Culmination of Self Existence

When Hussein and Fatma stepped on Canadian soil in 1976, they were dazzled with the brilliance of an advanced civilization with brightly lit highways and bridges, high-rise buildings, and smoothly moving traffic. Hussein did not let awe and fear intentionally slip in his psyche. His third leap into an unknown future destiny, Canada, from Omani-Swahili Zanzibari Island culture to British Colonialism to the Tanzanian African nationalism and socialism seemed to have one common thread. His Ismaili faith defined his syncretic pluralistic trait inherited from his ancestors’ Indian past. His faith may have contributed to his ability to adapt and assimilate changes. His Imam had also advised the community to make Canada their home.

Initially, he was impressed with the way the people were well-dressed and walked confidently. He attempted to look into their eyes and smile at them. It was probably a gesture to be well-mannered, accepted, or to validate one’s own identity. Only a few responded likewise. He wondered where these people from and what they were thinking. He probably resigned in his own self limits of only being able to perceive the appearance and not the reality. The problem of appearance and reality seems more relevant to global consumerism. What one wears, drives, and how one lives are some measuring cues of success and admiration. What is beyond appearance, such as mental states and intentions, are unfathomable by one’s own inner self, let alone understanding others.

Most immigrants are initially overly sensitive. They seem to take everything personally. For instance, if the passengers when entering a bus or train did not occupy the empty space beside a new immigrant, then it was most likely translated into a personal lower self esteem. The passenger may not even be aware of his or her action’s impact. Also, a conversation tends to be interpreted as personal finger-pointing.

One day Hussein, while waiting in the car in the parking lot, was shocked to see a fight between two drivers. When one of them tried to exit from his car, the wind blew the door open all the way and touched the other car. This other driver went into an uncontrollable rage and started a fight. For Hussein, the scratch on the material and physical car was not above the spirit and sacrosanct human. He believed that things are temporal and not of ultimate significance. A human spirit, he believed, is eternal, and God-created in His image. After a while, both drivers calmed down and decided to resolve the conflict peacefully.

The newness of Canadian society was exhilarating for Hussein. The smile on his face could not hold his inner conflicting feelings between the joy of being united with the family in the migrating mode and the trepidation of being able to make it in this land of opportunities. He was fluent in Swahili, Gujarati, kutchi and Kigogo dialect back home. English was a challenge for him and Fatma. Without that his windows to the outside world would remain shuttered.

He enrolled in English classes. He also started attending the newly established Jamatkhana, which was rented out of a public school on Jane Street. This provided continuity into the present from the past. Most immigrants of different faiths turned to their respective congregations to feel a sense of belongingness amidst the unfamiliar territory. The religious traditions acted like pillars or foundations to lean on while adjusting to the relatively fast-paced secular and well-planned city of Toronto.

Initially, he and Fatma lived with Shiraz, who had already got the personality trait of being fearless since childhood. Fear may be inherited from the past. The teachers in schools in Tanzania created more fear in Hussein’s children than love for knowledge. But fear latently lies mentally hidden and thwarts the attempts to leap into the future. Shiraz was lucky to have overcome that instilled childhood fear. His childhood separation from his mother’s love and care may have contributed to his deep seated love of seeking and daring nature. He had migrated to Canada in 1972. On landing in Toronto during the winter, he jumped at the first job he found. Pumping gas for one dollar an hour, he relentlessly filled gas in frigid temperatures with no proper attire. This caught the owner’s attention who let Shiraz dabble his hands in repairing and installing tires and changing oil for customers. He enrolled as a part time student to learn auto mechanics. He seemed to have inherited the entrepreneurial trait from Hussein and Fatma. He realized that buying and selling cars yielded more money than his wages. When Shiraz started working night shifts at Toronto Transit Commission (TTC) as a mechanic, he pursued courses in real estate and business administration. He then started buying and selling houses and properties either with a group or alone. His love for improvement and development of new skills blended well with his risky decisions to form a perfect recipe for entrepreneurship in a fertile Canadian soil. His daughter, Zahra, after completing her master’s program in Toxicology, went on to study Chinese medicine. She gave birth to Samiya who has been gifted with a beautiful voice. She often sings ginans in Jamatkhana.

Sabrina became successful family lawyer and a director of a legal aid institution. She married an entrepreneur, Ayaaz Drollia. She gave birth to two pretty girls, Celina, and Kayla.

After a few months of stay in Toronto, Hussein and Fatma visited Parin in Vancouver. She had then delivered her first son Rahim. Her night shift nursing job deprived her from fully tending to Rahim’s needs. Her husband Amin was a Ugandan. The historical Ismaili experience in Uganda was different than that of the Ismailis in Tanzania. Uganda is a land locked country. There was more likelihood of keeping Indian identity and traditions in Uganda as opposed to the coastal openness of Kenya and Tanzania which assimilated changes while letting the inherited Indian traditions erode. In other words, the Ismaili cultural and social experiences were vastly different in each of the three East African countries despite their close proximities and a commonly inherited colonial sway.

Parin and Amin found these cultural and historical differences on top of the difficulties accompanying immigration adjustments impending their relationship. The situation did not improve with the birth of Alnoor and Alykhan. Hussein tried to understand why the fissures were surfacing between couples and between parents and children. While the children, who were growing in a Canadian education system were distinguishing themselves in English pronunciations, dressing and food, their young parents were struggling to fit in and be accepted by the Canadian mainstream thinking. The young parents’ parents were becoming increasingly isolated in their own cocooned lifestyles as they could not easily abandon their old garments they came with to Canada.

After completing his master’s in philosophy, Alnoor formed an organization, The Rules, aimed at mobilizing mass support in various countries, such as India, Kenya, and South Africa, against their respective governments’ unjust policies. Alykhan completed his MBA and CFA from Ivey and joined TD Bank. He felt that the corporate culture was like a noose around his neck choking his spirit and being. He joined his brother Alnoor in setting up an alternative community village in the rain forest in Costa Rica. They aim at making this village self sustaining with zero carbon footprint. They invited like-minded friends to join them to hold a few sessions a year for those seeking to come to grips with their mental and physical health, free from the corporate and polluted urban stress.

Hussein and Fatma returned to Toronto from Vancouver to live with Nizar, their eldest son, and Gulshan. For Hussein, it was customary to live with the eldest. But the dynamics of practical living and adjusting to Canada were antagonistic to the inherited customs. Nizar and Gulshan could not find employment for a long time. The young Ismaili migrating family dynamics began to shift as the menfolk could not find jobs easily, except in factories and shipping and receiving. These men, who had servants working for them back home, found the roles reversed in Canada. Initially, the idea of the dignity of labour did not register in their minds. Their ego was being shattered. It was close to being in a state of humiliation. Women were more readily absorbed in the workforce with their previously acquired administrative and secretarial skills, as well as being a lesser threat to the establishment. Imam Sultan Muhammad Shah had directed the Ismailis back in early nineteenth century to first educate their daughters if the parents could only afford to send only one child to school. An educated mother, he argued, would not only lend her children better future lifestyles, but also be able to stand on her own feet should it be necessary. The power base thus began to oscillate towards a wife and a mother, who, until then, played a minor role in family decision-making in the countries of their origin. This implied, in many cases, the young family’s closer relationship with the wife’s family than the husband’s as was customary.

Back in Dodoma, Tanzania, Nizar, and Gulshan were completely engrossed in their own little sewing shop. They both were brilliant but randomly weeded out of the colonial education system at an early age. Finally, Gulshan’s brother, Amin, aided them to get an assembly line job in a lamp factory where he worked as a supervisor. It was not the minimum pay or sweltering working conditions that deeply affected their mental and physical being. It was the f-word and other slurs used to address them and other workers. This verbal abuse shattered their confidence. They would recall how they had treated their employees relatively better in Tanzania than they were being subjected to in Canada. They took this humiliation very personally. This affected the quality of caring for not only their own children, but also for their own parents and for each other. They became very distraught at their decision to migrate to Canada. This difficult period soon passed as they joined Shiraz in opening a convenience store on Gerrard Street in downtown. They worked twelve-hour days for seven days a week but regained their own inherited turf and confidence. Their faith in non static time – that tough times will pass, and everything will be better – was parallel to their religious belief in the Imam’s powers of safeguarding and protecting all the momins or followers in different times. More significantly, the mental continuity of being shop owners again in Canada provided that existential connection to the past. This continuity dynamics of past and present seem to cumulate further towards self definition.

Nizar got up at 4am and went to jamatkhana everyday to meditate. He offered rides to a few Ismaili migrants who did not have cars. In the evenings, he would take Hussein and Fatma to jamatkhana regularly even after they moved to their own subsidized apartment in Scarborough. Nizar kept his religious zeal and piety-mindedness in Canada. He belonged to the group of immigrants who were born outside Canada and laboured hard to give better opportunities to their children. In Canada, the price they paid to finally settle down was steep.

Although Salim and Salima, Nizar and Gulshan’s children, were born in Dodoma, came to Canada at an early age. Salim became a Chartered Accountant and worked initially for Ernst & Young. Later, he joined his uncles to start a paper company. Salima graduated in food science from Ryerson and worked in the health care sector before getting married to Shaheer Bhoja of Kitchener.

Hussein and Fatma thoroughly enjoyed shopping at Knob Hill Farms, a super grocery store. Every week, they would buy three loaves of bread for one dollar and several whole chickens for a couple of dollars. They looked forward to visiting Knob Hill Farms each week. Most migrants shopped there. Unfortunately, Knob Hill Farms did not carry staples like garlic, coriander, cumin, and turmeric that were needed to make zesty curries. Hussein, like other Ismaili immigrants, yearned for their traditional foods with spices. These ingredients could only be bought from a couple of Indian stores. The aroma from traditional cooking generated a sense of comfort and homeliness. But it also raised the ire of some early European migrants. Some of them shouted, “Go home, Pakis,” or “You smell like rotten socks.” Around that time, an Ismaili migrant by the name of Shamshuddin was pushed onto the subway tracks. Luckily, he survived with a broken leg. Pierre Trudeau was then the Prime Minister of Canada. He introduced measures to instill tolerance for other cultures and colours, calling it multiculturalism. It was an attempt to recognize the strengths of diverse cultures and traditions. A society’s health and richness are determined by its openness to varieties of experiences. Conversely, a monolithic conservative society is mired in their dogmatic boredom.

Multiculturalism or pluralism does not materialize with government policies but with early childhood education all the way to university level. Such educational discipline incorporates critical thinking to thwart conspiracy theories and hate mongering. Without understanding human nature through history and social sciences, pluralism is but ephemeral (short-lived)

Multiculturalism did not sit well with the earlier batch of European and American immigrants, who were blatantly racist. Earlier, in the 18th and 19th centuries they had subjugated the aboriginal or native populations by annulling their so-called savage languages and cultures under the pretext of assimilating them into the superior ways of colonialists. Unfortunately, Canada and the world lost, in the process, not only significant remedies for managing health and the environment but also inherited a generation of torn people.

The earlier European immigrants, who set up themselves in all levels of society, gave vent to their biases against the new wave of visible minorities in unusual ways. Sometimes very subtle discriminating hiring practices took a mental toll on young families with young children. They spoke English, but communication and pronunciation became two significant impediments. Ironically, the former required familiarity with Canadian culture, as language is its expression. But it takes time and job experience to be familiar with Canadian culture.

Hussein and Fatma, like most elderly Ismaili immigrants, were directly affecred by these changing family dynamics. Moreover, the affordable family rental dwelling units were designed to accommodate a family of four or five. Tensions surfaced between young parents and their elderly parents, resulting in the latter seeking separate subsidized dwellings. This was a major cultural shock for Hussein and Fatma. But, over time, they found peace in their own autonomy and in being less dependent on their children. To come to terms with reality and accepting the hard facts are normally not the function of faith and religion. Religion may be like snorting opium to be in the state of bliss; not that things will be really fine.

Hussein realized that his children’s young families’ independence was crucial in their ability to climb the Canadian life ladder faster. The asunder led to amicability, partly due to children’s guilty conscience. Religiosity had a built-in obligation to tend to the needs of parents. “Heaven lies under a mother’s feet” was a famous saying of Prophet Muhammad.

Faith and religion, in an unfamiliar environment, became a vehicle for social change and adjustments while providing a pillar of values and a sense of belonging to a larger community. It was a rallying platform for the immigrants to hold on to while networking and redefining their identity in a changing environment. They dreaded the children’s future, who they feared would be less familiar with their family values and religious traditions. The worst fear was that the children would grow through peer pressure to accept alcohol and drugs as a means assimilating in the Canadian mainstream society. Their Imam had warned the Jamat to avoid abusing substances, including alcohol. Many immigrants insulated themselves from merging into mainstream Canadian liberal society. Some Muslim groups adhered to strict religious practices and traditions. They even imposed on their family a strict traditional dress code

Therefore, some of the children of these migrants led a dual existence when they mingled with other children in schools. Many children ended up changing their outfits in the washrooms before and after school. As these children grew up and acquired a university education, many of them embraced secularism and disposed of many imposed traditional layers. They embraced mainstream thought and began to shine in the Canadian economy and politics.

Diamond and Yasmin migrated to Canada in February of 1977 with their six months old son. After teaching at Toronto’s Tariqah Board, for a few months, he moved to Montreal with his family to pursue Ph. D program at McGill. His son Ayaaz was born in 1981. Both Hussein and Ayaaz went to French day care initially. French languge’s growing prominence was a direct result of Quebec’s sovereignty movement under Rene Levesque. Pierre Trudeau divertated the crises. During his studies, he, with his family, visited Hunza and Gigit to see the impact of Agakhan’s development initiatives in agriculture, education, and heath sectors. On his way to Pasu, a border town with China, the family was lucky to miss a huge landslide by a few seconds. The Hunza Ismailis’ hospitality and aid was remarkable. Also, he met a few of his students involved with the projects. At that moment, he felt strongly that education can move the mountains.

On moving back to Toronto after completing his studies, he joined Shiraz expanding the printing group of companies. Yasmin managed Sherwood Watline location that allowed Diamond to focus on other investments. He strongly espoused the hiring of people with dissabilities in partnership with March of Dimes. He believed that disadvantaged human resources implied appreciation and loyalty to the sources of their dignity.

While his son Hussein went on to becoming a Chiropractor, Ayaaz studied business and politics. Hussein currently owns Emkiro Health Center with multi pronged services including DNA. Ayaaz is a director of two resorts. Hussein married Farha. They have two children, Zidan, and Reyna.

For the great grand father, Hussein, the Ismaili congregation, two times a day, provided an outlet from the wintery cold. In the beginning, snow was quite exciting for Hussein, but not the freezing temperatures that limited his outing frequency. The ensuing sedentary lifestyle likely contributed to a major heart attack in 1977. The stent technology had not developed yet. He was kept on blood thinners. He was discharged from Etobicoke General Hospital with a feeble heart that would cause fluid retention in the lungs. At that time, he was offered a subsidized apartment near the bluffs on the east end of Scarborough. It took a while to adjust to a new, far-flung situation. He and Fatma had to change several buses to go to Jamatkhana, which they did regularly until they found another subsidized dwelling at Sunrise Towers on Victoria and Eglinton. The volunteer drivers ran community buses to transport the elderly seniors to and from Jamatkhana.

One day, Hussein boarded a bus to go to Jamatkhana and decided to sit in front instead of dragging himself to the back of the bus. The driver got incredibly angry and forced Hussein to exit the bus. Hussein felt very humiliated at the fact that a young Ismaili sevadari or a volunteer could be so rude to the elderly and weak. He could not surmise that a momin or a believer in the Imam could go astray. He had heard Imam Sultan Mohamed Shah mention that the true believers are like Imams as far as they assimilate the saintly qualities of the Imam. Hussein judged him to be a fake momin. He stopped boarding the bus again. Hussein’s hurting was also the consequences of a weak heart; communication barriers with teller and cashiers who kept on repeating “pardon,” and finally, the restricted mobility. His son, Nizar, then volunteered to drive him around. The volunteers tried to maintain the spirit of seva, or volunteering, but the challenges of everyday survival with newly emerging tensions due to the changing family dynamics manifested in their anger and outbursts. Luckily, Hussein and Fatma were not alone. Most of their children and their families were around them. The Immigration Act of 1971 enabled the unification of families as one of the criteria. Families acted as shock absorbers for family crises and anguish.

Fatma’s eldest brother, Badru, lived close by them and often visited them. He exercised every day. He believed that exercising regularly was as necessary as going to the washroom to get rid of body waste. In the later years, he became a sage and uttered quotes from ginans to make a point in everyday conversations.

One of Fatma’s brothers was fondly referred to as Mamu (Mohamed) Mama (uncle). He had started a duka in the forties in a town called Kahama, located on the west end of the colonial Tanganyika. He was hot-tempered and had many altercations with the colonial law enforcement agencies. His daughter Sheanaz and his son Zahur recalled how he once beat up a British subject for insulting him. He was jailed for a few years and lost everything, but he did not give up building wealth again with vigorous work. He not only became wealthy, but his energy seemed to have been channeled into something constructive.

He and his wife, Sugra, settled in Calgary. He lived to be 94. They both always seemed to be busy doing chores. Even in their nineties, they did catering. They cooked samosas, theplas, (flat buns), lasan ladwas, (garlic-millet balls), and many other snacks. The children of the immigrants had most likely lost the skills of making traditional snacks or foods. Yet, they loved to indulge in those fried and oily snacks as they became wealthier.

Mamu and Sugra also grew garlic and coriander in their backyard and would sell them to their friends. They strongly believed that sitting and waiting to die was antithetical to existence. They would not hesitate to say what they perceived to be true, even if it hurt. Mama’s big eyes and facial expressions made him look bigger and more difficult to deal with. Yet he was very gentle and kind-hearted. He always visited Fatma whenever he visited Sheaaz in Toronto.

Nargis dedicated her free time in taking Hussein and Fatma around. Initially, she found a factory job. Later, she was offered employment in the Government’s service sector. Her husband, Mohamed Nathoo, worked initially in a parking lot for two dollars an hour. Later, he bought an engraving and key cutting company in the shopping concourse of Royal Bank Plaza.

Nargis liked to take her parents to parks with her children, Karim and Alykhan. To expose them to the Canadian culture further, she would take them annually to the CNE. During one of the trips, Fatma, wanting to use the bathroom, walked out of it from the other exit missing Nargis and Hussein. Their entire day was spent looking for each other. These experiences and others, related to the missing of the exits, especially on the highways, were tests of wit for the new migrant drivers. One-time Nargis missed the exit on Eglinton Avenue. She was visiting her parents with Karim and Alykhan. She daringly took an illegal u-turn and was pulled over by the police. Before he could say something, Nargis told him that he was confusing her as she was new to the area. He stopped the oncoming traffic and let Nargis proceed. Such kind gestures from the authorities evoked a sense admiration for Canadian society. Most such migrants’ experiences instilled a sense of civility and security in them. These were lacking where they came from.

Nargis’ son, Karim, started an engraving and gift business after graduation. Alykhan became a real estate broker. Both sons are successful in their fields.

Hussein and Fatma were missing their hometown, Dodoma, and their birth island, Zanzibar. With the cold temperatures and sedentary lifestyle, their mobility was diminishing as they aged. The pragmatic Canadian environment made Hussein feel purposeless. He had nothing substantial going on. This lifestyle was antithetical to his nature as an avid entrepreneur. He did not amass wealth then, but he was busy and led a simple life with few needs. Here, he was in a suspended mode.

In 1987, he and Fatma left for Tanzania. They stopped in Kenya to see their son Firoz and his wife Roshy, who lived in Kisii, a small town. The town’s Ismail community welcomed Hussein and Fatma. They thought highly of Firoz because he was always helpful in time of need. Like his dad, Firoz socialized with the local Kissi tribe members – a descendant of larger Maasai group. One day, some criminals entered Firoz’s house and demanded money at a gunpoint. Some Kisii tribe members chased them away after beating them up.

Firoz drove his parents to Dodoma. On the way, they decided to stop at a village to get their spare tire fixed. They had a loaf of bread which was visible through the open window. Within seconds, over ten children surrounded the car staring at the bread. Hussein quickly gave them the loaf and other food items. Hussein could not hide his sadness and wondered how a government could neglect its own people in the villages.

On a hot, sunny day Hussein reached Dodoma. Here he regained his mobility and walked the whole town, greeting and meeting his local African acquaintances. The clean air and hot, sunny weather brought his ailing body to life. Also, in the eyes of the locals, he came back from Canada. His self perception as hailing from an advanced country probably enhanced his mental status. How one feels about oneself is undoubtedly related to a healthy body.

He then traveled to his birthplace, Zanzibar, which he had left at the age of twelve. It was as if his cycle of life had come full circle. He hired a cab to visit all the sites that his mind recalled. Astonishingly, he recalled most places. He visited the fort-like old Jamatkhana building with very thick walls and a hand-carved hardwood ebony door. The chandeliers, ornamented with small wicker and kerosene lamps, were still hanging from the ceiling. He was asked to recite dua or prayer. He felt exhilarated. The next day, he visited spice farm. He probably recalled how his dad had huge clove farms and how he harvested them. He could not miss visiting the halwa vendor. He felt at peace with himself.

Upon returning to Toronto, he felt rejuvenated. However, his weak heart caused intermittent fluid accumulation in his lungs. In February 1989, he was admitted to the East General Hospital in Coxwell. While he was being admitted, Fatma was being released after going through a dialysis procedure. She was admitted a few days earlier for chemical imbalance resulting from conflicting medications prescribed by her physician. Initially, the interns at the hospital were contemplating to admit her to the mental ward. Luckily, a senior physician noticed that the stash of prescribed medications she was carrying were producing conflicting end results. As soon as dialysis was performed on her, she felt as if a thick fog had lifted off her mind.

Hussein’s faint voice pleaded with the physician, Dr. Chu, to let him go. He seemed more concerned about his being feeble and dependent. He had prayed for over seventy years that “God never makes me infirm and dependent.” There was an element of certainty in his belief in life after death – that his body was temporal. He passionately believed that his soul would depart after his body quit functioning. He believed that his soul would become one with God. At that moment, he believed that the body will be free from pain. It will but be in bliss. Pain is related to bodily existence, like a garment that can be discarded, leaving the essence intact. He wasn’t afraid of death anymore.

His family could not reconcile in their minds that a robust father figure towering above all could become so frail. He struggled all his life. He never gave up. He was always humble and compassionate. He never missed a day without greeting his children and relatives. He laughed and would tell them funny stories. He prayed two times every day. They loved to hear his Zanzibari Arabic pronunciations early morning at 6.00 A.M, preceded by his hourly meditation practice beginning at 4:00am. He was an embodiment of history and its forces, not a history maker.

He did not want to linger longer in the coldness of the world that was pounding on his frail and weak body like the arctic icy wind. His body was finally giving up. His past was probably flashing in his mind. But the weakness was gradually slowing down his breathing. He started feeling neither here nor there. The body was becoming numb. He could not feel the numbness. He closed his eyes and slouched to a sitting position as his lying posture lowered further his feeble breathing rhythm. The nurse barged in the room, having realized that she was not paying attention to the heart monitoring device. She laid him down on the bed in a sleeping position. She asked Nizar if she should try reviving him. Nizar strongly believed that one must not fight nature. He believed that one must go peacefully when the time is up. There was no need for the revival of a weak body. Soon the family gathered around him and chanted, “From God he came and to God he returned.” His soul rested in eternal peace. The tears rolled down the faces of the family members. A journey that had affected so many ended here on earth. Hussein’s last wishes were that Firoz’s and Mansur’s families be united with the rest of his children in Canada. His wishes were realized and his inherited entrepreneurial and social traits passed on to hischildren and grandchildren.

Fatma could not stay alone in the Sunrise apartment. She just picked up some pots and pans and a few clothes. She lived with Hussein for over fifty-five years. Cooking for him was her passion. The pots and pans were unbelievably valuable to her. She probably wanted to cook for her children, who were struggling with managing their time, sometimes eating out or skipping meals. She probably felt alone, and pots filled the vacuum left by Hussein’s departure.

Fatma’s journey of dedication to Hussein and her children was not envisaged by her to come to an abrupt ending. Hussein had filled the gap left by the grown-up children in their struggle to upbringing their families. Now the last piece of her life puzzle was gone. She took turns in living with different children. She finally moved in with the recently arrived Firoz’s family. Her children often visited her with durian. She, from her room, could smell it and call for it. She would savour it piece by piece as if her journey had come to the end of a beginning when her father used to bring the fruit for her. Her grown up children lacked the categories of understanding how she perceived this fruit. Was there something beyond this relationship between the two? Was it a childhood memory of her Zanzibarian family, or was it an indulgence to block that asunder from Hussein, or was it to distract herself from the mental emptiness which was otherwise always filled with Hussein being around?

Alone and fragile, she, according to her beliefs, would soon join Hussein in spirit. Both Fatma and Hussein believed that a person dies, but only in the body. That person lives in the memories or minds of their offspring. These memories of the departed person dovetail in partly defining a new generation.