearts will never run out of space.