Floating Lanterns

My grandfather spent the final thirteen months of his life in a space between living and dying. I spent the final night of his life with him, in a space between waiting and watching, a witness to his death.

I sat at the edge of his bed with my hand on his foot while my mother and grandmother held each of his hands, and when my uncle arrived I sat in the corner in my grandfather’s wheelchair because the room didn’t have enough seats.

His dying was loud and labored. His cheeks rattled with every breath as he sucked air in and forced air out. In. And out. For hours. Almost an entire night.

***

At Haleiwa Jodo Mission, people float lanterns to remember their loved ones. They write names and messages on the four fragile paper sides before lighting a candle in the center and sending the lantern out to defy the sea.

I stand knee deep in the ocean, just before the break, and watch the current on the other side catch the lanterns and pull them away from me. I stand behind a family that has walked out waist deep to send off their lantern together. They hold hands in the water and cry in the waves.

The lanterns glow gently. They stand bright against the dark glass sea. They bob as they drift over the dark water away to where the deep ocean disappears into the night sky.

***

I was afraid to sleep. Afraid to leave. Afraid that I might miss the moment when his soul escaped his body. His mouth was gaping open, straining to make a rhythm of inhales and exhales. He stopped twice. The first time, he opened his eyes and lifted his head before gasping for breath and returning to an almost sleep. The silence shook me and I cried for him to breathe again.

***

I stand still. The water moves around me. With feet sinking into the sand I watch the lanterns sway into the sea, symbols of the souls of so many loved ones. Without a path they manage to move together across the vastness of the ocean, creating a temporary trail of visibility across the darkness of the entire night.

***

I almost missed the moment when he stopped again. From fast to slow to barely even there. I strained to hear the rasp of his life. I held my breath from silence to silence until I had to be the one to breathe again.