By Dillon Lansberg
My Japanese grandmother is an atomic bomb survivor. I try to emulate her because of her past and because she is an extremely strong-willed person. During my childhood, she never uttered a word concerning the historical events of her lifetime when my family would visit her. Instead, she doted upon me as all grandmothers do. When I was assigned a project in eighth grade to interview a family member, I chose her because of little hints my parents dropped as I grew up. The significance of the bombing didn’t register with me until I was older. Instead of holding on to that disaster, and using it to gain attention and special treatment as some people do, she moved on and lived the rest of her life. She taught me our past has a great impact but the future is vital because we can change it. Had my grandmother been older than eight at the time, I think she would have lost hope in the future. I learned from her to persevere through adversity, to strive to improve because nothing in life could be as devastating as her experiences. She instilled upon me to never be a victim and I put that above all else that she’s taught me.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Memories of Oba an enduring legacy
by Stacey Greenberg
What's cancer? Satchel, my 7-year-old, asked me last week. It wasn't a question I had ever wanted to answer.
My husband's mother, Kay, whom we call Oba (Japanese for grandmother), was rushed to the hospital last Sunday. She'd been successfully battling lymphoma for almost two years, but she took a sudden turn for the worse. Warren raced across country, hoping to get to California in time to say good-bye, while Satchel, his 5-year-old brother, Jiro, and I stayed home and hoped for a miracle.
Is Oba going to die? Jiro wanted to know.
For a few days there was hope that Oba might make it, but on Christmas Day she was moved to Comfort Care, which is like hospice. We were faced with losing a loving and involved grandmother, mother-in-law, and mother in one fell swoop.
Oba's real name is Keiko Osafune Oster. She was born in Japan in 1937. She had six siblings and lived through Hiroshima. In 1960, she met a young Navy man named Felix, who grew up on a farm in North Dakota. They fell in love and moved to the United States to start a family. She and Felix had four children, the youngest of which is my husband, Warren.
Felix, who was still in the service, traveled a lot when their children were young. Whenever I think I have it rough, I think about Oba being in a new country with four kids under the age of 5. She ran a tight ship and set the housekeeping bar higher than I will ever reach!
She was generous and kind. It may not have always been easy to understand what she was saying, but her smile and laugh were easy to read. Luckily, Oba loved long road trips and could read a map like no other. She crossed the country on several occasions to visit us. She also inspired us to cross the country several times in her direction. A week did not pass without a phone call or a package from Oba.
Oba died peacefully early Sunday morning, surrounded by Felix, her four children, one daughter-in-law, and three of her nine grandchildren.
What happens after you die? Satchel wanted to know.
There's been a lot of discussion of one's spirit and heaven and reincarnation. One thing is certain though. Oba will live on in our hearts and our memories forever. Warren will remember her recipes (and proper protocol for washing clothes and loading the dishwasher, among other things). His thoughtfulness and kindness as a father and husband will remind me of decades of Oba's hard work. Satchel will remind us of her infectious laugh every time he shares his. Jiro's determination comes from Oba and his future soliloquies will be a direct result of the years of speech therapy that she generously paid for.
Oba welcomed me with open arms and treated me like part of her family from Day One. I have always been thankful for that. She was everything I could have ever hoped for in a mother-in-law and more.
May her memory be a blessing.
What's cancer? Satchel, my 7-year-old, asked me last week. It wasn't a question I had ever wanted to answer.
My husband's mother, Kay, whom we call Oba (Japanese for grandmother), was rushed to the hospital last Sunday. She'd been successfully battling lymphoma for almost two years, but she took a sudden turn for the worse. Warren raced across country, hoping to get to California in time to say good-bye, while Satchel, his 5-year-old brother, Jiro, and I stayed home and hoped for a miracle.
Is Oba going to die? Jiro wanted to know.
For a few days there was hope that Oba might make it, but on Christmas Day she was moved to Comfort Care, which is like hospice. We were faced with losing a loving and involved grandmother, mother-in-law, and mother in one fell swoop.
Oba's real name is Keiko Osafune Oster. She was born in Japan in 1937. She had six siblings and lived through Hiroshima. In 1960, she met a young Navy man named Felix, who grew up on a farm in North Dakota. They fell in love and moved to the United States to start a family. She and Felix had four children, the youngest of which is my husband, Warren.
Felix, who was still in the service, traveled a lot when their children were young. Whenever I think I have it rough, I think about Oba being in a new country with four kids under the age of 5. She ran a tight ship and set the housekeeping bar higher than I will ever reach!
She was generous and kind. It may not have always been easy to understand what she was saying, but her smile and laugh were easy to read. Luckily, Oba loved long road trips and could read a map like no other. She crossed the country on several occasions to visit us. She also inspired us to cross the country several times in her direction. A week did not pass without a phone call or a package from Oba.
Oba died peacefully early Sunday morning, surrounded by Felix, her four children, one daughter-in-law, and three of her nine grandchildren.
What happens after you die? Satchel wanted to know.
There's been a lot of discussion of one's spirit and heaven and reincarnation. One thing is certain though. Oba will live on in our hearts and our memories forever. Warren will remember her recipes (and proper protocol for washing clothes and loading the dishwasher, among other things). His thoughtfulness and kindness as a father and husband will remind me of decades of Oba's hard work. Satchel will remind us of her infectious laugh every time he shares his. Jiro's determination comes from Oba and his future soliloquies will be a direct result of the years of speech therapy that she generously paid for.
Oba welcomed me with open arms and treated me like part of her family from Day One. I have always been thankful for that. She was everything I could have ever hoped for in a mother-in-law and more.
May her memory be a blessing.
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