Shared by Nick
I would like to share a recent observation I’ve had on the balance between life and death as well as the impermanence of our existence. My grandmother passed away in May. One day later, I found out that my wife was pregnant with our first child. This Thursday, we attended my grandmother’s funeral. One day later, my wife and I saw the first image of our child that resembled a baby during her second trimester ultrasound. I would like to underscore the connections I’ve seen recently between life and death by sharing a poem my grandmother wrote about me when I was a baby. I was her fourth and last grandchild.
Fourth Grandchild
Bagged in a Carter’s nightie
And curled across my breast,
Your small form exudes
the warmth of spring.
New fuzz tickles
The crook of my arm.
Your slate eyes glaze
As I two-step around the kitchen.
They say you will be the last.
Then let me memorize the feel of you-
Soft, warm, full of promise-
Against the day
When no tender shoot
Stirs this gardener’s heart.
Hakone Zendo 