I remember my dad as a very kind, soft-spoken man. He regularly visited my grandmother and ‘talked story’. They were uncommonly good friends. When my father unexpectedly died, my grandmother went to his funeral at Punchbowl. She was somber and insisted on going, even though it was clearly very difficult because of her age.
Her longevity was a source of amazement in the family. I can remember years of predictions by herself and others that she was ready to pass, but she hung on, and her mind continued to be sharp. A month after my dad died, she passed on.
She was instrumental in bringing my mother and father back together after a difficult split. My mother had hidden herself, Cher and myself on a farm in Maui after she left my dad in New York. My dad tried to find us for months. He talked with family and, over time, grew close to my grandmother, who finally shared with him our location so he could reconcile with my mother.
Grandma was the wise one. She was the real strength and underpinning of the family, and someone that I have always admired, and, of course, loved. Although, I am sure that in my life I had never said those actual words to her, nor would I have ever felt that it was appropriate to say, even though it was true.
One summer I lived at grandma and grandpa’s house so I could study Japanese at the local Hongwanji. Every morning she got up at 4 AM, made breakfast for grandpa, woke me up, made me run around the block (in my pajamas!), made me breakfast, and then sent me off to Japanese school.
You know, it’s funny, I still get up at 4 AM every day. Go figure.