“I would like to see that before I die.”

I was struggling with the crossword puzzle, during a visit with my parents. I looked up when my father spoke.   My father doesn’t speak much, so when he does we pay attention, unlike my mother, a chatterbox who never stops talking to anyone who will listen.

“Huh?”

My father pointed to the television. A Japanese show was on, subtitles flashing at the bottom of the screen. A samurai was talking to a pretty young woman who was silently weeping into the sleeve of her kimono. That couldn’t be what my father wanted to see. He has three daughters. By the time we all left home, he had seen enough tears to last a lifetime.

“Huh?” I repeated.

My father ignored me and stared intently at the television. Neither a man of many words, nor emotion, he sat silently. The samurai kept up his guttural speech; the young woman continued weeping. They stood under a cherry tree in full bloom, the petals gently floating to the ground succumbing to gravity in a languid manner.

“Cherry blossoms in bloom?” I ventured to guess.

“Yeah,” he replied, “In Japan.” My father often wonders why the minds of his offspring move at a glacial pace.

I went home and had a long conversation with my hubby. He was surprised that my parents had never been to Japan, as it was their ethnic heritage; I had been several times. Hubby agreed that taking my parents on a trip, while restrictive in the manner in which we liked to travel and costly, would be a kind gesture. My older sister often took my parents along on family trips, but her husband didn’t travel for the pleasure of traveling in itself, but treated it as a necessity. Their family trips consisted of destinations where their sons had athletic events, visiting family or Disney theme parks. Foreign travel was out of the question, even Euro Disney.

Hubby and I researched various tour groups, as a pre-planned trip would be easiest on my parents. They are not adventurous. Our one family trip in my youth consisted of a visit to my mother’s family in Southern California, with side adventures to various theme parks to entertain us children. I was seven at the time. My younger sister was too young to appreciate the trip and cried when she saw the costumed characters at Disneyland and fussed in the long lines. She and my Mom spent most of the time with my cousin or in the hotel room. It was the last family trip we ever took. My father’s scheduling of the trip was regimented and he became irritated if a line was longer than he anticipated or we had a late start. My father would become apoplectic if he were forced to travel in the manner that Hubby and I typically do, loosely scheduled with spontaneous changes due to weather, crowds, hunger and mood. Hubby is very much like my father; however, Hubby has learned that keeping me on a regimented schedule while traveling for pleasure made the trip unpleasant at best.

After months of planning, and spending an inordinate amount of money we would not typically spend on a guided tour to a first world country, we flew to Japan and joined the tour group on its Spring trip. It was not a great time for me to be away from work, and Hubby’s time off was without pay. We tucked away our concerns when we saw the excitement and anticipation on my parent’s faces.

Much to our surprise, we experienced a trip of a lifetime. We traveled South from Tokyo through Kyoto on the train; Mount Fuji could be seen clearly in the distance. The weather cooperated and the trees were laden with cherry blossoms in thousands of shades of pink. The blossoms were so heavy that bamboo stakes were used to prop up weaker branches. The towns we visited had a celebratory buzz in the air, as cherry blossoms are celebrated each year for its fleeting beauty and as the harbinger of Spring. Impromptu festivals sprung up in the middle of town under blooming trees. Thousands of people were flocking from all over Japan to Kyoto to celebrate and to hopefully catch a glimpse of a geisha out in the clear cool weather. The normally stoic Japanese were laughing and cheerful. With his voice cracking in excitement, our guide told us that we were experiencing the best cherry blossom season that he ever seen in his many years in Japan, as rain and wind, common during that time of year, often put a damper on both blossoms and mood.

One of the stops on the tour in Kyoto was the world renown place for viewing cherry blossoms: the Philosopher’s Path. A beautiful winding path along a river flanked by park land and small shops, including tea houses for viewing the prodigiously blooming cherry trees. People travel from all over the world to see the Philosopher’s Path and its beauty in the Spring for the cherry blossoms and later in the year for the bright Fall colors. I had once spoken to a woman who had traveled to Japan several times, specifically to Kyoto, to see the cherry blossoms along the Philosopher’s Path. Each time rain and once an ill-timed trip (too late) thwarted her efforts. She sighed longingly when I spoke of our experience.

I stood near a bridge next to my father, while we looked down the endless winding path. The trees were heavy with blossoms, the petals gently floating to the ground whenever a breeze gently swept by, seemingly for effect. It was more stunning than the television show depicted, as I was there, standing next to my father, fulfilling his dream. Overcome by the wonderment of nature around us, I turned to my father and choked out a few words tears welling up in my eyes, “Is this what you meant? Your wish has come true and you can die in peace.”

My father looked at me blankly and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He wandered off in search of my mother who was petting a stranger’s dog.