Swinging my three-year-old son between us, my sister and I walked up the narrow paths of Sorich Park through a forest of Eucalyptus trees toward Mount Tamalpais Cemetery.

We passed a bearded man on our way. “Clear day,” he said. “I thought it would be muddy, but it’s a beautiful day.” The man looked familiar. After the man passed, my son asked, “Was that Baba?”

“No,” I said. “He had a beard like Baba’s. But Baba died.”

“Baba died?”

“Yes.”

“Like Goldie?” Goldie was our goldfish.

“Yes, like Goldie.”

“They put him underneath the ground like Goldie?”

My sister grimaced.

“Yes.”

We heard a distant sawing sound, then a crash. We looked up through the forest, where men were cutting fragile Eucalyptus trees. Once towering trees collapsed. Below us, a family held a funeral amidst the falling trees.

My son sang, “Skip, skip, skip to my Lou. Skip to my Lou, my darlin,’” as he bounded toward “Baba’s bench.” He wiped the dew off of the black granite with his sweater sleeve. I sat him next to the engraved name of my father.

“Tina, sit next to me,” my son called to my sister. So they sat sandwiched on the driest section of the granite. My son asked, “Do you want to read a story?”

This time we had not brought any books, so I said, “Why don’t we tell you a story about Baba.”

My son nodded.

“Baba and Nana used to swing us up into the air on blankets. And we would laugh and laugh. Baba loved to make you laugh when you were a baby. And he held you tight.”

My son felt the gold letters on the edge of the bench that read: When a child is delighted in, she finds herself delightful.

My sister turned to me. “Dad would be so proud of you.” She pointed to my son, “Just look at him. He is delighted in.”

“Thanks, Christina.” She commended me the same way my father would have when he was alive. And, all of a sudden, I realized that my son was my life’s work. The rest was just peripheral.

By Ariana Amini

Labels: Ariana Amini, Baba died, black granite, cemetary, Eucalyptus tree, funeral, Goldfish

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