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Today I woke up thinking about Japan. I’ll start by telling you about my penpal Kaori who lives in Chiba, Japan. She and I became friends online and know each other very well. Several years ago her father was diagnosed with cancer, and Kaori told me she was folding senba zuru (1,000 cranes) for him. This is a Japanese tradition done either by or for a very sick person. After folding 1,000 origami cranes, you are supposed to be granted a wish, and that wish is for returned good health.

I asked Kaori if it was OK if I helped her fold cranes. I was so far away, but I wanted to do something to show my support. She said there was nothing in the tradition that said I couldn’t and was pleased for the help. I learned how to make cranes and folded 500 for her father. (I wore holes through my thumbnails — that is a LOT of folding!)

This is a truly beautiful tradition. With each fold, you are thinking of the person who is sick and wishing them well. The cranes are then sewn onto long strings and hung in the room where the sick person can see them. They’re made with beautiful, brightly colored papers and the end result is almost like a party favor. They are cheerful and happy, and proof that someone was thinking about you an awful lot. To me the most beautiful thing about them is that they are visible prayers. Of all the traditions I’ve learned of all around this world, this is by far my favorite.

But I didn’t think at all about how this would affect Kaori’s Dad. I wanted him to be well because I love Kaori and wanted her to be happy. I felt kindness toward him because he was the father of my friend. I didn’t think at all that he had fought in a war against my country, or how he might feel about Americans because of what he’d lived through and what his family had lost. None of that ever entered my mind, because my thoughts of Japan were all happy ones.

Kaori’s father was stunned that an American woman he’d never met would go to such trouble for him. It might have even taken him a while to wrap his mind around it.

He began to ask about me when he talked to Kaori. He and Kaori’s Mom would ask that she pass on their greetings to me. They even learned a little English so they could write me a card. I was touched beyond words. It was a simple thing, but after realizing how he might have felt about America, seeing his handwriting in my own language was quite a gift indeed.

And then later Kaori asked her Mom to send her an old kimono she had stored at home. Her Mom said she’d dig it out, but why did she want it? Kaori said she’d like to send it to Sarah, that it would be something really special. Kaori’s parents found the kimono she asked for, and her Mom wanted to give me the kimono she sewed to wear to her sister’s wedding. Then her Dad asked what the kimonos were for, and when he heard they were for me, he asked her to send his baby kimono to me as well.

Her Dad’s kimono was the one he wore to be dedicated at the shrine, and is similar to a christening gown for Americans. It is a family heirloom, a treasure to be passed down from one generation to the next. Kaori’s Dad’s family had a lot of money before the war took it away, and his kimono is a splendid one. It would probably be quite a prize to a collector, but to me it is so much more. A man whose heart had frozen in one spot was melted almost accidentally by someone on the other side of the world, and I am now his family.

Real life stories don’t have neat, perfect endings. Kaori’s Dad is healthy once again. Kaori’s daughter Anna came to live with us for a couple months one summer, making me feel even more that part of my family lives in Japan. Kaori and I went on to fold senba zuru for two other cancer patients, once for little girl we didn’t know and once for my friend Tami. Both of them are healthy again.

If I were trying to teach anything here, it would probably be that sometimes, without even trying, we take care of each other in ways we aren’t even aware of.

It’s a beautiful world.

Baby's First Dress.

Watercolor. 14 x 11
I painted this for my little girl's room that I would someday have. I'm hoping my next will be a girl. :)


Limited edition prints.