Miyokochan Yesterday after church, my friend E and I drove down to the childhood home of our friend S.

S moved back to Seattle 10 or so years ago to take care of her father B, who was dying, and now she is taking care of her mother Miyoko. S basically leads a team of hired caregivers through the tasks of Miyoko's daily routine: Checking blood pressure, pulse, temperature, blood oxygenation; administering medications for heart failure, lung failure, bone pain, mental anxiety; feeding, diapering, entertaining...Miyoko is not sick enough or dying fast enough for the hospital, so all of this happens at home.

S spends her rest and relaxation time at her job.

A member of the caregiver team had to be fired, and so E and I went to assist S for the afternoon.
*****

Miyoko was a Japanese war bride married to a black serviceman. When she and her husband moved to their new Skyway home, no one wanted them there, although the neighbors were divided as to whether the problem was his race, her ethnicity, or the mixing of the two. Still, folks came up to the front door, rang the bell, and told them 'We don't want your kind here.'

Now decades have gone by. The bigoted neighbors have left, or maybe just their bigoted attitudes went away. B is also gone, and Miyoko is left a widow. None of us is sure what to pray for--that she goes quickly, that she stays here for a while, that she doesn't suffer for more than 4 seconds when she goes, that she has enough time to set things right and say proper goodbyes.

In my life to date, I have learned one Japanese word at Benihana, another word from watching Shogun, and E taught me a third Japanese word yesterday. None of them are of any use in the situation at hand. I'll be back assisting S in the weeks to come, God willing, and so perhaps I can learn some more words, helpful ones this time. But I don't know what words to ask to be taught.

Toward the end of our shift, S and E used bedsheets and traction to rotate Miyoko in bed from her back to her side, while I handed over pillows to be tucked in beside Miyoko so that she would not fall out of bed. I saw Miyoko's skinny legs, her skin grown loose and pale, her vulnerability and weakness and mortality and finally, her gratitude.

Even though we can barely speak to each other, still I understand: She's one of my kind.

Labels: friends

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