on a piece of paper and tying that paper to a tree so that their wishes or prayers might come true. I remember seeing hundreds, maybe thousands, of white notes attached to sacred trees in Kyoto. The Japanese call these “wish trees,” and they are as lovely and powerful as anything you’ll see.
Please write down a wish, and tie it to a tree that overlooks Kyoto. I’ll read your wish and do my best to make it come true. Ask for something fun, for yourself. And maybe also leave a drawing for me to look at. That would be wonderful, Mattie. That would make me so happy. Wish for something beautiful and draw something beautiful, and know that I’ll read your words and see what you’ve created. I’ll be smiling, wherever I am. And I’ll love you as much as I always have.
Mommy
Mattie bit her lower lip, trying not to cry. She brought the paper to her face, holding it against her cheek. She shuddered, still remaining silent, but powerless to keep her tears at bay. Perhaps a time would come when she wasn’t so often on the verge of tears, but that time wasn’t now, not when, even with her father beside her, she felt so alone. She missed her mother so much that sometimes she felt as if she had died as well. Parts of her certainly had.
Her father kissed her on the forehead, drawing her tight against him. She could see that he was also crying, not because he’d opened his note, but because she had reacted to hers. He kissed her again and again, and she wrapped her arms around him and quietly wept. He whispered in her ear of his love for her. And his words helped. Sometimes he knew what to say. When she felt his scratchy face against hers and heard the sorrow in his whispers, she understood that he shared her feelings, and somehow this shared pain made her feel better. As the bullet train continued to dart to the east, her tears and shudders stopped.
“I love you, Daddy,” she whispered.
His fingers traced the contours of her jaw. “I’m so lucky to have you,” he replied, smiling, his eyes still red. “Do you know how lucky I am to have you?”
“No.”
“When we go to Oz, Roo, on our next walkabout, I’ll take you into the bush. And we’ll look up at night, and you’ll see so many stars. You’ll see an ocean of them. And I reckon you’ll want to reach up and touch that ocean. I know I did.” He tucked her unbraided hair behind her ears. “To me, you’re like all the stars that fill the sky. I’d be lost without you.”
She stopped his thumb from moving. “Do you want to know what Mommy said to me?”
“Only if you want me to. Maybe we shouldn’t . . . read each other’s notes. But you can tell me what she said.”
“Are you going to open yours?”
“Should I? Right now?”
“I think so.”
Ian nodded, suddenly needing to see his wife’s words. He opened the canister, which contained a note as well as a seashell that resembled a robin’s egg. The shell was speckled with bits of orange and amber and was as smooth as a newborn’s cheek. The note, written in her elegant hand, read:Ian,
Thank you, my love, for going on this trip. I know that I’ve asked much of you, perhaps too much. And I’ll be honest—I’m not through asking. In the days ahead I’ll implore you to do more. And you may not like these requests or agree with them, but please think them through. I love you so much, and I’m trying to help you. The greatest regret of my life is not being there to make you and Mattie happy. That thought causes me so much sorrow. So, please do these things for me, because the thought of you doing them gives me some solace now, at the end, when I face the prospect of losing so much.
Will you please take Mattie and have a picnic along the Kamo River, like we used to? Knowing you, I’d guess that you’ve gone to Japan during the cherry blossom season. Maybe you can sit under a big tree beside the Kamo and watch the blossoms fall. Remember how we used to try and catch them on our tongues? I loved those days.
I’ve been thinking of you all night. I even wrote you a poem. I’ve got so many painkillers in me