A Brush with Fate: Unearthing Forgotten Memories of Near-Death and Distant Lands
When Cheryl Strayed introduced her writing prompts during the workshop I attended, one of them read, “Write about when you almost died” I initially skipped over it, unable to recall any such moment in my life, at least not in a literal sense. However, Cheryl emphasized the importance of delving deep into our stories, saying that writing takes us into the storage space. Be wildly open to what you find there. She shared a quote she admired from Rick Rubin: “The ability to look deeply is the root of creativity. To see past the ordinary and mundane to get what otherwise might be invisible.”
As I began writing about other memories, a flood of long-forgotten experiences rushed back to me. It struck me that there was indeed a time when I had almost died. How had that slipped my memory? And so, the story unfolded…
In 1976-77, my father was stationed in Yokosuka, Japan, serving in the Navy. Given his frequent absences due to sea duty, my mom and I often ventured off the base on our own adventures. I recall vivid memories of strolling through the streets and relishing in the flavors of chicken yakitori from the numerous street vendors. One of our go-to spots for meals was the many Teppanyaki restaurants. Teppanyaki, derived from the Japanese words "Teppan" (iron plate) and "Yaki" (pan-fried), involved them bringing our food to the table for us to cook ourselves, as opposed to Hibachi where the chefs perform and cook in front of you. I remember that I adored the chopsticks they would bring me, each topped with cute animal figures.
Surprisingly, at the tender age of four going on five, I quickly picked up the Japanese language, and my mom often relied on me as her little interpreter. I also served as her taste tester, especially since we often found ourselves clueless about what we were ordering due to all the menus being in Japanese. Sometimes we'd resort to pointing at a photo, but when that failed, we'd simply take a guess. Our rule of thumb was simple: if I would eat it, it must be good. Looking back now as a parent to a six-year-old, I find it amusing to imagine how comical that must have appeared. Another cherished place of mine was Omiyakotsu Park. We would take the train there and spend our days enjoying the go-kart area and exploring the Temples and shrines scattered around Kyoto. The go-kart park mimicked a real streetscape with traffic lights, roundabouts, pedestrian crossings, and more. I adored the charming and quirky little shops filled with Hello Kitty and other beloved Japanese characters. Each purchase was meticulously wrapped with care, using adorable tissue paper and adorned with stickers.
During one of our excursions outside the Navy base, we befriended a couple of local girls who welcomed us into their homes and introduced us to their families. This blossomed into a lifelong friendship, with visits to each other's homes both in Japan and in the States. Additionally, my mother would take me to the Bon Odori festival, where we would dress in Kimonos and dance around the yagura, a wooden stage where traditional musicians played.
Life on the Navy base lacked the enchantment I found elsewhere. I recall my mom sending me out into the backyard in my old play clothes, encouraging me to have fun making mud pies without worrying about getting messy. However, a curious neighborhood girl would often try to pull me out of the mud. When her attempts failed, she would run to my door, seeking my mom's intervention. On one occasion, after her pleas for help went unanswered, she returned to the backyard and tried once more to get me out of the mud-filled plastic pool. This time, she returned to my door in tears, showcasing two tiny mud handprints on her once-pristine dress. My mom's response was firm: "I warned you to leave her alone!" and she promptly closed the door. A few minutes later, the girl's mother arrived, only to receive the same response from my mom. Unfortunately, the situation took a complicated turn as the girl's father happened to be the Admiral's daughter. Whoops! On a more cheerful note, my mom and I rescued a dog during one of our frequent visits to the Yakitori stands in Japan. I vividly recall him trailing behind us for hours, patiently waiting as we explored various shops. We knew we had to bring him home! Sneaking him onto the Navy base where pets weren’t allowed in our housing at the time proved to be a challenge. We even had a mishap during his first bath attempt, with my mom accidentally falling through the glass sliding doors of the bathtub. When maintenance came to repair the broken glass, we had to hide Kimo in the bedroom until they finished. Eventually, we were able to move to a different housing arrangement that allowed pets, and Kimo officially became part of our family. He quickly became my best friend and playmate, despite the amusing revelation that his name, Kimo, didn't have the cute meaning we initially thought. In Japanese, it translates to "disgusting" or "gross." Another whoops!
One quirky habit that Kimo had was licking the old radiators in our Navy housing. At the age of four, I found this amusing and decided to join in. However, what started as a funny game quickly turned serious. I began experiencing flu-like symptoms that took a severe turn. After spending days in the Navy Hospital, doctors struggled to pinpoint the cause of my illness. Turns out the radiators were covered in lead paint, I had blood poisoning. My mom later recounted an intense moment when alarms blared in the hospital room as I lay inside a plastic tent. Medical professionals rushed in, pushing her aside, as they urgently performed CPR on me. I had gone into cardiac arrest, a life-threatening situation. They swiftly moved the bed, with the nurse continuing CPR, down the hall to the surgical room. Looking back at my medical records from that period, I learned that I had been in cardiac arrest for over two and a half minutes. Brain death can occur after four minutes without oxygen, making my survival truly fortunate. I'm grateful to be alive and to have no lasting effects from that medical emergency.
As I conclude this chapter, I realize that life often intertwines moments of joy and adventure with unexpected challenges and close calls. Cheryl Strayed's writing prompt about near-death experiences initially seemed distant to me, but delving into my memories revealed a significant event that shaped my perspective.
Our time in Japan was filled with adventures, from exploring the vibrant streets and experiencing local cuisine to forming lifelong friendships and rescuing our beloved dog. However, amidst the magic, there were also moments of uncertainty like my medical emergency.
Through it all, I've learned valuable lessons about resilience, gratitude, and the importance of cherishing every moment. Life's journey is a tapestry of highs and lows, and it's these contrasting experiences that make our stories unique and meaningful.
Looking back now, despite the frightening moments, our time in Japan will forever remain etched in my memories as a magical era filled with love, laughter, and unforgettable adventures.
