When I received word that my grandmother’s death was imminent, I experienced the oddest surge of vitality. Soon after I got the call, my husband and I went to play tennis. With the sun on my hair and the wind on my face, I felt thoroughly grateful to have all my senses intact. As I moved about the court, my body did what I asked, and again I felt lucky. Feeling healthy and alive is no small thing, not when you think of a very old woman lying in a haze, progressing down a tunnel. I felt through and through that I was allowed to enjoy life.
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通行止め (tsūkōdome: Road Closed, No Thoroughfare) to pass + to go + to stop |
This compound might appear to be about death, since I’ve already associated 通 with “passage through a death canal” and 止 (yame(ru): to stop) with death. Moreover, 通行 (tsūkō) means “passing, passage” (as well as “transit” and “traffic”), so there we are again, back to possible issues of mortality.
But of course, this compound is actually about driving.
All the same, I choose to interpret it in a supernatural sense. “Road Closed, No Thoroughfare.” That means you’re too young and healthy to worry about death for a long, long time. Go play in the sun!
For the better part of a year, I’ve been morbidly preoccupied with the death of a classmate. How terribly unfair to die at thirty-eight of cancer, leaving two little girls behind. Although I’ve known plenty of people who have died young, for the first time I felt truly shaken up and all too aware of my mortality. It started a frantic bout of travel that hasn’t stopped; I’d better see the world now, because you never know….
But somehow my grandmother’s progress down the tunnel has brought an end to the morbid worrying. Just as many people die tragically young, many of us die when we’re very, very old and no longer able to contribute to the world. Why should this be a source of comfort? Who knows, but I’ll take comfort where I can get it.
