Going to Grams' house.....

My Grams was quite an extraordinary woman. She lived her life in Tokushima, Japan. She was a single mom of four kids. Her husband died in WWII when my youngest uncle was just a baby. She ran an inn that catered to businessmen and stuff and provided a life for her and her children. Don't know too much else about the history. Never could understand the tales she told about her younger days and stuff. I would only smile and nod, but they felt like awesome stories. Rich in history and stuff.

Now, me? Well, I'm the ONLY American born child in my generation. Not until my sister and I started having babies did another American come about in our family. Out of all the family I have in Japan, my mom and dad and sister are the only ones who came to the states, and I was the first American of the whole family. Can you say "stigma"? Yeah. Did I mention my family was JAPANESE and outside appearances and honor and all that stuff is pretty important and shit. That is the culture. Now, if you know the history, you know that I was not just a change of life baby for my parents, I was also an "oops" baby. Not just a little. I mean, it was "the luck of the flip of the coin that saved me from meeting my end with a coat hanger" kind of oops. So, yeah. There's that too.

Grams was probably the only one who never judged me. She spoke in a deep colloquial Japanese. Like think of it like the Louisiana bayou / creole version of Japanese. Yeah, so that. My Japanese is MEH at best. When I was a kid, it was probably a little less than meh. Seriously? I don't think I really understood a good god damn word she actually said. But I felt them. And it always made me feel special. She spoke in food too. Which is probably where my REAL love of food originated. It was just one of those things that only Grams could do. She'd size you up first thing in the morning and she would chatter away while making breakfast. Then before you know it, there's breakfast. And it's the very thing you didn't think you wanted, but it WAS. EVERY TIME!

It's not like I got to see a whole shit ton of my Grams, her living in Japan and me, living on the east coast of the wrong continent and all. When I did get out to see her though, it was like I'd never left. For her or for me. It was like she was always there and nothing had changed. She just had a way about her.

When my grams died, it was a pretty harsh blow. It had come months before I was set to go visit her with my kids, so that they could meet their great grandmother. It was a rather soul crushing thing that it never got to happen. It also happened to be RIGHT during the time that my mom was out in Japan visiting. Mom went to Grams' nursing home and spent the day with her. They looked at all the pictures that my mom brought of me and the kids and what had been going on. And bless her, even at close to a hundred years old, she was still as sharp as a tack. She knew me and my children. (Apparently I was the fabulous American one with all the pretty halfie children.) They spent the afternoon putting up all the new pictures around Grams' bed. In the evening, my mom left saying that she would be back in the morning. Grams passed quietly during the night.

It's been a few years since Grams passed. I still find myself thinking about all the things that I think she was saying. I still remember the richness of her voice, the calm and quiet demeanor about her, the way she carried herself with poise and grace. When I imagine her speaking to me, the words coming out of her mouth are gobbledy guck, as they were to me even when it WAS Japanese coming out when she was alive, but I can still FEEL them, just as I did when I sat in front of her as she told me stories.

Yeah, so that.