He was an honorable man

Christmas Day has come again. My third Christmas in Japan. It is still something I’m getting used to, as it is celebrated so differently here. Decorations have been up since the beginning of November. Music featuring Santa and being with loved ones plays in the background of every shop I have been in for 2 months. Lights adorn buildings and trees are on display in shops and plazas. And children wearing Santa outfits are a common sight. But when the actual day arrives, it seems like it is just another day. Most people enjoyed their KFC and Christmas cake on Christmas Eve. Today, they headed to work or school like it was any other day.

I have such fond memories of sitting in the living room in pajamas, opening presents and then getting to play with our new toys until relatives came over to our house or we headed to our grandparents house for our big holiday meal.

My son will remember opening one gift from Santa and then heading off to school.

Every year, I feel an underlying sadness as I try to balance the realities of his Christmas experience with the fantasies I had created when I imagined the memories we would create as the years went by.

This year, my heart is extra heavy as I cope with the sudden loss of my last grandparent. At 41, I am much older than most people are when their grandparents pass on. I know how lucky I am to have had him in my life for as long as I did. I am so grateful for all the years we had together.

At 96, he lived a long and interesting life.  He was born in Oregon and lived there his whole life.  He was in the navy in WWII and then worked as an engineer at a telecommunications company.  He got married and had 4 children, who later gave him 8 grandchildren.  After retirement, he traveled around the US with his wife in an RV, visiting friends and family throughout their travels.  He was an active member of his church.  He was a talented woodworker, building many things over the years, including the house my mom was raised in.

I have many fond memories of spending Christmas and other holidays at his house. My grandpa and grandma always had lovely gatherings of people either at their home or at the clubhouse in their neighborhood. They always hung a collection of felt ornaments on their tree that my grandpa made sure to mention my grandma had made herself. My grandpa tended to be quiet, but at these parties he’d talk endlessly. It was here that I learned that grandpa didn’t just dole out his antidotes, he enjoyed conversations, not lectures. As I aged, I learned to ask him questions to engage him in conversation. I respected his insight and loved hearing about his life experiences.

There were also times where I was a bit nervous to hear his thoughts on a topic. When I got engaged to my husband, I was scared to tell my grandfather. He was on the USS Nevada battleship on December 7, 1941, better known as the day Pearl Harbor was attacked. The ship beached that day, and my grandfather survived, but it was something that he did not talk about for most of my life. When I was in high school, my aunt finally got him talking about it. Although he had never said anything negative about Japanese people, I wasn't sure if he would he bless a marriage between myself and a Japanese man. I honestly didn’t know. So, I wrote him (and my grandmother) a letter, telling them of my plans. The next time I talked to them, he gave me heartfelt congratulations and I breathed a sigh of relief. 

Weeks later, my mom attended a ship reunion with my grandpa. While there, she overheard my grandfather tell another soldier “who would have guessed that 60 years after Pearl Harbor, I would be welcoming a Japanese man into our family? But I am. And I think it is great.” I didn’t know what his reaction would be and was too nervous to ask, assuming that he’d have a hard time with it. I should have just given him the benefit of the doubt. 

From the first moment he met my husband, the two of them shared a special relationship. We would spend weekends with my grandparents at their house a couple times a year. The weekend would be spent playing games and chatting. We would talk about anything and everything. I loved hearing about my grandfather growing up in Oregon, his romance with my grandma, and tales of parenting my mom as a young child. Sometimes I would take my grandma to do errands, and my husband would always stay behind to keep grandpa company. 

One night, after dinner, my husband said to my grandfather “I know what I’ve been taught about Pearl Harbor, but can you tell me about your experience?” My grandma and I looked at each other and held our breath. But grandpa just started talking. Before we knew it, the guys were in grandpa’s office for a couple hours as grandpa talked and showed things to my husband. It was an amazing dialogue that took place that night.

I will miss hearing his stories. In his later years, he suffered from Alzheimer’s and often told the same story over and over, but I didn’t care. I liked listening to them, especially the ones about the early years of his marriage to my grandma. I could listen to stories about camping in the back of pickup trucks and going on dates and building their family home on repeat. I even enjoyed hearing about his work on battleships in the Navy, on the railroad after returning from war, and later at Pacific Northwest Bell (the telecommunications company).

Losing a loved one is never easy, especially when you are living abroad, away from most of your loved ones. It can be very isolating as you struggle to cope with the pain, sorrow, and grief. I cannot go to his house and touch his things and reminisce and hug other people who loved him too. Instead, I am left with the memories of time spent together - cutting back the wisteria on the front of his house, cooking in his kitchen as we nursed my grandma back to health, and watching him shoot the breeze with friends and family at holiday gatherings.

This Christmas is especially weird for most people around the world, with families not able to gather. But there are still ways to connect without visits. A phone call or a letter can convey a message of love. You never know just how much that message means, until you aren’t able to share it anymore.