Nicole Irizawa
Plotting the Storm’s Track
On November 7, 1995, a tropical cyclone formed in the monsoon trough of the Bay of Bengal. It intensified while heading toward land, and an eye-of-the-storm emerged, making it official.
On November 8, it was classified as an intense cyclonic storm.
On November 9, it made landfall in India, killing hundreds of people and destroying crops, homes, and power lines in its path.
On November 10, it caused a rare, massive snowfall in the Gokyo Peak region of Nepal, wreaking havoc during peak trekking season.
On November 10, one of the deadliest avalanches in Nepal’s history rumbled down the mountain and smothered everything in its path, including a lodge, where hikers and Sherpas were sheltering from the storm.
On November 10, my not-yet mother-in-law called for us to come over to watch breaking news reports of the avalanche that had reportedly killed a group of 13 from Japan.
On November 10, I watched my not-yet brother-in-law crack open a beer and break down in gut wrenching sobs as the face of my not-yet father-in-law flashed on the screen, formally identified as one of the fatalities.
On November 11, the cyclone dissipated over Nepal.
On November 12, the victims’ families left for Nepal, including my not-yet in-laws.
On November 13, I sat waiting for the train to my job teaching English to junior high students in Tokyo, not understanding my grief for a man I barely knew.
On November 13, I arrived at work and tried to force the lump in my throat back down, then gave in to tears when a fellow English teacher offered me a hug.
On November 17, I shopped for my first formal funeral attire.
On November 18, I took part in the service. I nodded along as one by one I met extended family members for the first time. Tears spilled down my face as the monk chanted the sutra, my long, curly hair serving as a welcome veil. I sat in fear, knowing it would soon be my turn to approach the altar and offer prayers. I tried to memorize each step taken by those in front of me, noting how deeply to bow, and how to step away from the altar.
On that day, I learned to pinch the incense between my thumb, index and middle finger and sprinkle it on the burning embers, three times.
Nicole grew up in landlocked Ohio and now calls Japan home. She works as a communications professional in Tokyo and fills her weekends with hikes, yoga, paranormal podcasts, and café hunting. Her writing has appeared in Five Minutes and Grande Dame Literary. She lives with her husband, daughter, and pet yorkie in Chiba Prefecture.
