Leaving Home

Well, after all my many promises and excuses, after seven long months, here it is – finally – my last entry on our Japan blog. I suspect this entry has taken me this long for a variety of reasons. The most obvious one is time; returning to America and settling in has been a big, time-consuming adjustment for us. Surprisingly, I have found myself with less time than ever for blogging, despite being unemployed for six months. Not being tethered to a desk in a room full of non-English speakers certainly has it’s consequences.
Another reason for my delay is simple: it was just too painful. Leaving Nishiokoppe hurt in a way that I simply couldn’t, and didn’t, anticipate.

The day of our leaving was lovely. The weather certainly did not match my gloomy mood. Despite the long day ahead of me, I nonetheless awoke at 5:30 for my last run. As I ran my usual path around the village, I took mental pictures of our home: the steep, crumbly steps to the shrine; the somewhat neglected but immeasurably quaint formal gardens, complete with the tea ceremony house (I remembered my visits there and th ought of Ridge’s experiences as well); the houses with their neat and resourceful vegetable gardens; the pre-school where my children had been lovingly looked after; and the schools where I spent my days – sometimes in frustration, but mostly with great joy and pleasure. This was our home. This was a magical place, like Never-Never Land, and we were the three nursery-room escapees destined to return soon to the real world.

I made my final loop and returned to the house. We plodded through our final preparations with heavy hearts. Soon enough, the village van arrived and our luggage was loaded. The men from my office milled about, taking care of small details. Then, our friends and neighbors began to gather in the street.

It began with Chizuko and Chihiro. We hugged, took photos, and I shed my first tears. Ryuuya and the gang came to hang out with Ridge and Holt. More photos.

Slowly, the crowd grew, as did the lump in my throat and the heavy feeling in my stomach. There were the people who so generously and kindly took us into their lives. They helped us through our troubles. They laughed away our fears, and they ignored our social blunders. Now they came to say good-bye.

Some brought more gifts –a customary gesture. Others imply came to wish us well. Then, as my days in Nishiokoppe had begun, so they ended: with a speech. It’s difficult to think of anything I’ve done lately that has been as difficult as that speech was. As I managed to get a few words out, Mr. Kurata patiently, as always, translated for me. I was touched by the sadness I saw reflected in many faces. One of Ridge’s friends began sobbing uncontrollably. Once I could no longer speak, the four of us made way around the crowd, shaking hands, hugging, saying thank you. The hugs were possibly the most moving thing of all. The Japanese, as a whole, are not a “huggy” people, and this was to be our first and last embrace. So many people had gathered that it took us nearly 30 minutes (my best guess after the fact) to make it to everyone.
The inevitable could not be delayed, though. Our van was waiting and it was time to go. Ridge and Holt were already waiting for us in the vehicle. They were more reserved about the whole experience. I, however, sobbed unabashedly as I climbed into the van, the door closing behind me with a soft click. Outside the window, I watched and waved. I’ll never forget my last look back as the van drove away: The small, narrow street was filled with faces I had grown to know and love. There must have been close to seventy people or so, and they crowed our front yard, waving until the very last moment when we turned the corner and were out of sight. Even now, I can hardly bear to write about it.

The next hour of the drive was a bit of a blur. Actually the next few days were blurry. We drove for a few hours, stopping at a fantastic park and rest stop. Oohara-san, our driver, played with Ridge and Holt, bought our lunch, and tried to keep our spirits up. I felt like I was in a dream, though. Every minute that passed, I felt myself trying to soak everything up and store it away in my memories like a pack rat. Eventually, we arrived at the airport, checked into our hotel, took a few pictures, ate our last Japanese ice cream with Oohara-san, then parted ways. I cried some more.

As the plane took flight and I felt us lift into the air the next morning, I watched Sapporo grow smaller and smaller. I knew at that moment that I had left a bit of my heart in a small village in rural Japan. Who would have ever thought it would happen.

Well, I have to stop now because I can’t see anymore through these troublesome tears. I’m thinking of starting a new blog…just because it’s fun and I can do it. Check back later for more info. I apologize for any errors in this post. I can’t bring myself to proof read it now, so I’m just going to post it.