Gaman

I was looking at my blog stats, when I noticed I had been visited several times by Japan. What I found interesting, riveting even, is that it was since the earthquake. I could not believe that with everything they have going on, anyone from there would be remotely interested in my little dog and pony show. Here I am talking about the simple life of our family, not saying anything of real importance. I wish I had something profound to say about the world events. I sit and try to wrap my brain around what is happening to the middle east, Japan, and even here in the states with certain Governors, unable to articulate anything of real value. I am completely dependent on the news and others thought processes in order to unravel my raw emotions.

"Gaman" in Japanese loosely means to hold in one's emotions and show quiet strength, to endure with dignity and fortitude. It is, in effect, the job of getting on with it. The first time I ever even heard the word was from George Takei, during an interview about his feelings of grief about the Japanese disaster. For those of you who have not been outside in the last 40 years, George played Mr. Sulu on the original Star trek. He spoke about being Japanese/American, and first learning he word himself when his family was put in an internment camp here in the states during World War II. He spoke of how his mother would say "Gaman" to him as a child as they were imprisoned, for no other reason then their heritage. In Japanese culture as it was explained to me, Gaman is to show inner strength and resolve in the face of great adversity. It is ingrained in their culture, their very lifestyle. It is a deep and resounding part of who they are. The Japanese people are showing/practicing Gaman, everyday now while they wait to see the fate of so many of their people, their homes, their country.

The closest thing I have in my history that even remotely relates to Gaman is when my children walked slowly, quietly, with great resolve behind their father's casket. The day they buried their beloved father they stood still for hours, not making a sound, not moving around, not being children at all, but tiny adults in children's clothing. As a family we showed it when we had to go back to doing what was necessary each day, me making it quite clear that losing their father was not a reason for any bad behavior. It was the harsh, but mostly effective way I could put it. Here is the exact quote, "You will not use your father's death as an excuse to fail. You will live as an example of what was best about him. I am not expecting this, I am demanding it." My tiny tots stared at me, tears in their eyes, thinking that I must have buried my heart along with their father. The truth is, I knew if I became the mother who allowed self pity, self destruction would follow. They were expected to be strong, because there was no other choice. We couldn't all lay down and die because Danny did. Failure was not optional.

I sit typing on my computer thinking about the Japanese families who have fathers, husbands working at the nuclear plant, feverishly trying to keep the radiation from destroying the country they love. They are facing a death sentence. The families that said their good-byes know they may not see each other again. Even the smallest of children of these brave workers are expected to practice Gaman. My heart goes out to the Japanese people. The catastrophic nature of the earthquake, then tsunami, then nuclear near melt down is somewhat too much to bear even watching from a distance, so I can't even begin to say I can imagine how they feel or know what they are facing.

I normally pray on my knees. I am Catholic so the aerobic program is something I am used to, but today I laid face down on the floor, with my arms forward, completely open to my God. It is the position the nuns take when they take their final vows, their marriage to Christ, their sacrifice of mind, body and soul to the church. I did this as a way to become more open, more accepting, more able to practice Gaman as I watch the world unravel. There is no moral to this story. There are no answers here, amongst the simple lines of text. The only thing I can offer is a prayer for all those suffering and the attempt to practice Gaman. I wish you peace, and the quiet knowing that this too shall pass.