1938 - 2018

The War in Japan started in earnest in December 1941. My mom was 3 years old, about to turn 4. Everyone thinks of Japan as a place of mystery, beauty, spirituality and wonder – it was, and it continues to be. But during the War, and its miserable aftermath, all its beauty had been stolen, its people defeated and drained, and its soul had been squandered.

During the war, my mom sought refuge in the underground hovels with her family: deep in the dirt, dark, dank, cold and wet bomb shelters. It seemed the only thing that thrived in those conditions were the mosquitoes, which fed on her, her family and neighbors.

In a tin roof shack that housed her parents, six brothers and sisters, and herself; she went to school, often carried on the shoulders of her closest brother Keizo. She dreamed of a better life.

As a little kid, my mom made friends in the slums of Shimonoseki, including Korean friends, who were otherwise cruelly mistreated in Japan. They made origami out of newspapers and literally played “kick the tin can down the dirt road.”

Blind in one eye from malnutrition, she never considered herself better than anyone else, although she was quite a beauty and stood out in every picture. To her -- she valued loyalty, kindness, generosity, and humor – and carried those values into adulthood.

When my mom’s mom died, my mom was only 14, and had to assume many of the household responsibilities. She dreamed of a life that would not include pumping water from the well down the dirt road, or an outhouse down the dirt road; one that included luxuries like: toilet paper, electricity, food, flushing toilets, a kitchen, a furnace in the snowy winter.

After the War, American GIs seemed to provide the only glint of humanity. They handed out Hershey’s candy bars and Campbell's Soup to her and all the little Japanese kids. She was mesmerized with their generosity, and in awe with the thought that someone cared to make her life a little better.

This sparked her optimism. She dreamed of a better life -- in America -- where anything could happen with hard work and industry. She sought an American GI who could take her away. She dated quite a few, before finally settling on one.

To America, she brought her creativity, industry and work ethic: she cleaned houses, delivered newspapers, sold sandwiches and baked goods, babysat the neighbor kids, and eventually worked her way up to a “transportation officer” for Child Protective Services, which was just a fancy name for someone who drives foster kids around to visitations and doctor’s appointments.

Yet, she made the job bigger than it was. She remembered the GIs who gave her Hershey’s candy bars -- but this time around, she bought something different: Japanese candy! Better than Hershey’s bars, they were intricate Japanese candy that no one had ever seen before, and she gave it to her foster kids. They felt so special receiving such a unique and unexpected act of kindness. All the little foster kids would request that she be their driver.

My mom shone so brightly. She made incredible friendships with Auntie Vienna and Uncle Roberto, Dorothy and Wayne, Kathy and Mike, and multiple generations of the Slatter’s. Like me, everyone fell in love with her. She loved entertaining and sharing her talents for cooking, sewing, crafting, painting with all of them. She made floral arrangements, dresses, costumes, dolls, sushi…. and of course, bourbon and sevens at her famous parties.

I remember her making matching dresses for me and Jennifer… matching holiday outfits for me and little Sarah… "Pac-Man" Halloween costumes for me, Topher, little Sarah, Jennifer, and Michelle … Ragged Ann dollies… Christmas crafts for Notre Dame fundraisers… she bought wool coats for me and Amy during our first winter in DC.

She was always busy, making others’ lives better and sharing her gifts with the world.

Everyone admired her. Up until the day she died, she would make friends with the check-out clerk at the grocery store, the teacher at my kids’ school, the librarian, the nurse who was attending her, the doctor… everyone was interested in her and her story because she was so welcoming, so humble, so loving and so filled with good humor.

A few months before her death, from her hospital bed, she told one of her doctors that he was a… “handsome devil.” The middle-aged doctor, with salt and pepper hair, who was maybe good-looking in his younger years -- was floored, he exploded with laughter and he gave her a great big hug! She liked her men… the younger, the better.

Her talents, her loyalty, her humor and her friendship overshadowed everyone, including me. I still think: when I grow up, I hope I’m a lot like my mom. For me, now in my forties – and yet, I don’t know how I’m going to get on without my mom. Our fates were so inexorably interconnected.

To me, she was a single mom who raised me through a nasty divorce and uncertain future… For many years she was my best friend and companion – we had Japanese food fests and watched Japanese soap operas, we shopped and got pedicures together… And for 21 years after her brain aneurysm, she was my first child. We traveled together, we cooked (and ate a lot!) together, we laughed together, cried together and survived heartache and betrayals together. We took turns raising each other.

Today: I’m a piece of Swiss cheese… There are a lot of holes left inside of me.

Mom died at my home on a Thursday, but the day before, as I left for work, I told her that I loved her. She said: “I love you too.” And I know that she does. She never spoke again, but even today, I hear her voice speaking to me about every other second.

That Thursday morning, I was able to hold her hand, and I felt her energy pass from her body to mine. I know that she is now living in my heart.

She sends me little miracles everyday: a random sunflower growing in my front yard in the dead of winter, her favorite song playing at a restaurant, a little bird outside my window, a monarch butterfly fluttering at the park, a triple rainbow, a cute and silly moment with Cami and Coco. And each time, I’m reminded that she is living in my heart and is always with me. We talk all the time; and of course, she isn't shy about sharing her opinions...

Some people inherit good looks, money, or smarts. I didn’t inherit any of these. But, I did inherit her loyalty, her craftiness, her industry, her humor and her sense of responsibility… along with her penchant for swear words.

The story of her life -- the sacrifices she made -- have always placed the weight of responsibility on me. She never said this, but to me it was always implied: “To those who are given much, much is expected.” No matter what the circumstances were, no matter the hardship, no matter the betrayal, no matter the heartache… nothing could compare to all that she endured in her remarkable 80 years.

Her life was so meaningful. Her life was about family, friends, beauty, travel, and making the world a better place… no matter how small. And so my life is dedicated to prove myself worthy, and to make her proud. With great blessing comes great burden. I hope that I have not, and do not disappoint her...