Call it happenstance, circumstance, or mere coincidence. I call it fate. I never believed in fate, but yesterday, fate brought three people into an unexpected situation. The day delivered many pleasant and unbelievable surprises. Yesterday was Obon.
A few months ago, I learned my Dad’s good friend from high school, Hiroshi Uyeda, had passed away. My Aunt saw his obituary in the Japanese-American newspaper, The Rafu Shimpo. Shocked and saddened by the news, I dug up the latest address I had on him and immediately sent a sympathy card to the family. I had previously met his wife but never his adult children. I retrieved their names from the obituary and wrote:
April 2018
Hello James and Jane,
I am so saddened to hear about your father’s passing.
I don’t think we’ve met, but our fathers were classmates in Yawatahama. My dad too was an internee at Manzanar, Tule Lake, Crystal City, and Seabrook Farms. Seems this was the route most Kibei Nisei bachelors got thrown into. Your parents always came to visit my Dad in Little Tokyo when we drove down to LA for Obon. My dad looked forward to these visits.
My dad sadly passed away in January 2016 at the age of 94. I remember your father came to the funeral at Zenshuji and told me he was my dad’s oldest friend because they’ve known each other since childhood. Soon after my dad passed, I came across some photos of your father and my dad when they first came back to America around 1939. Or it may have been taken in the camps. I don’t know for sure. Anyway, I sent them to your father. He later told me he enjoyed seeing the photos. “We looked so young,” he said with a laugh. The last time I saw your father was when he came to my dad’s first anniversary memorial service at Zenshuji in January 2017. He spoke very proudly of you both.
It is with a heavy heart I write this note. Both our fathers lived a long, productive, and happy life. My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family.
With much sorrow,
Keiko
His passing tore a huge chunk of my Dad’s past from my heart, and I desperately prayed James or Jane would reach out to me. Six weeks passed without a communique. And then one day, I received a note from James indicating his family’s appreciation for the sympathy card, and by any chance, would I be able to meet with them at Obon. I was elated and immediately emailed him that in fact my husband and I planned to attend the one at the Zenshuji Buddhist Temple, a mere 5 miles from their residence. Obon, a national holiday in Japan, honors our ancestors by celebrating them with prayers, food, music, and entertainment. What an appropriate way to honor our fathers, I thought.
James, Jane, and I exchanged a few more emails to update each other on our lives and families. We discovered the three of us spent our junior year abroad in Tokyo at the same college, International Christian University (ICU), albeit not the same year. I told them my cousins had also participated in the same ICU program a few years after I went. They mentioned their planned trip to Japan next April to bury their father’s ashes at the family plot. I told them my husband and I, too, were planning to stay in Tokyo for an extended period in April, and that we should definitely meet up for dinner. James and I also discovered we lived in a tiny duplex as newlyweds on the same street in Crenshaw, and growing up we hung out at some of the same places in Little Tokyo or J-Town as we used to call it. A series of fun coincidences I thought. But our paths never really crossed until yesterday when we met for the first time.
A scorching day of 105 degrees in Los Angeles greeted us with open arms. Jane, who lives in San Francisco, unfortunately, could not make Obon. James and I recognized each other immediately in the crowded, stuffy lunchroom at Zenshuji. His sweet and gentle 86-year-old mom was the giveaway. We introduced ourselves, found an empty table, and ordered our lunches. As we busily chatted, my cousin, Nancy, who also attends the annual Obon, joined us at the same table. When I introduced Nancy to James, I noticed she immediately looked puzzled.
“You look familiar. Have we met?” she asked him.
James said, “Hmm…you look familiar too.”
“Wow, I think you were in my education abroad program. ICU. 1979. In Tokyo. From UCLA, right?” Nancy asked.
Then the laughter and exuberant flow of back-and-forth questions between two people trying to catch up on the last 39 years of their lives. Utterly speechless, I could not believe the unfolding saga taking place in front of me. James, my Dad’s best friend’s son, who I just met today, was in the same Tokyo program 39 years ago as my cousin, who happened to be having lunch with me? We spent the rest of the afternoon catching up in a BIG way.
As we prepared to depart, Nancy told us she and her husband planned to be in Tokyo next April to view the cherry blossoms.
“Really? Me too,” James chimed in. “Wow, that makes all three of us in Tokyo,” I said.
“Unbelievable! Well then, we must ALL meet up for dinner,” Nancy said.
“I think our grandpas, Denjiro and Kyuji, had this all planned out. They knew we’d be here for Obon and figured they’d played us. As for James and I, our Dads had everything to do with what transpired today. I know they did,” I told Nancy and James. They agreed.
Yesterday, I became a believer in fate. These series of events were not simple coincidences. Sometimes things happen for a reason, and this time it brought three disparate people together and reconnected their lives into one.
