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Service Beyond Service: Reflections on War, Death, and Family
I woke up Friday morning quite distressed to the remnants of a dream that was slowly being enveloped by the reality of the environment around me and the comfort of loved ones refreshing me to the new day. But, I was still sad, crying even, at times without end, an experience both rare and frightening upon reflection. While the substance of the dream may have been slightly unrelated to the substance that I was upset about, and while the feelings, the tears, have now relinquished and evaporated from my face and heart, I still feel an odd need to reflect on those emotions that came from this dream a few mornings ago.
The dream was about Hattie’s maternal grandparents, but mainly her grandfather Phil who if you ever have the blessing of meeting him you will find him to be a funny and gracious man, husband, father, grandfather, and great grandfather. In the dream, Phil was pretty sick and it was taking a toll on me, although I was surrounded by his family and loved ones. There was not much more content to the dream besides that because I recall waking up with tears flowing down my cheeks and a deep whole growing in the place where the memories of my maternal grandfather never fully blossomed.
A Single Seed of Hope
Ms. Sasamori
“This article was originally published on the DePaul Interfaith website on January 4th, 2011″
The room was tense as we waited for the moment everyone felt differently about. Some of us were apprehensive, some slightly fearful. Others were intrigued and some still were a little excited. Ms. Sasamori entered the room at a slow, yet steady pace. Her face, I noticed immediately, was scarred from something long ago. Her stature no more than five feet tall. A smile never left her face as she entered bowing before us and saying in a louder voice than I had imagined: “Good Morning!”
This salutation set the tone of her two hour long talk with us about her experiences before, during, and after surviving the dropping of the Atomic Bomb in Hiroshima, Japan. Twenty young students, sat silently glued to every word, story, and emotion that fell from the mouth of this elderly survivor nearing her eighties. I thought about the emotions that were stirring in the hearts of my fellow students. Read the rest of this entry
