My grandmother, Marian Warner, died at 4:55 this morning, Thursday November 15, 2007. My dad, my aunt (her daughter), my cousin Trisha and her son Robbie were there along with a lady from the local hospice who happened to be named Stacey (same as my sister) and whose husband is Brad (not me, different Brad).
My aunt woke me up about an hour before she passed away because the hospice lady had woke her & my dad and told them that grandma’s breathing and vitals had changed and she thought it might be time. My aunt asked if there was any religious thing I wanted to do. So I rummaged around my bag and found the little booklet of sutras I carry with me. I lit a stick of incense and chanted the Heart Sutra. Grandma’s breathing was heavy and her eyes were closed most of the time, though she did open them occasionally and acknowledge us. As her breathing began to settle I chanted once more. I was still chanting when she took her final breath. My aunt was holding her hand. My dad and Trish were standing at the foot of the bed.
Gone.
That was just seven hours ago. It’s a mistake to write about such a thing in a public forum so soon after it happened. For practical purposes I’m posting this mainly to let those who signed up for the day-long retreat at the Hill Street Center this Saturday (Nov. 16) that I won’t be there. But the retreat will still go ahead as planned. Kevin Bortolin, another Dharma Heir of Nishijima Sensei will be there. Maybe he’ll say a few words at the end.
I’ve hashed and re-hashed my whole what-happens-when-you-die schpiel a dozen times this year, I think. I don’t mind letting people in on the secret. It’s just that I don’t have a whole lot of confidence most folks grasp what I’m saying when I try to explain it. Which isn’t to say that I’m all Enlightened and you’re all dumb-asses. It’s just that it takes a certain amount of serious, dedicated practice before these kinds of things are gonna make sense. And most of you haven’t done that. No judgments there. It's just a fact.
Anyway, we all imagine that this thing we call “me” is the personal property of us as individuals. That, in itself, is a weird idea and provides a clue to how absurd the view is. I own me. We posit not one but two individuals. There’s me that I can describe and name, and then there’s a more nebulous, indescribable me that owns this describable, nameable me.
The real situation is that this thing we call "me" is not our property. It is an expression of the Universe. As such there is nowhere it can possibly go when we breathe our last. This me is not a soul that flies up to Heaven or descends to Hell. It is not an Atman that reincarnates in a different body. It is not a True Self that merges into the All-ness of Being. It can’t be limited in any of those silly and trivial ways. Even what I just said about it being an expression of the Universe puts far too many arbitrary limits on it.
My grandma’s dead and gone, waiting soon to be buried. She’ll never return. And yet the Universe of which she was an expression can never die, can never go anywhere, can never be extinguished.
Whatever.
The funeral will be Saturday afternoon. If you want to do something for me to ease my grief then go see Puffy Amiyumi at the Key Club tomorrow (Friday Nov. 16th) and take some good photos because it looks like I won’t make it. I may make it to their show Sunday in Annaheim.
When I lay dying you can light some incense and chant the Heart Sutra, put on The Beatles White Album, hold my hand (but not if you’re a dude, cuz that would be gay, dudes can sorta pat me on the shoulder in a manly way*), or be very quiet. I’m guessing I’d appreciate the silence more than anything else. Though I really like the White Album. Play that when you think I still have a few hours left then be quiet afterwards. That'll work.
My grandma lived a good life and died peacefully at home. May we all be able to do the same.
* Dammit it’s a joke. Stop taking everything so seriously.
