My grandmother passed away last week. She was 94. I’m away from home 18 years, and so I have the urge perhaps people reading this are thinking in wanting to say “I’m sorry to hear that”, etc. Everyone was happy that her journey had ended. Not because they hated her, but because they loved her. She was a fiercely independent person who did not like to just sit around. She did not enjoy old age after perhaps 85 or so when not only her body, but also her mind allowed her to not be independent.

My parents live started to revolve around her, and ensuring that she is as happy as can be. None of their three sons gave them grandkids, and it sometimes felt that this was another caring role for them. It was tough for them, and the amazing effort they went to for her comfort I think is very noble (it may be the norm, but that doesn’t change the fact).

In Canada, there is euthanasia now, and there are horror stories on the new about it. When the law is working correctly, there is a mental window when the person in question can elect that they wish to peacefully die under certain conditions. Unfortunately, my grandmother missed that window. She never did not have composure. She wanted to die and get on with it, but she didn’t complain about it (at least that is what I heard). My family knew she wanted to die, but she couldn’t, and so they made her life as comfortable as possible.

On my trip back to Canada in November I saw her twice. The first time she was sleeping or pretending to sleep, similar to as a child would. She didn’t want to deal with the situation. I saw one eye open once, looking around, but that was it. The next time she was feeling much better, remembered that I am the grandson who went to Japan, and attempted pleasant small talk. That attempt at pleasant small talk touched me.

I don’t know her full life story, but the older I get, the more I see everyone older as me as someone like me, just at a different stage of the journey. When I was younger I saw older people as old people, period. Different. Unrelatable (not a word).

I think she was born in 1929 in Nuremberg. Her family was wealthy. When the war ended, she was in the American occupation zone, and the Americans used her home as a base for their operations. They were cordial. I think her and both her sisters all moved to Canada: to Victoria and Vancouver. The immigration of Germans to British Columbia after the war is another story. There is always the story of how she had to go to boarding school, and she hated it. Then her younger sister refused to go to boarding school, and her parents said “okay”. My grandmother didn’t know that was an option.

She is not my biological grandmother. My biological grandmother died when my father was young. Before marrying my grandfather, she travelled around the world. This was after emigrating to Canada. She had apparently received an inheritance. She was in Japan for a few weeks in 1961, and she always told me about the monkeys in a park in Kyoto as a way to connect, but when she did over the years all I heard was an out of touch old woman telling the same story. My mother sent photos of her journal while she was in Japan, and the detail is amazing about everything and is so much more than monkeys in Kyoto. I wish I could have talked to her about her experiences more.

Then she became my dad’s mom, and then she became my grandma. The old woman whom I knew. Although Nuremberg is in Bavaria, the household always seemed what I would call more Prussian. I remember wanting to stay there for a weekend when I was 5, and was thinking of all the fun things we would do, but come Saturday morning, they were in the living room, both reading books. We could go to the beach later, but they would expect me to play by myself or with kids I find (as kids do). (Apologies to all Germans reading this for my silly Canadian analysis.)

Anyways, there are feelings for me to process, but not feelings of grief. I am happy that my grandmother was able to finish her journey, and the pain and boredom of old age has ended for her. My main feelings to process revolve around being away from “home” for 18 years. My mom dutifully asked to talk with me on the phone so she could report what had happened not in text. They try to include me in things, but that is all it is. A pleasant thought on their part to include me, as opposed to being a part of something. My decision to leave Canada for Japan, similar to my grandparents and my mom’s decision to leave Germany for Canada, has effects that weren’t thought about at 21.

And so I work hard to continue a connection with my family.

Something I often think about is that my grandfather and his first wife moved to Canada in 1955 from Germany. I moved to Japan in 2005. If I were to have kids, and they were to look at their family history, they would say that the Canada part was 50 years. 10 years longer than I am old.

Anyways, sometimes good to write things out.