The Practice of Prayer byThich Nhat Hanh - The Mindfulness Bell

Closing the Door
by MushimIkeda-Nash
On Thursday, April 11, my father, Robert Yoshizo Ikeda,
died in his sleep at his home on Lake Anna in Virginia.
My son Joshua and I were visiting at the time, mostly to help
my mother, who is recovering from lymphoma and needs to
bedriven back and forth from a hospital in Richmond for
blood transfusions. My father was 71 years old and his death
was almost completely unexpected by everyone except his
doctor, who diagnosed massive cardiac arrest without an
examination.
At the time my father died, my mother was in the
coronary ward of the hospital in Richmond, receiving some
testsand being observed for effects of a new medication to
regulate her heart beat. My sister, who lives in
Charlottesville only 50miles away, was in Honolulu
delivering a talk, ironically enough, on "Japanese Death
Poetry." My brother, an M.D./Ph.D. research scientist, was
in Georgia. I felt quite alone when I discovered my father's
body onFriday morning. He was lying on his left side;his
face and hands were dark blue and very cold and stiff.
My heart was pounding and I began to feel faint. Isaw
clearly what I needed to do. I left the room, closing the door
behind me, and walked slowly around the living room,
breathing deeply and slowly. At that moment, I felt the
responsibility to become calm and clear for Joshua's sake;he
was still sleeping in the family room in the basement and
would wake up soon. The sun was shining through thebig
windows that cover one whole side of the house and open
onto a view of the lake. During those moments of walking
meditation, I felt that the meditation practices I began in
1981 were resources Icould draw upon to stabilize me,even
to give me some joy that there was no sign of struggle or
suffering in the room where my father's body lay. Iknew
this would be a stressful day with many pressures and
decisions, and Ifelt that I wanted it to be a good day.
When Ifelt calm, I went downstairs and woke Josh up.
He is seven years old. "Something important has happened,"
Itold him. "Grandpa died last night." He put his head under
the blankets, then raised it and said, "Maybe if we go out for
along walk and come back, Grandpa will just be in a deep
sleep." Itold him that this was not the case, and Grandpa
really was dead. I said he needed to put on his clothes,come
upstairs and have breakfast, after which Iwould be very
busy making phone calls and arrangements. We had a quiet
and peaceful breakfast looking out at the lake,then I called
the neighbors and set in motion the official investigation and
removal of the body. My brother-in-law, a Jodo Buddhist
priest from Brazil, and my five-year-old nephew arrived
from Charlottesville to help. As the funeral service men
carried my dad out of the house, Josh stood at attention with
a toy Japanese sword that my grandpa had sent my brother
from Hawaii at least 35 years ago. Although the funeral
home men had suggested I take the children into another
room, Ihad asked Josh what he wanted. My father had died
very naturally; Idid not want it to become a secret and scary
process. "I want to watch," he told me. "This is the last time
we will see Grandpa in his earthly form."
A light rain began to fall as they loaded my father's body
into a van. I placed my palms together and bowed as they
closed the doors.
Although my father was against organized religion, we
ended up having a small Buddhist funeral, with my
brother-in-law, Kensaku Yuba, presiding. This was according
to my mother's wishes. Seven days later we held another
service with my father's ashes at the lake house. My cousin,
Mary Oshima-Nakade, flew in from San Francisco with her
two children and her mom, and brought some copies of a
service from the Plum Village Chanting Book. As part of the
service, Iread the "introduction" part of the funeral service,
requesting the community to listen calmly and clearly, and
to recall that the joy of the children and grandchildren is the
joy of the deceased as well. We sang "Breathing In, Breathing
Out" together. My husband Chris had flown in from
Oakland, and, with Josh sitting on my lap, I felt happy and
secure. During Ken's Japanese chanting, which was very
beautiful, Joshua and Mary's four-year-old son Ryan both
fell asleep on their mother's laps.
I wish to thank all of you for your work in making Thich
Nhat Hanh's teachings available to me and to my family. I
have always felt profoundly influenced by Thay's emphasis
on relaxation, joy, and slowing down the pace of one's life
in order to appreciate and feel what is truly around and
within us.My father suffered a great deal from massive
anxieties, racial discrimination and isolation, financial
hardship, anger, and paranoia during his life. He grew up on
a farm in Indiana during the Great Depression and was
drafted into the U.S. Army shortly after World War II
ended. The extent that we were able to create an atmosphere
of spiritual support, joy, and loving kindness after he died
was of benefit to my whole family and to my father. I really
cannot adequately express my gratitude for the Buddha, the
Dharma, and the Sangha. Ibow to all of you.
Mushim Ikeda-Nash lives in Oakland, California with her
partner and son. She is a writer and proofreader, and a
former nun in the Korean Zen Buddhist tradition.
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