My grandmother was Nobuko Kawamoto. She was born on February 23, 1920 and died in her home surrounded by loved ones on August 25, 2008. As listed in the obituary she wrote for herself ten years ago, she is survived by a daughter, two granddaughters and their families, a brother, a brother-in-law, and many nieces and nephews and friends.
My grandmother on her last birthday
Yes, she wrote her obituary and started seeing to the plans for her last days about a decade ago. That gives just one view into the sort of woman she was: disciplined, orderly, perpetually competent, in control, independent and able to take on the most difficult tasks.
Life had been difficult for her recently. A few years ago, she gave up her home and her life as it had been for decades to be closer to my family, eventually moving in with my sister and her family in Florida. She was frustrated not to live the way she used to or to be the woman she used to. She felt less in control, less able to bring order to her world. I don't think I realized how much this was true until her doctor diagnosed her this year with Alzheimer's and I began to understand she had been facing that for some time. It was difficult for her to relinquish her independence and depend on those around her, including my sister who has been her primary caregiver. Still, my grandmother took on a challenge like you wouldn't believe and spent her later years vigilant about her health and relatively healthy. In recent months, she faced medical problems and was diagnosed with congestive heart failure. This summer, she started receiving Hospice care.
Every time I saw her and every time I left her in the past two years, I said goodbye knowing it could be the last time I said goodbye, the last time I hugged her. Because of this, I think I was able to stay calm when my sister called to tell me the doctors thought Grandma had less than a week to live. I was already planning a trip to see her, but left a few days early. Other loved ones came out at the same time and we filled the house at least a dozen deep with toddlers, teenagers and travelers from far away. On the day I got there, though she couldn't talk, she opened her eyes for the last time and she was able to see me and Zeke.
In her last days, I had a hard time going in to her room to sit with her during the day -- I felt more focused helping keeping the house going and seeing to the kids. Zeke did go in with me to read some stories together. Throughout the very late hours of the night and early morning, though, when visitors were gone and it was quiet, I liked to sit with her. I know it was the same for my mother and my sister.Within a few days, she took her last breaths in a room full of people who have loved her their entire lifetimes.
Everyone should be so lucky to go as my grandmother did: she did it just as she had planned, she was not in pain, she was at home, we all were there to say goodbye, and her passing was relatively quick. Because she was at home and because she was under the care of sensitive Hospice nurses, we were able to tend to her body after she died. My sister and I bathed her, dressed her, picked out things to go with her (a book of prayer, photos, notes) and held her hand until they came for her. It was so helpful to us, and I think my very private grandmother would have been glad that we did it and not strangers. It was not something I ever imagined that we would do, but I just could not be more grateful for it.
From the days before she was someone's "grandmother," such a vibrant woman
I guess the curse of being a mother and grandmother is that is the only way some people are able to see you. When I was younger and my grandmother would come to stay with us in Florida for the winter, I thought she was really old. I laugh now to realize that she was only in her 60's and very vital. Though I didn't always realize it, she had an unmistakable energy and force throughout her life. But I was her granddaughter and she was old and my grandmother, so that is just the way it was! My grandmother in the past decade had been opening up to both my sister and I about her life before being our grandmother -- it was probably the right time for us to hear it and for her to say it. We heard some about her early life -- the things she wanted, the things that were hard, the things she regretted. I wish I could remember and know more. From talks with family in the past week and reviewing of pictures, I have been trying to piece together a more complete picture of her. She could be unforgiving and quick to judge, loyal and unforgetting, private and yet loved hosting parties and dinners. I don't think she ever considered herself smart and showed me her high school report card with the "D" in math. However, she was resourceful and clever. Even though she didn't have the training for it (as she told me), she worked as a cook, nanny and housekeeper after she left imprisonment at the Tule Lake internment camp. Later she worked as a caterer and helped run my grandfather's flooring business. She gardened, she cooked, she sewed, and she kept lifelong friendships. She knew so many things that I will likely never know, and I regret that I don't know those things and I don't know more about her.
She did teach me a lot, though, explicitly and through her own actions. Because of that I see her as a foundation and a role model for my life. She instructed me in many imminently useful everyday things (everything from writing thank you notes to vacuuming), as well as in larger, more important matters. One example: she was widowed almost 30 years ago. At that time, she had no retirement plan, let alone retirement funds. Concerned about the future, she saved and invested much of what she earned in her few remaining years of work and accumulated a six-figure nest egg. Then, even as she got older and should have been using that money for her comfort, she wanted to save it so she could pass it on to us. She loved us very much, almost as much as we loved her.
This was a strong woman. She was loving and kind and funny, but I will always think first about her strength.
When she made it through her last weekend, I told everyone not to be surprised if she made it longer than her care providers were saying. I kept saying, "She is stronger than they know." That is why I find myself surprised -- here and there -- that she is gone. Every time I feel that surprise or remember her last breath, it seems to strike a little harder than the time before. I wish I could remember our last hug better. I miss her.
Some people with us that day felt bad for me when it became clear that she in her very last hours; that day was my birthday. I said then and I say now, not to worry. The way my grandmother lived -- and the way she died -- are her gifts to me, to my sister, and to our children. I take a lot of comfort in thinking about those gifts and the way those gifts will live on with our children.
Our children provide comfort to us in other ways. My grandmother and sister talked awhile ago about what sort of sign my grandmother would send to my sister to let her know that my grandmother was with her. My grandmother suggested a few possibilities. She said maybe it would be when my sister saw bluebirds like the ones that nest in their backyard. Or, her sign would be a rainbow. My sister thought that would be too sentimental. So, finally and very mischievously, she suggested that whenever Dawn's coffee spilled, that would be Grandma's doing. In what were her very last hours, I tried to occupy the boys' time by giving them some paper and markers. Zeke drew a rainbow. At that time, I didn't know and of course Zeke didn't know what significance that would have for my sister. For my sister, it turned out that my grandmother's rainbow wasn't in the sky, but in front of us and from her great grandson. For me, it helps me see a connection between the promise of what my grandmother wanted for us and what our children give us. Bless my much loved grandmother, bless my much loved son.
Zeke's (and my grandmother's) rainbow
