Where Were You When Hiroshima Exploded?

Imagine an old Japanese woman with nimble fingers folding crisp paper into cranes as she floats through memories like a cloudy ghost. Imagine two friends in a café sharing a pastry, drinking lattes. One leans into whisper and they explode with laughter. Imagine the full moon, its dependable yellow lunacy. Imagine a little boy running full speed to leap into his mother’s pile of just raked leaves. Brittle red maples and mourning orange oaks. Autumn’s contradictory joy. Imagine closing your eyes and listening to the crashing ocean until you can’t tell the difference between waves and the sound of blood splashing through your veins. Imagine hot cocoa, fire, blankets, things that keep you warm. Imagine the earnest wisdom acquired from a prolonged and devoted commitment to grief. Now imagine the way that person smiles and wonder—really wonder—about the syntax of smiling. Imagine a yellow helium balloon. Cotton candy, thrill rides, and carnival games that were rigged from the start; the cemetery is just a couple blocks away from the fair. Imagine dinner with your family, that constant gathering, like the moon and mountains, the certainty of rock, the tenacity of dreaming. Imagine the steadfast knowledge that you are loved—beyond a doubt—loved, and the way that mingles with your ideas about what home means. Imagine being home—how being home is an abundance of answers to questions you can’t remember. Yeah. Imagine that. Imagine the door shutting behind you when you go home. Do you hear it? The sound of that fine line between going home and home coming. Imagine the place where going home meets home coming and that’s where your mother lives when she sees you, stunned, every single time, by the mere fact of you being a somebody at all.

This parade of imagining was evoked by thinking about my mom today and letting home come home. Happy birthday, mom. In utero when atomic bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, you have explosions in your blood that created this blasting heart. xo



Comments

That's very beautiful.

I miss my mother.

W.O.W.

Wow, wow, wow.

so beautiful and tender. what a gift.

You are and always will be an explosion in my life bringing forth memory after memory of the good and bad times that puts us where we are today...wishing you were coming home to an always greatly anticipated home coming. Thank you for the memories that come to mind when I read this and always know, no matter how far away you are, you never leave the warmth of my heart..my love to you, Mom

My kid is navigating the world and my heart is forever seized at the thought of him --the duality of motherhood, romance and agony-- and now I'm crying the ugly cry.

This is not what I expected of a Monday morning.

Happy Birthday, Ms. Pat. Blessings and blessings.

I bow to you and your Mom. Beautiful.

This is all very poetic and wonderful and everything everyone else will say, but dude, you NEVER tell people a lady's age. Let us all assume she was one of those tragic unwed kindergarten mothers, why don't you? Is that so much to ask for your poor mother??

What a lovely tribute. It's one of those read-aloudy ones.

This gave me for-real shivers.

Loved the moon's dependable yellow lunacy. Loved all that you evoked.

What a gift you have. What a gift your mother gave you. Your writing continually blows me away - beautiful.

Incredible.

Oh, you are so GOOD. Love.

Truly beautiful. You may have a rough time with the everyday things, but words...those bow down to you like a lovesick schoolgirl.

Hmmmm, you made my "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" look really lame (through facebook messaging of all things). :-| It's the thought that counts, right?! I loved your post and I am sure you made you mother's day. She is quite a terrific woman with so much to offer! She also created two terrific guys... Thanks Mom, for being you and for raising the most wonderful husband a girl could ask for. :).

And, she's on twitter! She gave me shit before the Michigan State - Alabama game. Pretty cool.

as always, pure brilliance.

i always want to sort of tattoo your words onto me, so i don't forget them.

but that would just be wierd.

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Way to make me misty eyed while sitting here at jury duty. As a mother to a girl and as a daughter, this was very heartwarming. Thank you.

How did I miss this post?? Wow.
I could pick tiny sections again, and again, and again, a different one each time, and just meditate on the fullness of experience that the words evoke in my heart.
Happy (belated) birthday, BHJ's Mom. And happy birthday, blasting heart.

Beautiful

That was beautful, BHJ. You make me very misty. Your relationship with your daughter is beautiful, also. This writing stirs up the feeling we only hold in our hearts towards our children. I loved it! Happy 7th birthday, Elle Bee. Love, Aunt Suzie