Memorial Service for Mom
Remembering Mom Mary Mioko Boudreaux July 29, 2017
Father Jose, Family, and Friends,
I’m here to talk about my mother – who she was and what she meant, and will always mean, to my family. She was first a bright Japanese girl, born in a pivotal place and time in history, and from the beginning in Shanghai China, her strong, courageous spirit distinguished her. I imagine Mom a teenager, suitcase in hand, boarding the ship in Shanghai Harbor during her family’s deportation to Japan after the war. She is one of thousands forced to leave the city, and it has to be an emotional leaving of the privileged life she loved. I picture her working to help the family during those hard years in Beppu, Japan, and surviving a serious illness. Then I fast-forward to a young married woman leaving her country for the States with her American husband, my dad. They’re about to sail away, and she’s holding one end of the long, colorful ribbons that stretch from ship to shore where her mother and sister and brothers hold fast to the other end, waving goodbye. I can’t bear to picture the ship slowly moving away. All this leave-taking and starting a new life in a new world -- this is the stuff that epic movies are made of, and our mother lived it.
Mom transitioned to her new home in Houma, Louisiana, but again she never spoke of challenges she must have faced those first years. I do remember, however, spots of time when she needed her strength as a young mother raising a family. Let me start with my brother, Mike. (I first have to mention the spunky and even rebellious aspect to my mother’s courage. After all, she did marry an American after WWII.) My early memories of Mike follow a distinct theme: lost and found. And the places where my mom found my little brother after losing him never ceased to amaze her. I see my little brother sitting in the middle of the small street where we first lived, playing; sitting under the house - which was built on cinder blocks – pestered by mosquitos, playing; sitting backwards in the open windowsill in our bedroom, and falling to the concrete drive below, after playing; and lastly, hiding out for hours with his buddy in the warehouse of my father’s Western Auto Store, while we dispatched the police for a runaway -- yes, in the warehouse, playing. I know there were countless tender moments when my mother felt protective of her active son, or laughed at his shenanigans, but this was a time when I saw my mother really upset. I saw how worried she was for her number one son, who by the way looks spookily like her brother Kiyoshi, the funny one in her family. She must have known that her spunky, fearless personality would be expressed in her children. Now we have not one but two generations of stubborn, strong personalities. My brother’s grandchild, Mila, is as spunky as they come. Mike, I know you’re proud.
It didn’t take the same kind of spirit to see my sister Bonnie to adulthood. She was the baby of the family--until the real baby turned up ten years later--and her primary connection with Mom was in a word, games. Mom loved that my sister was a star softball pitcher and could keep up with her at any game they played, except maybe bridge. Bonnie brought mah-jongg to the family – so I have her to blame for the hours-long mah-jongg marathons. She was quick to suggest card games at holidays and was the first to go along with Mom and Dad to the casino. (The rest of us hopped on that gravy train soon enough.) It was Mom’s competitive spirit that thrived with Bonnie’s efforts, to the very end when she made strides to get the weekly bridge games going at Watercrest. And it was Mom’s love of tennis that the two of them shared through the years. One of the last things my mother said was, out of the blue, “Who did he play?” when we told her Roger Federer won another match at Wimbledon. It’s clear that Bonnie’s gaming gene came straight from Mom, so it was heartwarming to see my mother playing with the mah-jongg tiles alongside her daughter’s grandchild. Klein had a gentle way with his great-grandma that reminded me of Bonnie’s tender touch with Mom.
I still remember the night that Mom told us she was having a baby, when I was fourteen years old. I won’t repeat what I said then. We were shocked, yes, but then so grateful for our youngest sibling who kept our mother young. When Mom was nearing that age when she could easily lose touch with a teenager’s world, Amy kept her in the know. Okay, it wasn’t always easy for an older parent, but Mom’s strong character steered her towards the right parenting moves. Amy didn’t turn out too bad. And when our youngest sister had her three children, Mom was right there to help not only in the first weeks, but in the years to follow with a first-row seat. And I mean that literally because Amy’s children have played practically every sport known to man. For as long as she could, Mom was in the stands, or on the sidelines, cheering them on. We’ve told Amy many times that she’s lucky to have had Mom so big a part of her children’s lives. And that has been the glue in their relationship – that and a dog named Sam. I think it’s also been special for my youngest sister to see our mother among her friends, and her coworkers as Dr. Vic’s office manager for 32 years. Mom never met a bill she didn’t like paying.
As the first-born child, I have memories of Mom giving me early responsibilities, like keeping track of my brother and sister. (Maybe I’m to blame for Mike ending up in the middle of the street.) And then came little privileges, like staying up late to watch old movies with her. She loved the classics, which I think goes back to her time in Shanghai when she’d go to the theater to watch imported American movies. Her favorites were Bette Davis, which my dad could never understand, and Montgomery Clift and John Wayne. Why did she love these classic films? I think it was because they touched on what’s important and true in life, and she never tired of talking to me about them. I can hear her saying, “What? You’ve never seen that movie?” as if I were the dumbest person on the planet. Well, Mom knew these old movies so well that she watched them with complete understanding after her hearing was nearly gone. That brings me to my mother’s love and knowledge of music, which has colored my whole life. You could see it in her album and CD collection. It’s no surprise that she had her operas and symphonies, but she also had the Bee Gees and Rod Stewart and Elton John. In fact, the only surviving albums of my teenage years are the ones my mother “borrowed” from me.
All of this brings me to a defining trait of our mom: she had impeccable taste. She had good taste in clothes, except for that green shirt which she would not give up. She had good taste in sports’ heroes – Roger Staubach was her gentleman quarterback, Federer her greatest tennis player of all time, the Brooklyn Dodgers her favored baseball team over the Yankees. She had good taste in musicians, with Yo-Yo Ma at the top of her list. She had good taste in movie stars, often saying that the current batch of actors – who made “tacky” acceptance speeches at the Academy Awards -- did not have the classiness of Old Hollywood. And she had good taste in world leaders, notably female, as she was impressively open-minded on social issues. Now, if you’re getting the impression that our mother was opinionated, you’re absolutely right. And that’s precisely what I mean about good taste. She had the discernment, and the knowledge, to know what was good and beautiful and true. As her distinguished brother Hiroshi said, and he was an executive producer with NHK, Mioko was the smart one. Well, she was also the humble one. Long before she was a senior citizen, Mom bowed to the elderly for their hard-won wisdom. As she once said to me, out of respect for Chinese civilization, Japan is an old country, but China is really old.
There is so much more to say. We all know what our mother suffered and endured, without complaint and with dignity and grace. She showed courage not only through the traumatic events, but in waking every single day with hope and even joy, despite all she had lost. Mom was such a big person for such a little body. And I think that’s what we’re left with – her spirit was too big to contain. Her courage, her passions, her heart, her competitive drive were beyond her physical limitations. In those last days, we never feared that Mom felt defeated. She was strong in spirit to the end. As my daughter Elizabeth said, and all the grandchildren know, Grandma loved to win. And win, she did -- against every obstacle in her incredible life. She was our champion, and how we love and miss her.
