Sennen called to tell me all about his past couple of days. The travel to Dallas, Aunt Penny’s funeral, shiva, a few places they want around Dallas – particularly a Buc-ee’s location which amazed him. Sennen was glad to have been at the funeral, to have been with his extended family and derived real meaning from the time. He told me Susan’s eulogy made him cry a little and that his heart started beating fast when it was his turn to shovel dirt on the casket. I asked him why.
“Because I was about to throw dirt on my great aunt. That was kind of shocking.”
We discussed how Judaism helps us deal with moments of loss and grief – and the throwing of dirt forces you to confront the finality of loss.
“Those Jewish rituals are like – wow!” he said without a hint of humor or sarcasm.
I’m very proud he was glad to be there and participate. He understood the significance of being there for family and the meaning and purpose of Jewish rituals. You can’t really hope for more from your kid. To me, it mattered extra because I think the Jewish response to loss and mourning is one of its strengths. It is both forceful and kind. It has events staggered throughout the first year of loss in intervals that make a lot of sense. People come together. Most importantly, the Jewish traditions provide rails at times when sometimes you need them most. If you’re shocked, bereft, at a loss, the world feels unstable – there’s a next step and a step after that. You don’t have to think, you know what to do and the people around you do too. We all have our part and no one need be alone and lost in the riptide of grief.
It also mattered because, to my surprise, my dad’s loss did not employ any of the Jewish rituals. My dad chose cremation, a Celebration of Life in his community center and internment at a non-Jewish cemetery near his house. Events took weeks to unfold and happened in multiple parts as opposed to the Jewish three days to burial. There was no shiva. All the community support lasted for three hours on a Sunday afternoon. And there wasn’t a babka to be found – although there were some of my Aunt Marsha’s ruggulah, which I basically ate as a lunch.
In other words, the kids lost their first grandparent and didn’t experience what I would consider the conventional and very helpful path for loss and grieving. Learning how to deal with loss – especially one close to you – is very important – and they (or I for that matter) just didn’t get that with my dad. While I would have preferred them not to have another opportunity with Aunt Penny, I am pleased they participated in something more involved and meaningful.
Then, Sennen shifted his topic of conversation. He was sad it would be almost a year until he would be back on Patmos. It’s too long. He wants to be on Patmos. He misses it so much. And he started crying.
I went through the Missing Patmos Syndrome checklist. I reminded him he’ll be back – it’s our house, of course he’ll be back. I reminded him that four to five weeks a year on Patmos is far more than most people get – maybe in their entire lives. He said he just wants to live on Patmos – all the time. I reminded Sennen about all that wonderful family he was just with and the friends he so loves. He began planning his customized pitch for each friend’s family and each of his own family members, even figuring out which Patmians might be their friends and how they would maintain their respective incomes. He had some compelling arguments.
Some version of this happens every year. Sennen always has a difficult time leaving Patmos and throughout the year intermittently talks about wanting to live on Patmos. As time goes on, and developmentally, his friendships play a larger role in his life, they ground him more in Westlake. Just not always, certainly not on the heels of leaving – with the taste of having a friend here still fresh on his tongue. If you can bring one, why not all? He never lacks for ambition.
It reminded me of a line in a novel I recently finished – Claire Messud’s The Woman Upstairs. Sirena, a character who has led a very international life says, “Once you set out from shore on your little boat, once you embark, you’ll never truly be at home again. What you’ve left behind exists only in your memory, and your ideal place becomes some strange imaginary concoction of all you’ve left behind at every stop.”
It’s so true.
There’s a big gap between travel and living somewhere.
Traveling, we remember how good a particular food tastes, how pretty the scenery, how fun the adventure, how pleasant (or not) the people and language were. We know more about the world through a set of brief experiences that leave an impression. Our December trip to Italy, for example, gave me a lot of impressions, experiences and insights – but I don’t really have a depth of knowledge about Italian culture or what it’s like to be Venetian, Roman or Napolitan. I skimmed off the top – in a pleasant and still valuable way.
Living somewhere is often – though not always – more depthful than pleasant. It’s not skimming off the top and if a place isn’t your cup of tea, you don’t get to just move on to the next. When you actually become part of another place, adapt to its ecosystem or at least try, embrace it – you’re changed. These places become part of you. Your perspective shifts and even in the places you like the least, there is always some way of living life you find that has an advantage or value. You can never un-know. Accordingly, home – which once seemed like the sum of all that existed and whatever its flaws was good enough – is never complete again.
Sennen and Ailyn are well traveled for their age. Like all travelers, they have their favorite memories and tastes. They know the average Thai restaurant in America does not taste quite like the food in Thailand and all their many Thai favorites that don’t appear on the typical menu. They have learned many valuable lessons from their travels including that economic status and happiness do not necessarily correspond, that they are more privileged than most, that differences are often beneficial and we have lots to learn from one another (when he was younger, Sennen once told me how the KKK was wrong to only value people like themselves because we learn so much from people who are different – like how Thais have those sprayers by the toilet and that’s a great idea!). This is exactly I want for them as they see the world.
When it comes to Patmos, I think their perspective has shifted from travelers to residents. It may only be five weeks a year, but we have a home that anchors us and the years add up. Riding bikes, knowing people, part-time jobs, cooking for neighbors, running errands, feeling they belong – these change things. Patmos is not strictly a vacation – it’s a part of their world and they are part of Patmos – and they are no longer skimming off the top.
Our conversation last night made me realize, maybe Sennen doesn’t just long for a favorite place – for another vacation or more travel. It’s not like how he gets wistful for Ko Samet, Ubud, Kusadasi, Israel, Singapore or Cannes (he wasn’t taken with Paris). I think Westlake is no longer complete. He hasn’t explicitly framed it that way yet, but he tacitly understands.
Sennen is trying to solve a problem with no answer – though he’ll continue to fumble with it for some time. Maybe he can transplant the best of Westlake – his people – to Patmos? Not realistic, but even if it were – he doesn’t yet know Patmos will never be Westlake. There would always be things he’ll miss about home, even if he found Patmos more satisfying overall. Once the innocence is gone – once we have lived elsewhere – we never get everything in one place. What can be even more surprising is when you live somewhere else – even for a relatively short duration – home continues on. It changes. You never return to the home you left – not exactly. And if it has been long enough, maybe home doesn’t even feel like home anymore.
Several years ago my friend Leanne – who was once my camp counselor and babysitter – told me she’ll never return to Bali. I was sort of shocked when she said it because when I was thirteen, I learned about Bali’s existence from her. She had traveled and lived abroad for several years and came home to Westlake just in time for my Bar Mitzvah. I had no idea where she had gone and she told me about her travels, but especially Indonesia and particularly Bali. Without her, I might never have gone, and two-and-a-half years of my life would have been very different.
However, the Bali she knew in the late 1980’s (which didn’t even have electricity in all parts of the island yet!) no longer exists. Neither does the Bali I knew in the early-to-mid 2000’s. You have to decide if you want to accept the Bali that has developed over the march of time – and development – or if it’s better to preserve beautiful memories.
My last visit to Bali was almost ten years ago with Emily, a one-year-old Ailyn and three-year-old Sennen. It was not exactly the Bali of 2011 when Emily and I spent two months, it was even less the Bali of 2004-2006 when I lived there and definitely less charming than Bali of 2001 when I first visited and Monkey Forest Road in Ubud still had some rice paddies along it.
The kids want me to take them again – especially Ailyn who doesn’t remember Bali at all. I’ll probably do it – knowing Leanne is probably right – it won’t be the Bali of my heart. The thing is, wherever I live and whatever I do, the Bali of 2004-2006 will always be missing for me. It was my home at that time and it was wondrous, beautiful and magical. A small piece of me will always yearn for Bali – knowing even if I go there now, that Bali may not fill the gap.
Each place we live, each home, grows us in its way and breaks us in another.
To come full-circle, maybe it’s like love and loss with people. Even the ones who are most foundational and stick with us for the longest stretches – like my dad or Aunt Penny – eventually leave. We are who we are because of such people, yet they take a small chunk when they go – and we can never go back.
Years ago at my Great Uncle Bob’s funeral, my mom’s cousin Gigi came from Las Vegas to attend. Gigi is a big, and fun personality. My mom said she wished Gigi showed up more often – perhaps for happier events – she only sees Gigi at funerals.
“I know, I’ve gotta’ stop coming to these things. Every time, it’s just one less person to talk to.”
