I recently pulled up my photos from a week in Tokyo back in 2014. Nearly all the photos were of noodles or temples.
For me, that’s not a bad thing. It’s just telling about a few things I hold sacred, especially in travel: good food, history and peaceful places.
The trip to Tokyo followed a Kiwanis convention in nearby Chiba. Lucky me to be not only in a once-in-a-lifetime location for work, but also to be there with one of my favorite partners in crime, Kasey. It was a no-brainer to tack on a few personal vacation days to explore Tokyo on our own yen and unwind from the stress and controlled chaos of convention work.
We spent our limited time wisely, quickly mastering the (surprisingly easy) subway system to zip around the massive city and zero in on a few sites and must-dos:
- See the young-energy electric glitz of the Shibuya district
- Visit the Sensō-ji Temple and vendors in the old historic neighborhood of Asakusa
- Eat sushi (Kasey)
- Eat as many noodles as possible (Amy)
(I do love noodles. All noodles.*)
We did all of those things, and here are some photos to prove it:
But Kasey and I are both also excellent wanderers and finders of lovely accidental experiences.
That’s why we happened upon the 600-year-old Zōjō-ji Temple in the Minato-ku district, attracted to its ancient gates during a stroll near our hotel. As with many temples around Tokyo, the Zōjō-ji Temple property opens one layer into another layer of wonders as you move through the gates and gardens to discover statues, fearsome gate guards, artwork and vendors.
Zōjō-ji has all of that. But it also has something unique that made me stop in my tracks and catch my falling heart: The Garden of the Unborn.
The Garden of the Unborn is carved into multi-tiered mazes of Jizo statues—stone homages to children who were stillborn or miscarried. Loved ones honor their unborn children by adorning the Jizo with knit caps, clothing, flowers, pinwheels and other gifts. Visitors can also leave offerings for Jizobosatu, protector of women and children, to ensure they find their way safely in the afterlife. Adjacent to the garden, a small shelter offers a place for prayer and to hang written prayer notes.
Parents go to the Garden of the Unborn to grieve, to remember. To find peace.
It was a still and quiet place. And I grieved and remembered the baby I lost to miscarriage over 10 years prior.
Even after a decade—now nearly two decades—a mother remembers her lost child. Miscarriage is a common, yet bafflingly hushed experience for many women. Those rows of decorated Jizo are yet another reminder that we often don’t know the private pain and perpetual healing of the people around us.
Kasey and I walked the garden silently; respectfully. I thought of who my son or daughter might have become. I thought about those horrible days and the crushing understanding of what was happening. Understanding that there was a biological, scientific reason the baby wouldn’t grow and live, but being unconsoled by those rational matters of fact anyway.
I thought about friends and family who have suffered far, far greater losses. And I thought of my strong, healthy, funny and bright children, Chloe and Andrew, who were allowed to be born into this world—the loves of my life.
The Garden of the Unborn wasn’t a sad place. It was a beautiful place to reflect. To soak in some introspection and perspective. To feel. To find peace.
This isn’t the Tokyo many visitors describe. I saw that Tokyo, too. The lights and ultra-paced, ultra-modern life. But I also was lucky enough to see this “other” Tokyo. This gentleness. This quiet pause.
*My love of noodles is second only to my love of any bread or pastry product containing savory meat or veg, including, but not limited to, samosas, empanadas, kolaches, steamed bao buns and dumplings.
