Goodbye, Obachan.

On Tuesday, June 4th we received the painful news that Onobu Kato, Sumie’s grandmother, passed away.   

We knew it was coming – Sumie’s mother had left for Japan to be by her side two days before – but that foreknowledge has done little to lessen the blow.  It’s simply too hard to imagine the world without her. 

At 103, Mrs. Kato, “Obachan” to Sumie and me, had lived a full life.  And when one takes that remarkable life into full account, it’s safe to say she lived at least two if not three.  During a century of unprecedented change and historical upheaval, Mrs. Kato raised Sumie's mother...

 ...five boys, and minted not one, but two of Japan’s premier politicians: her husband and her youngest son.  She was an amazing political supporter, continuing to open her doors to the community and to discuss the political stage well into her 90s.  I can still recall her striking up a conversation about politics with complete strangers while waiting outside the banquet hall of her grandson’s wedding.   

She was one of the few people I’ve ever met who had a clear passion, and knew how to tap it. 

Coming late to the family, and speaking little Japanese, there’s no way I can even begin to sum up this woman’s tremendous life, but perhaps I can share a little bit of what made her so remarkable.  I only spent a few days with her in total, but, being the woman she was, they were enough for me to pick up her indomitable spirit – the spirit I see everyday in my wife and daughter.  

I’ll never forget the first time Sumie and I stayed with Obachan in her hometown of Tsuruoka, just east of the sea in northwest Japan.  We arrived to find Obachan’s substantial driveway covered by two feet of snow.  Within an hour of our arrival Sumie and Obachan had slipped deep into complex conversation that I couldn’t even attempt to follow, so I decided to be the helpful foreigner and shovel the drive.  This took four hours.  Neighbors still recall the day the fat “gaijin” came out of Mrs. Kato’s house to clear 50 metric tons of snow. 

When I came back in, it was time for dinner.  Obachan figured that I would be hungry, as I later learned, not just because of my work outside, but because of my more than ample gut.  Apparently, the surprising size of my waistline was one of her favorite topics of conversation with Sumie.  Perhaps thinking that my stomach was somehow linked to cooking ability, Obachan let me help her prepare the evening meal.   

This amazed me.  Here was a Japanese woman in her mid nineties, who had lived through World War II and the American occupation, inviting a shabby American, whose name she couldn’t quite pronounce (she called me “Stove” instead of “Steve”), to share her kitchen and her home.  And she was smiling.  To have lived so long and yet still be so open to new experiences and new people was genuinely inspiring. 

Our second outing together took place at a Japanese-style hot spring (onsen) overlooking the Sea of Japan.  As we drove into the small resort town, Obachan became enthralled with all the “new” hotels.  Most of these, though, had been around for at least ten or twenty years, but for Obachan, who had vacationed in that same town on the sea as a young girl each summer, the landscape was completely transformed.  Later, in our room, Obachan asked the chambermaid about all the new hotels.  The girl looked a bit perplexed.  Perhaps because most of the new hotels had been there since before she was born. 

Each evening during our stay, following a long and luxurious soak, Sumie, Obachan, and I would gather in our room to watch the sunset and enjoy a traditional Japanese dinner.   

Sumie would pour a glass of beer for me, and one half glass for Obachan, who would then take her seat facing the setting sun and the sea.  She’d take a sip of the beer and let out a tremendously satisfied “Oishii!” (Delicious!).   

As one might imagine, this made for a rather quiet vacation, but also a tremendous one.  Watching how Obachan not only enjoyed the simple joys of our stay, but soaked them up entirely, opened my eyes in a way no one had before.  Here was the good life, pure and simple.  After nearly 100 years, it was apparent that Obachan knew how to live it.  

Seeing Obachan this last February was bittersweet.  We knew it would be both Mimi’s first and last time to meet her.  After one hundred years of adventures, Obachan’s memory finally began to let go.  So too did her body.  By the time of our visit, Obachan didn’t recognize most family or friends and had taken to sleeping most of the day.  We didn’t know what to expect.  There had been days when she’d hardly stirred prior to our visit.  Would she wake this last time for us? 

True to form, she did.  Sumie sat by Obachan’s bed and gently stroked her hair as I held a curious Mimi just behind.  Obachan began to stir as Sumie called out her name.  

Ever so slowly she turned her head and then opened her eyes, catching her first glimpse of Sumie in over three years.  She didn’t know who the woman stroking her hair was, but the way she smiled at her hinted that they must somehow be connected.  It was too big and too sweet for a mere stranger.   Obachan’s gaze eventually shifted from Sumie to me and Mimi.  She was definitely intrigued by the presence of a gaijin in her room.  Perhaps she thought I was on a break from shoveling the drive. 

During our stay in Tsuruoka we were able to visit Obachan three times.  Despite her condition, she always woke for us.  Mimi was growing closer to her with each visit.  We could see it in the way she would whisper “Obachan” when it came time for the visit to end and then blow her kisses. 

There had been heavy snows during our trip, and each visit to Obachan’s convalescent home meant a trudge through the snow.  To this day, Mimi calls out “Obachan!” whenever she sees a snowy landscape.  We had many adventures during our snowy trip to Tsuruoka, but for Mimi, Obachan is what stuck. 

It’s entirely irrational thinking that those brief encounters between Mimi and Obachan have somehow put Mimi on a better path, but I can’t help but believe that’s the case.  These two women, one hundred years apart, are inextricably linked in blood and spirit.  That kind of connection transcends memory, transcends logic.  I have no doubt that, in the years to come, Sumie will catch the occasional glimpse of her grandmother in Mimi.  And in that way we know she will always be with us.  We will miss you, Obachan!