Remembering Kae

 

Kae Komiyama came into our lives as part of a homestay. In prior years, we had hosted five other young ladies from Japan and one from Spain for this six-to-eight-week English-intensive program. Our close friend, Terri, was the coordinator and teacher. Students were housed in individual homes and became part of their families for the time of their stay. In our case, they have remained part of our family.

For this group, our student was Fumiko. Our daughter, Kim, who lived about five blocks away at the time, hosted Ikue. And her neighbors, Ceil and Keith, hosted Kae. I said we got three for the price of one in this group because they spent a great deal of time together—often at our house.

My mother was living with us at the time, and she often provided transportation for the girls. She couldn’t remember their Japanese names, so she identified them by their personal characteristics: Fumiko was “the funny one,” because of her ready sense of humor. Ikue was “the little one,” because she was short like our daughter, Kim. Kae was “the pretty one” because she was beautiful. Mom adored them all.

L-R: Kim, Kae, Ikue, Fumiko, me

One evening, they fixed dinner for all of their host families. Another evening, they put on a fashion show. Kae and Fumiko wore my formal clothing, and Ikue wore Kim’s. Kae’s host mother did their hair and makeup. Such fun memories!

Ikue, Kae, Fumiko

Being silly with Dad: Fumiko, Kae, Ikue with Larry

It was hard to say goodbye to this group, but we hoped we would see them again when we moved to Japan the following August.

Saying Goodbye: Kae, me, Ikue, Fumiko

In April of 1999, Kim and Mom came to visit us in Japan. We would spend a total of 31 months there building the Universal Studios Japan theme park. While they were there, we celebrated Larry’s birthday, and Kae and her then-boyfriend (and future husband), Toshi, were in attendance.

Kae, Toshi, Kim

Larry blowing out his candles

During our time in Japan, they visited about once a month. They arrived with no agenda except to be with us. Although we saw all but one of our Japanese daughters while we lived there, we saw Kae and Toshi the most.

We returned to California in the spring of 2001. Toshi had a job which required him to come to the US a couple of times a year on business. He always tried to extend his trips so he could spend a few days with us. He sometimes brought Kae with him.

One day in late October of 2003, we received a message from them. They had been married in Japan. Like many other countries in the world, they went to the city hall, filled out the paperwork, and left officially married. The wedding, however, was a separate occasion.

“Mom, we want to have our wedding in Orange County. We will arrive on December 28.”

They wanted an American wedding. What the heck was that?

We had a few questions.

Church or at the park where Larry’s brother had been married? Church. (When our kids stayed with us, they attended church with us on Sundays, despite the fact that the Japanese don’t really practice any religion.)

The pastor was Larry’s best friend, and they had met him several times before. They wanted him to marry them. Religious or secular ceremony? Religious.

They didn’t need a license since they were already married, but they insisted. They wanted one stating that they were married in Orange County. Toshi had already done his homework and found that he could complete all the paperwork online and pick up the license in Santa Ana. They went straight from the airport to the city hall and picked it up.

Kae’s brother was coming with them and he would be Toshi’s best man. Kim would be Kae’s maid of honor. I mentioned that here, it was traditional for the father of the bride to walk her down the aisle. “Do you think Dad would do it?”

Silly question. Of course, he would. But he no longer owned a suit. When he left the engineering company where he’d worked for over 30 years, he donated all of his suits. We had to rush out and get a 3-day suit so he could be the father of the bride. (Kae’s father had died when she was quite young. I think I identified with her because I had lost mine at a young age, too.)

The wedding came off without a hitch, and it was beautiful.

Mom, Kae, Toshi, Dad

On our anniversary, September 4 of 2010, our phone rang at about 3:00 a.m. Toshi could barely speak because he was so upset. “Kae collapsed. She may not make it.”

“We’ll put her on the church prayer chain, and we will pray for her, too.”

Of course, I went to pieces as soon as we hung up.

She’d had an aneurism. The neurosurgeon who treated her (the best one in all of Japan) later told Toshi he would have given her less than 5% chance of survival. However, Toshi posted a picture on her Caring Bridge site on her birthday, October 16, of her jumping on her bed. Her doctor could not explain how she had recovered with only slight impairment. He called it a miracle.

Of course, I was worried about her until the following March when we went back to Japan for the 10^th anniversary of the opening of USJ. Kae and Toshi came down to Osaka and spent several days with us. It felt so good to hug Kae and tell her how much we loved her. Even more important, we got to see how well she was.

A couple of years after her aneurism, Kae attended culinary school at Cordon Bleu in Tokyo. With a lot of help from Toshi, she graduated. Quite an accomplishment!

In 2015 when they next visited, she brought her chef’s coat and toque and cooked a gorgeous four-course dinner for us and four other couples. Magnificent!

Chef Kae and Ruth

She wouldn’t have been able to handle the fast-paced schedule in a restaurant, but she started her own cooking school at home. She taught private lessons to small groups of women and thoroughly enjoyed it.

They continued to visit often, and we kept in touch through email, text, and Facebook.

Then in April of last year, when she was supposed to be starting a college course toward her MBA, Toshi sent me a message: “Kae might have pancreatic cancer.”

Unfortunately, she did, and Toshi fought to get her the treatment she required. I assured him I had two prayer chains praying for her with some of the same people who had prayed for her before.

She underwent surgery and chemotherapy, and more experimental treatment Toshi researched. He wanted to bring her to see us, but her doctor would not clear her for plane travel following surgery to place a drain.

Meanwhile, Toshi’s father died, so he had his hands full dealing with that and caring for Kae.

She was finally cleared to fly, and he brought her on September 29 for ten days. She still had a drain in place.

After we returned from the airport, she came in the front door, looked around, smiled at me, and said, ”Mom, I’m home.”

This both touched me and broke my heart because I knew more than anywhere else in the world, this truly was her home, and we truly were her family.

They were joined a couple of days later by her best friend from high school, Ayumi.

This was Kae’s “bucket list” trip. She had about six or seven items she wanted to do while she was here. And she did all of them and more, including a final trip to Disneyland.

She looked much better by the time they left. And she was happy.

Kae with wig at the church where they were married

A couple of weeks later, I received a message from Toshi. They had been to see her doctor, and he told them she probably had only four to six weeks left. His last line, however, really broke my heart: I’m sorry. Mom. I couldn’t save her.

On the morning of December 20 at about 10:00 a.m. our time, Toshi messaged me: Kae loses consciousness…hope she comes back. I began to pray for both of them and continued throughout the morning.

We went to Larry’s brother’s house for lunch to deliver his family’s Christmas presents. I had the ringer turned off on my phone, but Larry’s was on. He had an incoming call. “I don’t recognize this number.”

I did. “I know the country code. It’s Toshi.”

“She’s gone.”

I had been thinking about what would happen afterward and suggested he might think about bringing some or all of her ashes here to spread in the ocean off Dana Point, her true home.

“I have a written note from her. This is what she wants.”

So, he will bring her back this spring and we will take her out to sea after a small memorial service at the church where they were married and many people prayed for her, both when she had her aneurism and this past year. She’ll be with Grandma, who truly was the only grandparent she had.

We will love her always. She was truly our daughter.

A Year of Grief

A Year of Grief

One year ago today, a child we have loved since he was six ended his own life at seventeen. As his mother said, “The year went so fast, but the days seemed endless.”

We first met William when his mother left us a message while we were at work. “This is your neighbor. This is a call no parent wants to make. My son broke your window.” He was six at the time, a beautiful little boy with huge eyes. She ended the call with, “His father will bring him over on Saturday to apologize. Be tough on him.

I started laughing. Sure. Be tough? On a six-year-old?

However, on Saturday morning, he and his dad arrived. He apologized, and Larry and I managed to keep straight faces—barely. He was truly contrite. Thus began our relationship with his family, which eventually grew to six children.

In December, we asked their mother if we could “rent” the kids to help finish decorating our tree since I had run out of steam. There were only five at the time, but their cousin came, too. They trooped over, put the ornaments here, there, and everywhere, and I loved it!

When the tree was complete, they decorated the sugar cookies I had baked ahead of time with icing and lots of sprinkles. Of course, they had more inside them than the finished ones. And sprinkles covered every surface. They each had a small plate on which to put the three cookies they wanted to take home with them. I used the rest to serve my guests throughout the holiday season.

Bridget, their cousin, William, Wyatt, Audrey, Claire

The tradition continued through 2019. Last year, we had to cancel, not just because of Covid, but also because one precious child was missing.

I always considered William the most sensitive of the children. That first year, I told them each ornament on the tree had a story. (There are no “generic” ones.) William was the one who would bring me an ornament and ask me to tell him its story. This year, his younger brother, Wyatt, channeled William, asking about specific decorations.

Wyatt always hunted for two specific ornaments: a ceramic surfboard and a tiny wooden sailboat. (When I mentioned this, he described them both without any hints. He shared that memory with me.) Once he’d located them, he always stopped hanging anything else on the tree and sat on the sofa playing with them. (This year, he kept adding decorations to the tree, but he still set “his” ornaments aside.)

We told him he could choose one of the two to take home with him, but Larry added, “You need to leave one so you’ll return next year.” He decided to leave them both so he could hunt for them again.

The oldest child, Claire, always corralled the younger ones and kept them at it. She joined our critique group when she was ten! She was a terrific writer, even as a little girl. And she became one of our best critics. She published her first novel at sixteen. She is now a sophomore at the University of Notre Dame—on a scholarship.

Audrey, the next eldest after William, is my “angel girl.” She shares my love for angels. She is a sophomore in high school and was too busy to join us this year, but I sent home a couple of big angels for her.

Bridget, who is now in eighth grade, was the “messy” one. She was impulsive and demanding and so much fun. She was also independent and opinionated, and I must admit, I really liked those qualities. Now, she is kind and thoughtful and creative and deliberate. Yep, she is growing up, and it makes me a bit sad.

Wyatt has also grown up. His first year, he broke one ornament (to his mother’s chagrin) and spilled his hot cocoa. I didn’t care. I so loved having them there—and I still do.

The youngest, Sydney, who is now six, was only old enough to come starting in 2019. She, too, is growing up. She is creative and neat and enthusiastic.

Thank goodness we were able to have them again on Tuesday to help with the tree and cookies. Once again, they each got a mug of hot cocoa with five miniature marshmallows. And they each left with an ornament from my collection. Quite a few others already decorate their tree.

Lorna, Bridget, Sydney, Wyatt, and Larry

It wasn’t quite the same, and it never will be again. We will always miss sweet, dear William. But I am so grateful to their parents for sharing them with us through the years.

Christmas has now officially arrived in our home. 

TODAY MARKS A MILESTONE

 August 31, 2021

One year ago today, my life changed irreparably. I was scrolling through Facebook when a private message popped up: Call Officer R____ at the Covina Police Department ASAP. A phone number followed.

My first reaction was: This must be a joke or a prank. But even as I replied, “Why?” I realized it wasn’t.

I made the call, and the officer confirmed my brother, Ron Lund (known as Rockin’ Ron to his friends), had passed away.

Since our father had died in 1954 and our mother in 2011, we were the only ones left in the family. Now, he was gone, too.

Larry and I immediately set out for Covina—over an hour’s drive from our home in Dana Point. This was in the middle of a heatwave with temperatures in Covina between 110 and 120 degrees. Wildfires raged nearby, so the acrid smell of smoke permeated the air. And it was also during the first COVID peak…

Once we arrived, we were met by Ron’s best friend, Bud, and another friend, Joe. Before too long, two of his other friends arrived. Several of his neighbors also came out—in the heat and smoky air—to tell me how much they had appreciated him.

Their stories of his kindness helped me deal with the initial shock.

We spent the next month cleaning out his mobile home and taking care of the matters of his estate. The busyness helped, but it also allowed me somewhat to avoid dealing with my feelings about losing my brother.

Among his possessions, we discovered a slim, spiral-bound notebook filled with his handwriting. I knew what it was immediately because about ten years earlier he had told me he was writing a book. I promised him I would edit and publish it when he finished it, and he even sent me a chapter so I could show him what it would look like edited. We discussed the title and some of his ideas.

Following his death, several of his friends asked me about “Ron’s book.” Since I hadn’t heard anything more from him, I figured he had given up the idea.

Now, here it was. Not a book, really, more of an outline, and only a few chapters. However, I had made him a promise…

I transcribed it and showed it to Larry. I felt I had to finish it, and he agreed to write the rest with me. (Once I had transcribed it, I gave the original to his best friend since he was the first to ask me about it. After all, I still had the words.)

We began with Ron’s original story, but added a great deal of detail: dialogue, descriptions, feelings, etc. (His words ended at the beginning of Chapter 11, and much of the previous chapters contained our original writing.)

After about four months, we finished the manuscript. He hadn’t told us his intended ending, and I’m glad. As we worked on it, we agreed it could only have one ending.

Dominic Drive was published in January of this year.

The cover image is a photo of an actual sign from the street where we grew up. Ron had retrieved it when they changed the signs from white with black letters to green with white lettering, and he had kept it all these years. Larry changed the name to the name of the book.

It has received wonderful reviews, and many friends have sent me private notes about how much they liked it.

On his birthday, May 31, we had a nice luncheon here at our house where his friends shared more of their memories of him.

Between the book and the stories, I have been able to piece together a more complete picture of my little brother. I am grateful he touched so many lives. And I feel as though I have done everything I could to honor his memory. Not everyone is so fortunate.

Closure

Almost nothing is more frustrating than losing a dear friend and not knowing why. This happened to us a number of years ago.

Our dear and valued friend, Lynne, simply disappeared. She moved without sending us her new address. Her phone number and email address changed. We were left frustrated and missing her.

I found a new address for her, and sent her cards every few years. We never received an answer, but at least, they were never returned. Still, we often thought of her and hoped she was doing well.

We received word last month that she had died while on a cruise in November. We probably shouldn’t even have known about it except a friend’s step-daughter went to school with one of Lynne’s relatives. She let her step-mother know about the funeral, and she let the rest of us know.

Larry was ill the day of the funeral, but I went. We had been given the wrong address, and I drove around for a while before I located the church. Even though I left very early, I was a few minutes late for the service and sat in the back.

I loved hearing from her family about her more recent years. I felt as though I had caught up with her life. And I was glad and thankful I had gone.

A couple of weeks ago, we received a phone message from “Lynne’s relative” asking to speak with us about her. We played phone tag until last Monday when we finally connected. What a precious gift!

He said he was going through her things and came across the letters and cards we had sent over the years. This told us a great deal. She had kept them because they were important to her! And we knew she knew we cared about her.

We talked for about an hour sharing Lynne stories. Many of them made us laugh, and her relative enjoyed hearing them as much as we enjoyed sharing them. He told us a bit about her life after we saw her the last time.

We all felt she had cut herself off from her old friends in order to protect his privacy. (He is a very public figure, and she lived with him and took care of his children.) He expressed his surprise and dismay that she had made the choice. “I never would have asked her to do it, and I would have objected had I known.”

We had looked for closure to this relationship, and his thoughtfulness provided more than we could have imagined.

We still miss her, but now we feel satisfaction knowing she knew how we felt about her. She kept our messages, and it told us we mattered to her as well.

Have you ever lost a friend and felt the need for closure? How did you handle it? Did you ever find a satisfactory ending?

I’m grateful we did.