Executive Order 9066

It is an ugly part of US history most people do not talk about. With the recent concern of the treatment of immigrants and the fate of our country's future, I felt the "writing bug" entice me to share part of my family's story. It was in 1949 when President Roosevelt signed the the order which sent Japanese-Americans to Internment camps. My grandparents, grand-aunt, father, aunt and other relatives were included in the group. We never discussed it while I was growing up. We never learned about it in school. All I truly remember hearing about it was when my family received checks for restitution. I don't even remember what the money was used for. My grandparents probably just invested it. My dad did not live to see the check. Ironically, my grandmother's brother had passed away and the check was in the family's mailbox when they returned home from his funeral. Living with and taking care of my grandparents for 5 years allowed me to hear small bits and pieces of their story. My grandmother said my aunt, who was just a baby, learned to walk and talk while in "camp". My dad would watch my grandmother scrub laundry on a washboard. He wanted to play with it and have fun. So, my grandfather purchased a small one for him. I have it hanging in my house today. My grand-aunt told me about the friends she made. There were happy stories and sad stories. One particular was one of fear and anger. My great-grandfather was with the family in camp. He was a Sunday school teacher at the Methodist church my family belonged to. While in camp, officials came and took him away in the middle of the night. No explanation was given. The officials suspected he was helping the enemy, Japan. He spoke very little English. For 5 days, my grandfather and the rest of the family feared for his safety. They and other friends wrote a letter to their pastor, asking for assistance in getting my great-grandfather released. The pastor responded by stating the church would not get involved. It was then my grandfather chose to let go of his faith in religion and our family stopped church ties. Thankfully, my great-grandfather was returned to the family, but it made a horrible impression that stayed with everyone forever. Both my grandparents spoke to me about all the things they had to sell and get rid of before being taken from their home. They could only take one suitcase and whatever they could carry. Somehow, my grandfather managed to take in a camera. We have some photos of my father as a young boy because of that camera. My grandfather told me about how he lied about having experience in farming and irrigation so he could leave camp to work on a farm part-time. He and friends he made in camp would take a bus or train to a nearby farm hear the camp Heart Mountain in Wyoming. He laughed and said, "We didn't know a god damned thing about irrigation. But we sure as hell learned!" I had asked my grandparents if they would ever want to visit the campsite or the Japanese Heritage Museum where they had a barrack on display. The answer was always, "No." Simply, yet stern. I never asked why, but knew in my heart there was so much feeling of shame and resentment for what happened to them. My father would grow up and serve in the US Army, despite how our government treated him and his family. And every year for Veterans' Day and Memorial Day, my grandfather would proudly display an American flag on our front porch. The resilience and respect he had amazed me. This was all part of my family heritage and my country's history. The concern and fear it may happen again brings this series of events back to the public's awareness and I just wanted to share our part.

My EastCoast Mom

Two nights ago, I logged on my social media and saw a post from my father in law...he wrote that he his wife and best friend had passed. My heart stopped. I re-read the post several times. I immediately text him to call me. He did. I hesitated to answer, trying to get myself together and brace myself for a hurtful conversation. He explained to me she had been sick since last fall. He described the illnesses she fought and how eventually, she lost her battle. I cried. I felt my heart break. A part of me wanted to crawl through the phone line and give my "dad" a hug. The pain and grief I had gone through for Mark was all coming back again. I told dad I was here for him and to call me if he needed anything. He told me he felt lost. All the habits of daily life were for two of them. Now, he would have to face them alone. The trips out to dinner. The visits to their "winter" house. Tending to the garden. Sitting and reading in the living room. I cried. It didn't seem fair for someone to lose their child and then lose their spouse.

I remembered the sadness and emptiness I felt the first night I slept alone in the house. The first time I had to refer to myself as "widowed" or had to refer to Mark as "deceased". It cut deep in my soul. I know dad will have to have many of those firsts. The hardest part was when I started to sort through Mark's belongings. What to keep. What to give away. It took months, years. I remember having David help me go through a few boxes last summer. I had to stop because I had a melt down when I opened a box and saw the Christmas stockings I had made with our names. There in big letters "Jenn" and "Mark". I can only imagine how difficult the holidays will be for dad.

Next phase was the guilt. I had backed off in my relationship with my in laws because I felt like I had lost them when I lost Mark. I was starting a new life, especially once I met David. I felt it would be hurtful to share that life with them. I kept in touch, but I was distant. Last year I had wondered why a holiday card only had a brief signature and no greeting. Why Mother's and Father's Day greetings were not acknowledged. Now I know why. They hadn't reached out. I hadn't reached out. No fault of one person or another. But now, I've lost the opportunity to say I love you to my East Coast Mom.

Doris was a wonderful woman. She was funny, spunky and feisty. She was the one who first referred to herself as East Coast Mom. She had a way to make you smile and laugh. The first time I met her, we instantly bonded. She shared stories about dad and Mark. She shared recipes, photos and made me feel like a daughter. On my wedding day, she jokingly told me she was cursing us with triplets. I told her I would make sure they were bratty when I sent them to her house. She immediately said, "My house has 4 corners to every room. One for each bratty kid and one for their mom!!" Her quick wit and charm were what made her a fun person to be around. She was a great cook and an avid gardener. She dedicated a lifetime of work as a nurse. She loved to read and shop. There were always stops at bookstores and shopping malls in our visits to Connecticut and South Carolina.

My hope is that she knew how much she meant to me. I will miss her smile that brightened up a room. Her contagious laugh that made everyone happy. Her insight she shared with me about men, marriage and life in general. Her love of her family and friends. I love you, Doris. Say hi to Mark for me. See you again, someday.

Finding her wings...

Her metamorphosis has been lifelong. Hiding from pain and heartache, she has missed opportunities to fly. Shyness and insecurities have prevented her from opening her beautiful wings to the world around her. She is ashamed of her scars from her past. She has yet to see the beauty she is told she possesses. She is delicate, paper thin and lacey. Her will to explore pushes her limits. Her need to float and soar are primal. She longs for the freedom from shelter and protection of others. Her taste and lust for the sweet nectar of love is vital for her survival. The promise of safety and love from a strong yet gentle rose is not enough. She is determined to find her true wings and fly...