Just Like Her

I have always wanted to have a baby girl, to name her after my grandmother. My grandmother is kick ass. She is the grandmother everyone else wants. One friend even said that. He said, "I like your grandma more than mine. I wish I had yours."

She is a survivor: the oldest of 8 kids, the only one to stand up to her controlling, traditional father. She never went to college--she went to internment camp, where she met my grandfather. She raised four kids. She worked until she was in her late 80s. She made my wedding dress. She taught me that I was allowed to be whoever I wanted, that I didn't need to be "submissive" to a man--a direct contradiction to what I'd been raised to believe. A few years ago, we were at my parents' church and the crazy conservative pastor was talking about how spouses should be kind to each other. He said, "Husbands, when you come home from work, don't say to your wives, 'Make me dinner!' say "Honey, would you please make me some dinner?"

I whispered to my grandmother, "I don't know what I would say if some man said, 'Make me dinner.'"

And she, all 80-plus years of her, leaned back and said, sharp and fiesty as ever, "I'd say, 'Go to hell!'"

She is so strong. But her body is weak. She's in the hospital, and each day she looks smaller and smaller against the pillow. We believe and hope she will recover. I say to her silently, Please stay.

Please stay, I want to give you a Yoshiko.