Like
Mitch Albom, the author of tuesdays with
Morrie, I knew that my time with my chief mentor in
life was short. That if I didn't act immediately, there would not be a
second chance.
Putting
my career on hold, I carved swaths of time in my calendar to spend with my
father. The
back burners were turned on, and I cut back office hours and
community activities.
I
stepped down from the directorship of a national board of a company that
serves upward of 33 million people, a plum, coveted position in my
profession. Had
I remained on the board, by chronological succession, it is possible
that I would now be up for the chair of the board. And
then, maybe not.
As its first woman, first minority board director, I
was ambivalent about giving it up, recognizing its glass-ceiling-breaking significance, not only for women but for minorities in the
professions.
As
late as the 1970s, my profession held out as one of the last of the male
bastions. I'd been harshly discriminated against and blatantly
discouraged from pursuing my chosen profession.
My father's belief
that nothing was impossible for me ran deep, and I dug in my
heels. Independent of parental support and on the stringiest of
shoestring budgets, my husband and I put
ourselves through graduate school.
In
high school, I
had been talked out of my chosen profession by a testosterone-loaded counselor. "Take a look in the phone directory, there are no
lady doctors in optometry," I was told. And sure
enough, there were none.
"Silly
me," I thought.
In
graduate school, I resolved to pursue my earlier dream. I
committed, and commitment powered me to my destiny. After
switching fields, I studied with intense focus, earning a 4.0 pre-med
GPA which in turn resulted in a full merit scholarship.
After graduating with no money, no assets, the plan was to work as an
employee for five years and save up for a down payment on a practice.
Within three months of licensure, a retiring doctor
surprised us by loaning us the money to buy his practice.
I
share this not to brag, but share with you the power of commitment and to heap credit on two gender-blind men,
who were essential facilitators committed as much to my success as I
was: my
husband who is "the wind beneath my wings," lovingly
supportive, and my father for his powerful mentorship. Early on, Dad
had infused me with a love of books, a hunger and
appreciation for education, a mental toughness and a streak of
independence.
Dad hamming it up for the
camera in my graduation
cap and gown.
It
brought me great joy to make him a proud father.
The
next generation now benefits from the foundations he laid down for his
four children, all college graduates. His grandson went to college at
Stanford University with the daughter of the President of the United
States. His other four grandchildren will be afforded opportunities to
earn college degrees. Two
of his foster children have earned their college degrees; his third foster
child, now in college.
Not
bad for a patriarch who, out of economic necessity, dropped out of high
school.
Don't Cry For Me, Argentina
In
short, there
wasn't a shred of martyrdom. It's
crystal clear to me: I am who I am, I
do what I do because of my father's positive influences in my
life.
My
father lived big. He thought big. He gave life a big bear
hug. He was bold and seemingly fearless. He was passionate. He opened the world to
me, showing me that there are no boundaries.
Most
of all, he loved all four of his biological kids and three foster kids.
Shared
Passions
Soon,
I would be losing him. And time was of the essence.
He should have
died in the accident a few years ago, after being thrown a 100 feet. He
survived for a reason, and nothing
was going to stop us. We committed to making the most of our time left. We
indulged our shared passions in the most adventuresome of ways. We
traveled, even up to his last months, wheelchair and all.
During
the last years of his life, he traveled three continents and two
islands. He visited us on the mainland twice to enjoy the serenity
of the lake and mountains with us.
We
drove up and down along the back roads along the dramatic shoreline of
our island, the island of Hawai`i.
Especially
when traveling, he would divulge details of our family
tree, including
an unbroken line of spiritual healers and another, of warriors. I
can attribute my deep
spirituality and fighting spirit to genes!
He
was passing on the family torch, tying up loose ends, providing a fascinating historical, genealogical, and
spiritual legacy to the present and future generations of our family.
When
we weren't traveling, we enjoyed the simple things in life:
Dad loved
company. Every time we went back to be with Dad, we found an excuse to celebrate. Sometimes, just with family. Often
with his staunchest friend,
Lily. And his childhood friend, Yoso. Other times, with friends and
neighbors.
Thanksgiving,
1997 brought all of four of us, his "kids", home to
Hilo:
My brother Dino, sister Joan, Dad, me
and sister Sandy
Thanksgiving, 1997
My
husband is a fabulous cook, and he turned our last visit together in the
spring of 1998 into a
cooking fest, preparing all of my father's favorite
dishes. Dad was ecstatic. He could not stop beaming from ear
to ear.
We
had our huge, dramatic farewell scenes, several times. And the
last was indeed the best. We
had saved the best adventure for last: traveling to the uncharted realms
of Aloha
and Mahalo.
Just
like Mitch and Morrie.
Oprah's
Making a Movie
Not
surprising then, the moment after I learned that Oprah bought the rights to produce a
television movie of the book, I was at my computer, tapping out a thank you e-note to
her.
Ostensibly,
it was a thank you for the movie, coming also from a growing sense of
mahalo, still finding its words.
You
see, Oprah
was the catalyst who connected us with our mutual friend
and earth school chum, Gary
Zukav, who impacts our life in a gentle, considerate way.
Gary's
site
Some
have described his work as New Age. I beg to differ. A lot
of his work is in tune with the knowledge and wisdom of our ancients. Like
Hawaiians and Eastern thinkers, he honors the sacred in every person, every thing -- animate or inanimate, and
everyday activities.
Like
my mentors Albert Schweitzer,
St. Therese, and
The Peace Pilgrim, Gary
has a deep reverence for life, in all of its forms. He is in touch with The
Aloha Spirit
A few months earlier,
a group of us had converged at Mt. Shasta, spending a
powerfully grounding, sharing, breakthrough week together. Encircled
by the love and nurturance of like-minded school chums with
open hearts, alongside a
healing mountain stream, I had taken my first
baby steps toward healing from the pain of my losses.
Gary
had also recently lost his father, with whom he had also forged a
close, accepting relationship.
-
We shared our Dad soul
stories with each other.
-
We
acknowledged their spiritual presence, as we pored
over the pictures of them that we had both brought with us.
-
We
cried together for the pain that their bodies had suffered at the
end of their lives.
-
We
smiled through our tears, as we rejoiced over our fathers' abiding love, unmitigated by death.
Although
time, space, and work conspire to keep us apart, Oprah, Gary, Linda, and
our school chums are kindred spirits. We are companions along the
way. Holding
hands as we walk down our meandering, yet parallel paths in life, we
enjoy the occasional merges in our paths with e-mail, book signings, and of course,
Oprah's show.
Sitting
Down to Write Oprah a Note of Mahalo
Oprah's Site
When I got wind of the
movie rights, I wasted no time in acknowledging it. I knew the goodness and
kindness that would come from the movie's airing.
With
Hawaiian music playing in the background, it
was a still evening, perfect for
quiet reflection. A
kaleidoscope of images filled my mind,
which in turn unleashed a floodtide of memories and emotions. As I
put them to words, my letter to Oprah
took on a life of its own.
Such is the power of words.
My short
e-note had evolved into a major E-MAIL. An E-pistle.
Oprah is
busy, and I
seriously considered hacking it back to the first three
sentences, pasting the rest into my private journal.
Dr. Hanson, the lady
doc character on the TV show, "Providence,"
has a dead mother who drops in to visit her in her dreams. I have a father who
pierces holes through the
veil *, too, because these words came to mind:
"Go for broke! "
An expression meaning,
"Shoot the works!"
Dad
would say this when, at the brink of taking off on a new adventure, I'd
hesitate.
I
hit the send button.
*
Dad's first veil piercing: I was writing at my desk, when I was distracted by the memory of my
father singing a song on the last day of our visit to Japan earlier in the year. In
my reverie, I commented to myself that it was a faulty
recollection. I noticed that he had pronounced a word in the song
perfectly, contrary to the mispronunciation when he had sung it. Back
then, I hadn't
said a word to him about it. Within five minutes, the call came. Dad had
crossed over, ten minutes
before. The song was "Aloha `Oe", our farewell
song. It was Dad's way of saying goodbye and assuring me that he'd
made it to the other side, where perfection is possible, even
the pronunciation of a tricky Hawaiian word, onaona! (oh-now-nah, not
oh-nah-oh-nah).
Another
veil piercing story for the doubters: One night, my father came to me in a dream, and
via thought (his lips weren't moving),
conveyed, "Buy fuel cell stocks." This was curious, as
he was never involved in stocks. I forced myself awake, knowing
I'd never remember this in the morning. There was no handy pen and
paper on my bed stand, and so I gently awoke my husband to tell him
about Dad's visit. He too had never heard of fuel cells.
Before we fell back to sleep, we said fuel cells three times. The
next day, we remembered, and my husband called a stockbroker friend, who
also had no clue what fuel cells were, but promised to research
it. He was successful in his search, and we bought a bunch of fuel
cell stocks. A year later, I checked back with my husband,
"Whatever happened to the fuel cells stocks?" He
replied, "You won't believe it, it's gone from $27 a stock and now
it's at $114 a stock." Other than it is a more
environmentally-sound source of energy, I still can't tell you what a
fuel cell is.
Yet
Another Parallel
Yet
another parallel loomed obvious: Mitch Albom had written his book
as a memorial for his mentor.
Morrie's book by Morrie
Besides
the movie, Oprah was soon bringing Mitch's memorial to the attention of her 13 million
viewers on The Oprah Show.
The
parallel? Oprah was about to do the same for me!
Within
days, I got a reply in my Inbox, followed by calls, back and
forth.
Within
two weeks, my memorial to my father landed me on The Oprah
Winfrey Show! My memorial to my father? Here
it is:
>>
A
Letter to Oprah.
If you wandered in from a
side door,
here's the front door:
HOME.
Remembering
Your Spirit |
Afterglow
| Morrie-isms
A
Daughter's Reminiscence
| HA:
Oprah makes an Island Connection |
SB:
Letter writer reached Oprah |
The
Power of Commitment
Morrie and Mitch Albom
