Cranes

We are all given gifts at different stages in our lives that are sometimes called into use at unexpected, meaningful times. In my life, such is the case with the gift of being able to fold origami paper cranes.

During second grade, our school held a commemorative assembly in honour of those killed in the bombing massacres of Hiroshima and Nagasaki ~ and by extension ~ all senselessly killed in war. In preparation for the event, our teacher read to us Eleanor Coerr's Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes (1977), a biography of perhaps the most iconic victim of the American bombings.

Sadako Sasaki was a Japanese girl who lived near Misasa Bridge in Hiroshima, Japan when the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima. Sadako was only two years old on August 6, 1945 when she became a victim of the atomic bomb. At the time of the explosion Sadako was at home, about 1 mile from ground zero. By November 1954, lumps had developed on her neck and behind her ears. Then in January 1955, purple spots had started to form on her legs. Subsequently, she was diagnosed with leukemia, which her mother referred to as 'an atom bomb disease.'[1] She was hospitalized on February 21, 1955 and given, at the most, a year to live. (Wikipedia)

What transformed Sadako's story into legend was how her best friend, Chizuko Hamamoto, came to visit her at the hospital on August 3rd, 1955, and ceremoniously folded a single paper crane out of a golden sheet of paper. When asked the significance of the gesture, Chizuko recounted an old Japanese saying: If one were to fold 1000 paper cranes, a wish would be granted. And so Sadako proceeded ~ throughout the rest of her very short life ~ to fold over a thousand such delicate birds. When she died from radiation-induced leukemia at the age of twelve, she became a symbol of hope for people the world over to put aside bitterness and strife in the name of forgiveness and peace. (A beautiful and little known fact is that there is a statue of Sadako ~ holding a string of paper cranes ~ here in Seattle's Peace Park, located in the University District at the corner of N.E. 40th Street and Roosevelt Way N.E.)

Thus, a week before the assembly was to take place, every member of our elementary student body embarked on a quest to jointly fold one thousand paper cranes; with each bird created, we were exhorted to think about Sadako's fate, and to consider the ramifications of war and necessity for peace. Every spare moment we had after whipping through classwork was consumed in a flurry of activity to fold cranes of every shape, size, and shade; in fact, I think we even began to get a little competitive to see who could fold more, faster. I don't think that's exactly what Sadako would've wanted, but hey... kids are kids.

Such was my fervour I remember folding them while waiting for piano and music theory lessons to start; I unfortunately started OCD'ing on making cranes, which I'd then take by the bagful to school every day. Eventually, our school succeeded in crafting well over a thousand at final count, and it was with a mixture of mesmerized awe and relief when we saw them strung triumphantly throughout the assembly hall in a gorgeous display of collective, meaningful effort.

Since I got into the mode of folding paper cranes those many years ago, I never quite got out of it. I've crafted them out of big sheets of construction paper (bad, bad paper for origami), scraps of wrapping paper, cigarette paper at outdoor music festivals (really makes the stoners happy, let me tell you), gum wrappers, bar napkins, receipts, etc. During times of deep stress and intense duress, like exam periods and when I should've been writing papers, I'd be knee-deep in notebook and print-out paper cranes. I've actually even made them out of the most intricately-designed real Japanese origami paper, which I then fashioned into a first mobile for my baby Jeeps when he was born. If there's going to be anything I can be sure of being able to do when I'm demented with Alzheimer's, it'll be folding flapping birds out of pretty much anything pliable.

Origami cranes have made countless, significant appearances throughout my life since the reading of the Sadako story, and now, once again, they have returned.

Yesterday, during Ninja Class, Cool Mint asked if I'd heard about the father of our kids' schoolmate who'd just been killed. I had no idea, as I hadn't seen anything from Jeeps' bag the day before except for his homework, and hadn't seen/read the local news in days. It turns out that the victim was a 39-year-old father of two girls (one of whom is a fourth-grader at Jeep's school), a molecular neurobiologist who worked at the UW, and an avid cyclist. He died when he was accidentally struck and run over by a van early Wednesday morning in Seattle's Ballard neighbourhood, close to our kids' school. Needless to say, this was horrifying and deeply upsetting news.

Late this morning, I received this e-mail from Jeeps' lovely elementary school principal; in a slightly modified format to keep the identities of the family fairly anonymous, here's a brief excerpt:

We are collecting money for {the family} for gift cards to restaurants and/or a permanent memorial at school to celebrate Kevin’s love for and gift of science to our school community. You can give a donation to the office staff and we will let you know when and how it will be spent. You may also choose to donate to the bicycle education foundation mentioned in the memorial details below. Additionally, the children in the 5th grade classrooms (9, 10, 14, 15 and 16) were given instruction in making origami cranes that will be strung for use at a memorial service and celebration being held Sunday (see details below).

If you can come to school today, Friday, at any point to make some more cranes and begin to help us string them that would be most helpful. (You will find origami paper in the office, finished cranes can go in a box in the main office. We will be stringing and perhaps making more cranes in a classroom near the lunchroom.) We plan to hang them in the beach house at Golden Gardens Sunday for the celebration service, a beautiful and loving presence from our school communities.

After I read the heartrending letter, I took my little daughter to my bed and literally cried myself to sleep, holding her tightly while she obliviously read before falling asleep with me. Hours later (how did that happen?), I awoke with a start, late to pick up the boys from school and panicking like you wouldn't believe. Frantically, I got SiKay awake, dressed, and out the door in minutes, calling Cool Mint to rescue Jeeps from his classroom as we'd be late to pick him up (the boys go to different schools in two different districts due to bureaucratic crap that should be sorted out by next year), and went to get ArJay from his school first. After Arjay was safely intercepted, we then ran to get the bus to go pick up Jeeps from his school.

Luckily, wonderful Cool Mint came to our rescue and had Jeeps happily occupied in the school's playground while her own poor kids were dying to go home. (CM, thank you again! I think I owe you more than vino at this point!) After we parted, my kids and I went into the school and... got to work. With SiKay and ArJay watching the newly-hatched baby salmon swimming around in the big tank by the school office, I taught my seven-year-old son how to fold origami cranes, just as I learned when I was seven. We folded a bunch in different sizes and all sorts of different colours, and even rescued some efforts that were abandoned by frustrated hands that had come before us. I tried not to start crying again, and focussed instead on showing Jeeps ~ who knew exactly why we were doing this as grief counsellors had already been to his classroom ~ this ability that might come in handy for whatever comforting he'll need to do for himself and others in the future. And it's beautiful to think that, one day, Jeeps may teach his own seven-year-old child the very same skill.

It strikes me that this craft, this simple gift to fold a paper crane, is an intermittently-seen ~ yet absolutely integral ~ fibre of the rope that composes my being, and I am curious to see what other skill that is within me ~ known or unknown ~ will be asked to be brought to the table at another point in the near and distant future. And I'm reminded that we are each of us gifts, and full of gifts... as are those around us. And life is a vast, difficult, and wonderful mystery which we can navigate with the help of each other. At this point, though, I'm just still so desperately sad for Kevin's family. I can't imagine how they're even managing to breathe.

I don't really even know how to end this post, except to say that hopefully the family will find some semblance of comfort in knowing they are loved and cared for by a whole community of neighbours, friends, and even unmet friends, like ourselves. That they're not alone, and a massive group of people are concerned enough that the thousand cranes mark just the beginning of caring, helping hands.




photo credit: This origami crane mobile was crafted and photographed by her creator, Etsy designer Oh the Cuteness!