To my mom, October 3

Saturday, October 3, 1981

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Saturday, October 3, 2026

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My mom died on January 7, 2026. She was 70 years old. It was both her time and not her time.

To my mom, September 15

Tuesday, September 15, 1981

          Just this past weekend you and I got back from our trip to California. We spent 3 wonderful weeks there where you got to meet the rest of your grandparents and many friends.
          Some of the neighbor ladies gave a shower in your honor and you received many nice things. Oh, I had such a good time, I don't know when the next visit will be, but for sure Daddy will go, too.

          I hope there'll be lots of times in the future when you will get to spend time with your grandparents, aunts, and uncles. It's very important to us that you do. I'm hoping it will become very important to you. I love you, baby—my big, beautiful boy. God bless you always.

Tuesday, September 15, 2026

          Just this past weekend we went to see "Weird Al" Yankovic live in concert in Fresno. We spent the night, went swimming in the hotel pool, and poked around the shops there. I'll post some video of that here soon.
          We've never once held a baby shower for either of our kiddos, but I've attended a couple for co-workers. It's not a Japanese thing, so I don't think Yume missed it much.

          This last paragraph of yours is a tough pill to swallow. I remember being at Grandma and Grandpa Wright's house on September 11, 2001. Impact memory. I was twenty at that time. My kiddos won't be able to spend quite that much time with their grandparents at this point. Dad maybe has a handful of "good years" left, and their Japanese "Baba" and "Jiji" are across a wide ocean. Different times, different generations, I guess. Still makes me think my kids are losing out on something valuable. How do I replace something like that?

My mom died on January 7, 2026. She was 70 years old. It was both her time and not her time.

To my mom, August 12

Wednesday, August 12, 1981

          I just finished watching a movie about a girl and the pregnancy she went through—her first—just like you were mine. It brought back a lot of memories of not too long ago when I was pregnant carrying you and when I had you in the hospital. 
          No matter how many more children I might have I'll always clearly remember you, my first, how unique and special it felt to carry you—how much I love you.

          God bless you, son…

Wednesday, August 12, 2026

          I'm often provided little snippet videos and picture montage shorts of us growing up with the kids when they were very little. They often include shots of you along with them at the poolside or in the Rio house. Often I just smile. Sometimes it makes me laugh wistfully. At others, I sniffle or cry.
          I know we won't be having more children now that we're both in our 40s, but I am taken these images and memories of some of our firsts together as a family. You can't get those times back once they're gone, but they are unique and special. And they're a reminder, too, of how much we were loved and love you still.
          God keep you, Mom.

My mom died on January 7, 2026. She was 70 years old. It was both her time and not her time.