Early in the afternoon, on the rare day when the morning fog lifts, you can look west from Cahill Ridge and see Half Moon Bay. There’s a valley that cuts across the peninsula and opens up to the sea. On the good days, when the air is serene, I think that you would have liked this place. On other days, when the wind blusters and blows and it is impossible to light incense, I think you would have questioned it.
In the end, that doesn’t really matter. The niche placement, the highest on the wall for the best view, the incense, placed in a jar weighted by rice, the flowers, a variety of colors–those are really meant for the living. Even this is really meant for the living.
Wind aside, it is more tranquil here than the other place we considered. Everytime I visit, I think about what I would tell you. This year, perhaps I would tell you about the money I lost in Vegas. I think you would have enjoyed that; you always liked the occasional lottery ticket. I would have told you about the sand dunes in Colorado and the most recent trip to Yosemite and the rafting trips. Besides the trips, everything else would have been the same, unspoken. I didn’t really know what to say. I hope you knew that the two phrases that hold the most weight for me are “thank you” and “I’m sorry”.
It is easy to want to learn lessons when something bad happens. But I’m not really sure what there is to learn when these things happen once. Perhaps there is a lesson there about the dangers of being risk averse. Perhaps there is a lesson about sacrifice and compromise. About the fleetingness of the moment.
The next time I visit, I will bring a pinwheel. I saw one the last time we came.