Miyagi Songs

My father was diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer on Thanksgiving 1991. I brought my family (wife and 3-year-old daughter) to Hawaii from Chicago because the prognosis was grave. The surgeon told us that cancer had spread throughout his body and he had less than six months to live. When we brought him home after a few days of convalescing in the hospital, he was in severe pain so we took turns caring for him since he was bedridden.
We returned home to Chicago with heavy hearts knowing that he would be gone in less than six months. It was my plan to take leave from work in April and return to Hawaii to help care for him…to help him die.
I received a call on December 23rd from my older sister. “You have to come back as soon as possible. He had a really bad night and we need your help.” I was on a flight the next day with my computer and work papers. It was the busiest time of year for me, but my company was very understanding and let me take leave with very short notice.
We took 8-hour shifts to sit with him and watch him wither away. Dad had always loved music and I was blessed with some of his musical talents. I played the piano in the living room with the doors open so that he could hear it. One day, I borrowed my sister’s guitar and played and sang some songs at the foot of his bed. He smiled through his pain and drifted off to sleep. I stood up and crept silently out of the room promptly slamming the guitar against his foot. He woke with a start and laughed as he shook his head. The lighter moments were few, vastly outnumbered by highly emotional and stress-filled ones.
The next morning after a horrible night, when I was the only one in his room, he shed a single tear and exhaled for the last time, the death rattle. It was the only time that I saw him cry. I kissed him goodbye and sadly went to the living room to tell those that were there that he had passed quietly. Something broke in me that morning. I still haven’t figured out how to fix it.
From that time forward, I have always associated that very emotionally charged time with the holidays and lost touch with the spirit of the season. I actually dreaded the Holidays.
Sixteen years later, divorced and having just moved to NYC, a friend invited me to participate in a Christmas gift-giving activity. A men's support group wanted to purchase Christmas presents for children who were in a hospital which was located in a low-income area of Brooklyn. They wanted to hand out presents since the kids would be spending Christmas in the hospital.
We went to Toys R Us, and bought presents based on the age and sex of the kids that were in the hospital. Then we put on our Santa Hats and went to distribute the presents.
It turned out that my present was for a 10-year-old African American boy. He had been hit by a car and was confined to his hospital bed in a hip cast. His grandma had been sleeping in his room since the accident. She looked very tired but was able to muster up a weak smile. I gave him his present (a remote-controlled ambulance), ironic but he was so happy to have a toy to play with. Granny asked me if anyone had told me that I looked like Mr. Miyagi. I admitted that it was my nickname and we all laughed as I tried to release the ambulance from its Miyagi-proof packaging.
I taught them how to say Merry Christmas and Happy New Year in Hawaiian. We laughed and smiled forgetting for a short while about his pain. All too soon we said our goodbyes and I left the ward. “Aloha – y’all!” “Aloha Mr. Miyagi!!!”
When the group congregated in the lobby the organizer told us this story. . . Many years earlier, his sister had been hospitalized. She too was in the hospital during the holiday season. She received a doll that she treasured for years until she passed on. His family buried that doll with her because it meant so much during her time of suffering.
He went on to tell us that he had made the decision to use the money that his family had saved up for a Disney World vacation. He wanted to "pay it forward" and share the good feelings of the season. He used their vacation fund to buy all of the toys.
I watched his wife and kids as he told his story. It was so powerful to see the expressions on their faces change from irritated and disappointed to "moved" and “fulfilled”.
I too was moved. It doesn’t take much effort to make a difference in a person’s life. This act of thoughtfulness will stay with me because, in giving, I was the recipient of a greater gift.

Try to turn your eyes away from yourself and perform random acts of kindness. Pay it forward.

Several years later the Shack Hawaii Kai had their annual Christmas party and offered a buffet to those who donated toys. On Christmas Eve I was fortunate enough to participate in the delivery of those toys to a shelter. Two waitresses and I packed the toys into my car and drove to the shelter to drop them off. When we got there, a person opened the gate and we drove in expecting to just drop off the toys. He asked us if we wanted to give them out. We looked at each other, then said YES!!! I warned them that I would probably start to cry as we loaded up a cart and took the freight elevator to the second floor where the families were living.
As he opened the elevator gate, we could hear the sound of children and parents excitedly talking all at once. The children formed a line with their parents to get the toys. It was such a wonderful moment and made us feel so good to see the smiling faces of both the children and their parents. It's times like this that make me happy to be alive.
A little-known fact is that Pat Morita (Mr. Miyagi) spent much of his childhood years in hospitals due to a variety of ailments. After he had attained his fame and fortune he would go to the Shriner’s Hospital in Honolulu to distribute toys with the condition that there would be no press coverage. He did this as often as possible because he knew what it was like to be in a hospital during the holidays. I am proud to look like him and hope that I can be like him.

Today as I was starting my workday, a co-worker asked me if I had heard about J? Since that was such a useless question, I replied “no What are you asking me?”.
She replied, “I just heard that when J got home from work last night, he found his wife dead on the driveway.” Then she went back into her office.
I was on my way down to the lunch wagon to purchase my lunch even though it was 08:30. Another story that is not at all interesting. As I walked in a shocked stupor from that interchange, I was numb with shock. The next person that I encountered was the receptionist who had told the co-worker about J. She asked me the exact same question in the exact same words. I did not have the energy to be sarcastic since it is wasted on them anyway. I just replied “yes” and walked out of the building to stand in line to purchase my lunch.
As I stood there in the morning sun and was barely aware of the conversational noise that I encountered each morning (the other folks in line are part of a special needs Adult Day Care service). They all repeat and stare, but I have become a better person because of my constant interaction with them. My intolerance has been replaced with understanding now. But today I was in a different place.
A place that hits home for me extremely hard. J is 11 years older than me. For those of you that are math-challenged, that makes him 72. Shut the F#$K up about what you are thinking and saying about how old I am!!!!!
The story which I am prone to disbelieve is that he arrived home from work and discovered his wife of 40 years lying dead on the driveway. It’s just surreal! He had shared a cubicle in the office where I am presently seated so they know him rather well. When I told one of the young women about this, she was obviously shocked and asked if the word had gotten out. Since it was rather early for the Management types to arrive, I told her that it was probably not communicated yet. Plus, it was not something that EVERYONE should know about since it was related to an employee’s personal life. She heard that but still went into her manager’s office to find out if she had heard anything.
As management started to arrive at work the word slowly leaked out. By the end of the day, there was no official announcement, but “Coconut Wireless” had already spread the word.
My day was spent trying to concentrate on extremely technical process documentation, but I found myself drifting off often.
Now that I am at home and have time to really reflect on this event, I am finding it exceedingly difficult to deal with alone. Since I am very much an “island”, my only outlet is a note on Facebook.
I just cannot put my arms around what J must have and is going through. He was already retired and somehow was convinced to come out to help the organization where I am a temporary staff member.
The rush of thoughts is drowning me tonight. All the unknown “What if” questions that I imagine him asking. Though I did not know him at all, my heart is bleeding for him.
So, when you think that something in your life is bad, step back and consider how you would handle what J is going through right now.
That was written years ago. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and someone that I don’t know wished me a Happy Thanksgiving this evening. She had listened to my only song on a musical website that I subscribe to. She listened to that song and wanted to reach out and thank me.
I want to thank all the souls that I have encountered during this journey. The lessons that were learned and often forgotten need to be written down and reviewed.
Respectfully submitted,
Miyagi
11-26-2021