Tag Japanese Americans

My Mom’s Eulogy

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My mom was the type of woman who didn’t apologize for who she was, and she was fully aware of her abilities.  It always amused me how she made sure I knew how to use basic tools like hammers and screwdrivers, and wasn’t afraid to do things like assemble furniture or fix a hole in the drywall.  However, she was also willing to admit when she was not as adept at certain tasks.  One case in point was cooking.  My mom didn’t really cook, and with the exception of meat loaf, broiled meats, and sukiyaki which was made with canned sukiyaki vegetables and fresh beef, her idea of cooking was looking at the back of the Stouffer’s box to see to what temperature the oven needed to be heated. 

Since Mom was always working so much, she was doing the best she could to provide for me, but even if she had time to cook, it just wasn’t her thing.  So I wasn’t surprised when she VERY eagerly encouraged me to bake and cook after I had revealed to her that I had an interest in doing so.  In fact, when I was 17, I told my mom, “Let’s not go to a restaurant for Thanksgiving this year, I wanna make an entire turkey feast!”  She was doubtful that I could pull it off, but when I did, she told me that I had full permission to repeat the process every subsequent year if I wanted. 

My mother was always interested in spy stories and mysteries, and had told me that she once wanted to become a private detective.  She also wanted to travel internationally, but sadly was never able to do so, mostly due to a lack of money, but also because she was so devoted to work and to me that it would have been difficult for her at best to go traipsing all over the globe. 

By the time I actively began pursuing my own international travel goals, my mom was already ill, so there was no way that she could join me in those travels.  In an effort to bring exotic locales to her, I would share all the photos, videos, and funny stories I had collected from my travels.  I often thought that if she hadn’t had me, she might have been that jet-setter she had dreamt of becoming, but as we all know, life can take us in all kinds of directions we hadn’t anticipated.

Even though I was her only child, my mom probably also really would have been happy to have had other children besides me, and I was able to see her motherly devotion given to others when I got her a Scottish Fold kitten, whom she named Spencer Tracy.  That little dude stole her heart, so much so that I got a bit edged out! After she had had him for about a year, she started referring to the cat as my baby brother!  There was one time when I was at her apartment, and figured I would sleep in my former bedroom, but Mister Spencer would have none of it!  He hissed and carried on so much that I was effectively banished to the sofa for that evening!  What a bratty brother!

Harriet also adored my ex-husband, not only while we were married, but throughout the years after we divorced. Whenever he would visit her at the assisted living facility, my mom would pretty much ignore me, and devote all her attention to him.  This would prompt me to say, “Hey, what am I, chopped liver?”  But I always secretly enjoyed the fact that she was so close to him.  She always had a keen interest in in hearing about other members of her family or my dad’s family as well, and even my friends, some of whom she had never even met in person. 

Over the 19 years after her brain aneurysm rupture occurred, Harriet’s tastes changed, and they were unexpected and interesting. She became a Bingo master, and I could tell she enjoyed being the boss lady, calling out the numbers and monitoring everyone else’s boards.  She won so much virtual money from those Bingo games, I tell you…if that had all been real money, she would have been able to buy something like a television! 

Speaking of television, she cultivated a passion for the Lakers, despite never having followed the NBA, or ANY major league sports for that matter, prior to 2013.  She had Lakers posters in her room, and would talk to me about the games.  Mom also kept up with current events, and was pretty hip for an elderly woman.  She surprised me shortly after Prince had passed away by telling me, with a devilish glint in her eyes, that she thought Prince had been a VERY good looking man. 

All in all, Mom was a remarkable, caring, supportive, tough, honest, opinionated woman, who made sure I developed a backbone. You would be asking for it if you wanted her opinion about something, and this was the case until very shortly before her passing.  I think people actually got a kick out of how sassy my mother could be, even though she could also be cantankerous and defiant. 

Now that my smart, strong, sassy, beautiful, amazing mother is gone and no longer suffering, I can honestly say that I must have been the luckiest person in the world to have had this wonderful woman as my mother, my hero, and my best friend. 

A Princess Dream Come True

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Our court from 1991. I am second from left on the bottom row. This was taken about a month before our Nisei Week Pageant and Queen selection.

Over two decades ago, my first seemingly dreamy and unattainable goal was to be involved in a yearly Japanese-American festival in Los Angeles known as Nisei Week, which was established back in 1934.  Aside from a period of seven years between 1942 and 1948, during which World War II raged and carried a solid and jarring impact on the Japanese-American community, the Nisei Week festival has continued to run throughout the decades.

As a child, I remember seeing the Nisei Week Queen and court each year, and it became a dream of mine to be selected as a court member when I got older. However, I got sidetracked by life and didn’t bother to enter the  competition for the local queen selection until the year I turned 25.  I was stunned when I was chosen as the Queen of my community center (the San Fernando Valley Japanese American Community Center, or SFVJACC) for that year.

Once I was selected, I spent the next three months in regular meetings with the queens from the other eight participating communities, meetings in which we would practice all the routines for the beauty pageant which would mark the beginning of that year’s Nisei Week. We competed in that pageant for over 1,000 audience members in a 3 hour event, and though I didn’t win the Nisei Week Queen title, I was happy with being a Nisei Week Princess. We rode on floats, visited businesses, and fostered good will throughout the Japanese-American community.

August 16, 2015: Nisei Week Queen and Court on the float of Nisei Week Japanese Festival Parade at Little Tokyo in Downtown Los Angeles.

When we were on stage, on parade floats, and on visitations, we would wear our sashes, a definite marker which identified us all as queen and court.  On some occasions, we would wear our crowns, and were either clad in matching dresses, or in kimono.

Queen?  Princess?  I guess so, at least in pageant terms!

The White Dove

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My mother’s family believes very strongly that departed spirits return to the physical world in winged form. This belief was handed down to me, and is so deeply ingrained that I am always keenly aware of the presence of birds and insects I encounter when a loved one has recently passed away.

When my favorite aunt passed away last December, I didn’t feel her energy around me at all. This was in stark contrast to when my dear friend Rob Willhite passed away in April of 2014. Right after Rob died, he hovered around my meditation table and my bed, and left coins on my bed, bathroom counter, desk chair, and car seat. His energy was heavy, palpable.

I began to accept the possibility that I wasn’t as spiritually connected with my aunt as I had always thought. I traveled to Oahu the third week of January and spent the days leading up to my aunty’s funeral getting reacquainted with the island. I still felt no connection with my aunt’s spirit.

The day of the funeral arrived with a vengeance, spewing rain and strong winds which were the exact opposite of the balmy, sunny days which led up to it. The funeral service was odd, and seeing my aunt’s embalmed corpse was alarming to me. It was definitely an empty vessel.

For the first time ever, I served as a pallbearer. As we carried the casket out to the hearse, the rain began to fall again. By the time the funeral procession had arrived at the cemetery, the rain was steady, and the winds were so fierce that it threw a few of the folding chairs at the site into the air.

During the burial ceremony, the priest stood in front of the casket, with his back to the interment site which awaited my aunt’s body. While he spoke, the winds whipped furiously, pushing the rain into us and rendering the protection of the tent we were sitting under completely useless. One particularly assertive gust of wind hit, and I looked up despite risking getting a face full of rain. As soon as I glanced up, a single white dove flew up from the exact position where my aunt’s final resting place would be, made a sweeping arc behind the priest, and flew up into the sky. That was the sign I was looking for. Aunty was there.

The next evening I returned to Los Angeles, and because I was battling a wicked case of bronchitis, I chose to sleep on the sofa downstairs so that I wouldn’t wake anyone upstairs. By some miracle I actually got a decent night’s sleep that night. When I woke up the next morning, I put my left foot down onto the floor, and noticed a single white feather right next to my foot. Another sign.

That feather is now in a pouch with a mala my friend Rob gave me.