This evening at my lesson, Fukunari-sensei said that she was sorry that last Saturday she was unable to come to our orchestra concert, as she had said she would. She explained that her husband's father had passed away the day before. She smiled as she explained that he was 96 years-old and that most people don't live past their eighties; it was good that he had had a very long life.
I didn't really know what to say. I said, "I'm sorry," in the ways that I knew how to say that in Japanese. I said, "It's unfortunate," in the way I knew how to say that in Japanese. And yet something in her gentleness and and smile made me feel like even those comments were out of place. That she was somehow happy and accepting. But I don't really know. I didn't know what to say, what to feel, how to express it. I can imagine that underneath her calm there is so much more than the selfless caring voice she gives me. And yet I appreciate that world of calm that she offers every week. And even if I couldn't express that in my lesson in the right way, I hope that she and her inner space are well.