Baachan

My mother-in-law gave up on life a couple years ago.  She just stopped eating and slipped into unconsciousness.

There was nothing physically wrong with Baachan, except for a little dehydration.  She just didn’t see any reason to live any more.  “Mou juubun ikita kara.  Mou ii.”  She had lived long enough and it was too much trouble to go on every day. 

Too busy to see what was happening under our own roof, I hadn’t noticed her loneliness or withdrawal.  I send the boys over to chat with Baachan/Jiichan (grandma/grandpa) before dinner whenever I remember.  Maybe I hadn’t been as forceful as I could have.  The boys love their grandparents and enjoy hanging out with them, but they also love being up in their room with all its attractions:  books, TV, computers, guitars (and contraband electronic games that are kept secret from me).  Once upstairs, there is a certain amount of inertia involved in getting them to come down.  I should have stayed on top of that.  I should have made sure someone went every evening.

Sobered by my apparent inattention, I promised Baachan it would be better.  I pled with her to live.  I offered all sorts of lovely scenarios to entice her back to the living (including the use of our squishy couch and flat-screen TV).  Jiichan/Baachan live in a new part of the old farmhouse that Tadaaki’s father added on when Tadaaki and his brothers were in high school.  It was a quiet place for the kids to study and meant for the young couple whenever someone got married.  But it didn’t work out like that. 

When we renovated the farmhouse 9 years ago, our family took over the larger area and Jiichan/Baachan moved into the smaller section.  Baachan was happy to have less to clean, while Jiichan chaffed a bit from the transition.  Understandably so.  I realized that Baachan didn’t come much to our side of the house.  Sometimes she would creep over, but disappeared quickly like a ghost.  Maybe I hadn’t pushed her enough…maybe I hadn’t wanted to.  I had to face that and be a bigger person. 

I knew that vegetables from our farm would tickle her senses, so I started to make food for Baachan.  Tadaaki and I switched off, bringing lunch and dinner to the hospital.  Our boys came with us sometimes, but also took the train or rode their bicycles the 10 miles to visit.  They added their pleas.  I brought her wedges of garden tomatoes because I knew she loved them and crisp just-picked cucumber halves sprinkled with sea salt.  I made her little herbed sausage patties from chicken or pork…sometimes a piece of local fish sautéed lightly in olive oil and butter.  I gave her squares of silky organic tofu made near here and always, always included a little mound of our homegrown rice on the plate.  I gave her a small amount of each thing so as not to dull her appetite and was amazed how much she could eat.  She would always tell me not to bother, that it was too much trouble, but her protests were half-hearted, not her usual style.  Baachan lives her life by enryo.  Enryo is kind of like “oh, no, no…you really shouldn’t…well OK…if you insist” (but notch it up a lot and that’s enryo).  It was transparently clear that she absolutely adored it that we brought her food and that our making her the number one priority was something she really, really needed us to do.  So we did.

Baachan started to perk up and she loved being taken care of by all of us.  You could almost see her chest puff out from the attention.  She was so proud of all the visitors, but mostly she had “arrived.”  She now had a good oyome for all to see (oyome=bride=me).  Her oyome did what no other oyome did:  she brought home cooked meals from homegrown vegetables.  Every time a nurse came into the room Baachan told the story.  No matter, that she didn’t always eat Tadaaki’s vegetables at home (often buying food at the local convenience store because it was novel).

Back home, I continued bringing meals to her.  She enjoyed being fussed over, though began saying not to bother.  I couldn't decide if it was enryo, and was conflicted, but sometime in September, I finally gave in to her protests and let the food peter out.  One (or more) of our boys went over each night to watch TV or chat.  And though I often encouraged her to do so, she never did come over and watch TV on our squishy couch.

Christmas 2006

Jiichan died in October.   It turned out the doctor who did an endoscope nicked his esophagus, so he bled out.  I wondered why Jiichan had wanted the tests, but knew that, in fact, he had had the time of his life in the hospital and, in fact, had died as he wished, before Baachan.

One night a few months later, I asked Baachan if she was lonely.  Startled, she cocked her head to one side, laughed and repeated, “Samishii?” then answered unequivocally that she was not lonely.  “Samishikunai.”

Now Baachan has her own life.  She comes and goes as she pleases and doesn’t have to wait on Jiichan or his friends.  Tadaaki eats breakfast over in her area, then she eats dinner with us.  Lunch is an either or kind of thing, depending on what food we have or if Tadaaki and the boys are eating at my school.  Our kids don’t need to be told to go over anymore, as somehow it’s easier to slip into Baachan’s world.  Jiichan was always a challenge.  And Baachan comes over to our side often.  Still the ghost, she surprises me in her stealth as she slips in and out of the room.

She has her jobs:  she’s “ofuro toban”-- which means she makes the bath every night; she prepares tea for Tadaaki’s two workers; and she makes the inaka zushi for our trips or special Japanese days.  She always says she can’t do a good job, but she does, and we always tell her so.  It’s Baachan’s time now and I’m happy she has it.  She may have a bent back from a lifetime of subservience and calcium deficient diet, but she’s no push over.  Also she works hard, so she stays healthy.

And once again, I’m a good oyome.  At 81 years old, 4’8’’ and 66 lbs, Baachan eats about the same amount at dinner as I do, but not only that, she’s interested in each new thing that appears on her plate.  The food is her daily stimulation and that is how I can show my love.  I’m glad we’re keeping her alive.  For now.

Baachan’s Inarizushi

Inarizushi:  usuage (deep-friend tofu skins), sushi rice, soy sauce (Japanese, preferably organic), dashi

*Dashi:  katsuobushi (dried bonito flakes), konbu (dried kelp), soy sauce

Sushi Rice:  Japanese short grain rice (preferably organic), sea salt, saké, konbu (dried kelp), komezu (rice vinegar—not ajisu), granulated sugar (preferably organic)

*left over dashi can be mixed 1:1 with rice vinegar for a delicate Japanese salad dressing—store in fridge up to 3 months

Sushi Rice Method:  See On Washing Rice post for rice washing and cooking.  Use 3 cups rice and 3 cups filtered water + an 8-10-inch segment of konbu.  Remove 2 tablespoons water; add 2 tablespoons saké and 2 teaspoons salt.  Cook.  Prepare sushi vinegar (see below).  Five minutes after rice is done, remove to a large open container—preferably wooden. Sprinkle the prepared sushi vinegar over the rice.  Aerate with a flat paddle, cutting into the rice lifting, up from the bottom (similar to folding in egg whites) while fanning the rice with a flat Japanese fan (uchiwa) or piece of cardboard with your other hand.  Do not smash!  This should only take a few minutes.  Cover with a damp cloth.  Do not store in the fridge.

Sushi Vinegar:  add 2 tablespoons sugar to 6 tablespoons komezu (rice vinegar) set aside to dissolve while rice is cooking.

Dashi Method:  prepare cold water in a medium saucepan.  Add a couple 6-inch pieces of konbu.  Bring to almost a boil, take out konbu and throw in a handful of katsuobushi shavings.  Turn flame to low and simmer 6-7 minutes.  Turn off flame and let sit 20 minutes before straining out the katsuobushi.

Inarizushi Method:  Slap usuage against the counter to help pop the two sides apart (this was traditionally the kids’ job).  Place in boiling water for 1 minute and drain.  Cut in half horizontally.  Simmer in dashi to just cover, seasoned with soy sauce and sweetened with mirin.  Let cool in broth.  Prepare a small bowl of cold vinegar.  Drain skins, dip your hands in the vinegar, then grab a small handful of sushi rice.  Stuff skin, tucking one side of the ends over the other to close up the bottom.  Cover with plastic wrap until serving.

Comments

[Jacky Robert]

Thanks Nancy for sharing this part of your life. I am not sure if, in America, we value our elders enough. I admire Japan for keeping older people at the center of their life. By listening attentively to them, we can learn so much and improve as individuals.
Jacky

[Mora Chartrand-Grant]

By the time I finished reading Baachan I had tears in my eyes. What a lovely tribute to this incredible woman. I was thrilled to read that she has created a new life for herself. And what a first-class oyome you are! I bet that she gushes over you when she speaks with others even more than you know. Please give Baachan my very best and encourage her to never give up. She is blessed to have you and your family by her side. -- Mora

[Olga Singleton]

Caring for someone is not easy, but keeping their head afloat is even harder. I admire you for your huge efforts. Of course your food and cooking are a huge blessing!

[Nancy Hachisu]

Jacky: sometimes it is difficult to live in such proximity, but there are great advantages to this kind of life. And of course I'm hoping my boys will take care of us when we get old. Farming life lends itself to this kind of cooperative lifestyle both here and in countries all over the world. Agrarian values make so much sense, but are slipping away. But I see an exciting turn back to the land among young people in America. Hope that movement gathers more and more momentum.

Mora & Olga: the food part is easy for me as that is what I do. The spending time part is a little harder however, as I don't have the custom of sitting down for tea. But the the workers and Tadaaki do, so Baachan has a social outlet there. Baachan comes over to our part a lot these days and often comes upstairs to find out what the boys are doing.

[Rodney Fong]

Multi-generational living is a way of life in Hawaii, some of it out of financial necessity, but some because of our cultural background. Those of us with Asian heritage find it to be a pleasant duty to care for our elders. I grew up in a house with my father's parents, making 9 of us. In fact I lived at home until I married at age 41. My mother cared for my grandfather after his stroke, and then my grandmother after hers, finally my dad's cancer. My wife went through the same, with first her maternal grandmother, her father and most recently her mother.

My mother-in-law came to Las Vegas and Disneyland with us, to celebrate our 10th anniversary. We couldn't understand why she was so tired and slow. A month later, she found out she had lung and colon cancer and given a short prognosis. She probably suspected it, but did not have it checked. In fact, she found out about the cancer because of pain from kidney stones. As it got worse, she came to live with us for my wife to care for her. My son, who had always been close to her, loved her being here, but was devastated by her passing. She passed last June, 8 months after finding out, but lasting a few months longer than she was expected to. Being around so much family helped her last longer.

My mother, who had taken care of so many, is always concerned about who will take care of her. She seems so surprised that all of us want to and have in some way or another. In fact, we will be renovating her house and moving back in with her, as she gets on in years. It will give my son a chance to bond more with her.

Our elders are a treasure. I hope more will choose to spend time with their parents and/or grandparents after reading your story.