Stories of Kindness from Around the World

It was hot and overcast and yet, such a beautiful full day. We picked up my grandmother from her nursing home in San Jose and drove her to Watsonville where the three of us went to get a Shiatsu treatment (a gift from John). We used to go regularly but the last time I had taken my grandmother, she seemed to forget where she was and how to breathe while on her stomach on the massage table – it scared me so I thought perhaps it was better to just massage her myself the best I could. Still, what I can do is pretty cosmetic and she’s been getting weaker and having aches from sitting in a wheel chair all day so, I called Ben who runs the Shiatsu clinic with his wife and daughter out of their home and told him my concerns - I wasn’t even sure if she would be strong enough to get up the stairs or get onto the table. We can do it! he said. And, we did. Sure there were struggles and funny moments like my grandmother wondering who was the woman working on her back – this woman Chioye has massaged her over the years at least 20 times – they used to laugh and talk together in Japanese but my grandmother didn’t remember – Chioye was surprised that my grandmother seemed to have forgotten her Japanese. My grandmother was born in California, her parents who were born in Japan only spoke Japanese so this was her first language but, English is spoken all around her and for all of her life really so it makes sense. Still, we were all happy to hear my grandmother start talking to Chioye in Japanese towards the end. It was like the dust just needed clearing. We all laughed a happy laugh; for different reasons - I laughed just because it made me happy (Ben was working on me on the table next to my grandmother) – Ben and Chioye laughed because apparently she said, “this (her own) elbow is in my way!” LOL When the session was over, my grandmother took Chioye’s hand and thanked her for helping her.

Next, we drove towards Mount Madonna to the cemetery where my Uncle Bob lies. We didn’t tell my grandmother where we were going. She doesn’t really remember her first son died, but I wondered if she would remember when we drove into the cemetery. She didn’t. She asked, why are we at a cemetery? I told her that we came to see Uncle Bob. She said, MY uncle!? No, I said. MY uncle, YOUR son. My bobby? she said. He’s gone? I didn’t know that. … If you know anyone with dementia, you know this is one of those heartbreaking moments that gets to get repeated. The heart starts to get a little stronger over time but it still pinches. Usually, I just let her believe all her loved ones are still alive somewhere. The only one who she knows is gone for sure is her husband - he’s been gone 30 years, as long as they were married. The rest, like her siblings and son, she assumes are still alive. Here at the cemetery though, I had to be more firm, gentle too of course. He’s been gone quite a while bachan, your mind just forgets, it’s okay. We got her in the wheel chair and I picked some eucalyptus branches and blue flowers from the side of the dirt road next to the cemetery. These are for Uncle Bob, I said. Oh, they are so pretty, she said quietly. John pushed her to the front of Uncle Bob's grave. I placed the flowers in his vase. She studied his marker and then bowed to him from her chair. I cleaned his marker while she watched. She bowed again. They bowed together. She thanked us for bringing her to him.

We ended our day with a Japanese dinner of course – one that ended with my grandmother saying to the waitress, please come here, I have to shake your hand. Thank you for what you do she said as she held this stunned stranger now friend's hand.

May I always stay humble and grateful. May I never forget these moments or these lessons.