Hattori Akiko Anderson (11/03/1942–05/21/2024).

Ladies and Gentlemen,
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My name is Bruce Paullin, one of many friends of Akiko.

This morning with a grateful, though sometimes heavy heart,  I am delivering the eulogy for our beloved friend, Hattori Akiko Anderson.

You will note that.I have a painting by Akiko close to me.  It is her self-portrait.  As we did not have access to Akiko’s phone, or find any of her significant writings, this eulogy will not be her self-portrait, but rather my own verbal stylings of parts of Akiko’s life, some of which we had to assemble together like a jig-saw puzzle.

Sharon and I were not acquainted with Akiko prior to 2009.  Please forgive me if I overshare about our time with her from 2009- present, as I attempt to make up for the lack of many other narratives.  I am sure that she lived an enriching, fulfilling life throughout her adult life apart from those times that we were acquainted with her, and even during the recent parts of Akiko’s life that we were not present for. I am hopeful that others in this memorial gathering will have some heart-felt recollections of Akiko to add to my effort after this eulogy has been delivered. Through this process we may keep alive precious memories that were created with this beautiful woman.

The news of Akiko’s death delivered by two Clackamas County Sheriffs to my wife Sharon and me on the morning of the twentythird  of May was nothing short of heartbreaking. Akiko was not just a friend; she was an important part of our family. We shared a deep love.  In recent years. Sharon and I spent more time with Akiko than with anyone on this planet.
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Akiko wore many hats in her remarkable life: an artist, businesswoman, wife, musician, singer, dancer, hiker, haiku poet, and adventurer.  She was a woman of peace, grace, and quiet elegance. She moved through life with a gentle spirit and a boundless energy and curiosity that inspired everyone who had the privilege of knowing her.

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Akiko was the oldest of four siblings, having two sisters and one brother.  Her first three years were spent in Tokyo, but then she was relocated to her uncle’s chicken  farm deep in the countryside as US Air Force raids destroyed Tokyo. Her stories of these formative years gave us a glimpse into the resilience that would later define her life.
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In 1975 when Akiko was thirty two years old, she met her future husband when her employer hired Charles Anderson as an English as a second language instructor. They eventually married in December of 1977,  and they relocated to America in 1980.  They had no children together.
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From Charlie’s journal, 1977

Dawn, a friend of Akiko’s from when they lived in Michigan in the 1980’s, had a few words to share:

Akiko was hardworking and industrious, and started several small businesses. We worked together at the University of Michigan from 1983-1989. I taught her how to change the oil in her car.

Akiko was always proper, private about personal matters, and interesting, kind, and adventurous.

With deep appreciation, and love and sadness, I wrote this Haiku in Akiko’s honor.

Akiko is gone

Friends for over forty years

We fade like flowers.

Akiko became a college student in America, securing a degree in business administration at Eastern Michigan University..  She became a businesswoman, with her most successful company Metro Business Systems, employing at least six workers while maintaining printer- copier machines for other local businesses.

Akiko had a spiritual foundation in Shintoism and Buddhism.  This emphasized harmony with all beings, life as a meditation,  a deep respect for ancestors, and a love for nature. Akiko chose the digital moniker “akibare.” The term “akibare” is a beautiful Japanese word that translates to “clear autumn weather.”  In Japanese culture, autumn is a season of reflection and clarity, where the skies are often crisp and clear, symbolizing a time of introspection and peace.

Akiko’s last 44 years of life were characterized by living in America while retaining her Japanese heritage. It was often a challenging journey of adaptation and integration for Akiko’s understanding of the world and her place within it.

Akiko told us that those in Japan who stray too far from the norm are strongly encouraged to return.  There was an expression that she used:

The nail that sticks out too far from the board gets pounded back into place.

In America, the nails often push back vigorously!

Balancing differing worldviews must have been both difficult and enriching for Akiko.

Akiko’s husband Charles was a 1st Lieutenant in the US Marine Corps, a Vietnam War veteran and a historian for the US Military.

Akiko retired from her company in 2001 to care for Charles when he became ill.

He eventually passed away in 2003, from a cancer probably originating from his agent Orange exposures. His legacy included writing several books, the most compelling being “The Grunts” about his experience as one of the foot soldiers of the Vietnam War.

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Akiko’s gentle and warm presence brought comfort to countless individuals, reflecting her innate ability to care for others. It was only several months after Akiko lost her beloved husband (Charlie) to cancer, Akiko visited Mitsuro Mike Kobayashi’s wife, who was also battling cancer. Akiko gave Mike’s wife and family so much love and comfort during her final few months. .Three years later, Akiko came to Oregon from Michigan in 2006, relocating with friend Mike into a home in Happy Valley.

We first met Akiko at a local athletic club near the home that she shared with Mike. Akiko loved cardio, yoga, and pilates, sharing fitness interests with my wife Sharon, myself, and many others, including several who are present here today.

Akiko loved her haiku poetry, and was part of a local Haiku group.  She helped to get a book published with some of the groups best poems included. There are several members of the Haiku group that Akiko belonged to while she lived in Oregon that are here today, to share in our respect and love for Akiko..

Akiko was an arts enthusiast, loved the opera and the symphony, and was always eager to read a good book.  Akiko also became a painter very late in life.  You can admire some of her works which are on display in the back of this room.

Akiko moved into her own new home near us in 2018.  Mike moved back east to be closer to his children.

Akiko remained dear friends with Mike, often sharing phone calls several times a month with him, all the way to her last days. Mike contributed to this eulogy, offering many sensitive, caring, and thoughtful passages.

Our adventures with Akiko took us across the globe. Since 2014, we’ve journeyed to over 25 countries together. One of our earliest and most memorable trips was hiking the arduous Incan Trail over five days and four nights, culminating at the majestic Machu Picchu ruins. It was an experience that tested our limits and solidified our bonds.
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Akiko eventually navigated the process of becoming an American citizen in 2018, spurred by the concern of potential future anti-immigrant actions by the 45th President. Gayle O’Toole, Sharon, Michael Biesanz, and myself were present at her ceremony.

Akiko stated the following in her final email to our book club the night before her death in regards to the book we just read, American Dirt:

It was a good book and a good meeting.  Being an immigrant, though I did not have to free myself from anything, I read the book with very mixed feelings

There are several members of the book club that Akiko participated in here today, to also honor Akiko and share in our loss.

Akiko often attended our family holiday events. My family members, which includes my wife Sharon, sister Pam and our lively 95 year old aunt Susie, are outspoken and often exuberant, and unlike any family she had experienced before.

I have several email messages from Akiko that I would like to read.

Hi, Pam、
Thank you so much for the wonderful dinner and the desert. What a place you have!  I understand you would like to keep the place as long as you can.  I would if I were your age.  I also love your horse. Thank you also for the gift. I rarely use a candle so this is a special for me. Thank you.  I look forward to seeing you again.  

and,

Hi Pam, Bruce and Sharon,

Thank you for inviting me tonight. I had wonderful time. Hope I can comprehend the complexity of Bruce’s family relationships someday.

Wishing you a very Happy New Year.
Akiko

From another email

Sharon,

I also enjoyed talking to your aunt. I was surprised to see her so lively. She was transformed.  Sharon, you saved her life. Thank you again

Akiko

And,

Hi. Bruce,

I have just read your short story Grandfather, Great Spirit without a break. Thank you for sharing with me. It was beautifully written. I would like to see the grandfather’s place someday, if possible. I think about my husband Charlie ‘s father who was alcoholic and died broken, and also Charlie’s younger brother who also is an alcoholic and had been a homeless for long time, now a Medicaid patient and is in a nursing home. Thank you again.
Akiko

And, finally,

Dear Bruce,

Thank you for inviting me for your father’s burial ceremony today. It was a beautiful day and beautiful ceremony with tap, gun salutes as well as yours and your sister’s eulogy. I had a chance to chat  the young care taker. I saw a part of your father through this event. I really feel that he was one of the lucky men to live as he wanted except his wife past away too early. You and Sharon did take care of him for long time. You may be relieved somewhat. Thank you again.
Akiko

In 2019, Akiko took us on a life-defining journey through her home country of Japan. She was the most incredible guide, showing us how to love and appreciate her culture and spirituality. One of our first great stops for tourism was in Kyoto.  We spent two days, part of it with our tour guide Yuri.  One of Yuri’s memorable metaphors for the Japanese people was:

The Japanese, like ducks, appear to glide effortlessly over the water, but underneath they paddle furiously..

This figure of speech  characterized many people, including Akiko.

We visited numerous Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples, and visited the Zen master DT Suzuki’s museum. Akiko was trained in high school by Suzuki’s teachings, and we had quite the connection when she realized that we understood his teachings, too.  We also shared profound moments, including our time in Hiroshima, where we shared sorrow, tears, and hope together. I recall the night in the four-tatami room, a space so cozy it brought us even closer together. And who could forget my comical attempt to use a bidet properly, where I soaked my front with water, a story that will live with me until the end of my days.

In 2022 I conceived of a Route 66 road trip, to honor my 66th year of life.  Akiko and Sharon were all for it, and so we began a 4000 mile loop trip that initially cut through Utah to finally reach Sante Fe, New Mexico, which was to be starting point for a cut down version of the trip.   One of our stops in the westward ho direction was in Winslow, Arizona, which became a most important visit for us.  While sitting in a local cafe, Akiko told us that this stop was a fulfillment for her.  Her husband Charlie had always wanted to go there because of the Eagles song Take It Easy.

She cried, and then we all cried together.

Just last year, Akiko and I conspired to take a 107-day, 31,000 nautical mile, 19-country tour on the Queen Mary 2. We convinced Sharon to join us, and it turned out to be one of the most incredible experiences of our lives. Akiko, Sharon, and I all wanted to spend as much of our money as we could on vacations, to lessen the financial burden that our lifetime accrued aassets would place upon any surviving family members.  Umm, Akiko did not succeed in this endeavor, but had great fun trying.
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One of our stops was in Malaysia, where we visited a World War 2 detention center that the Japanese military maintained for control of the local citizenry. There were numerous torture chambers. Akiko felt deeply for the Malaysian victims, and was appalled by the atrocities her former countrymen inflicted upon the innocents.
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Another meaningful stop was in Australia, when we visited Brisbane and the Douglas MacArthur museum.  There was on display one of the family flags that Japanese airmen carried on their missions over Australia, and other countries. Yosegaki Hinomaru were good luck flags signed by the friends and families of Japanese soldiers going off to war. Soldiers carried them close to their hearts … Akiko had returned several of these flags she had located in curiosity shops and other places on her international treks to surviving family members over the years, seeing this as a sacred duty.  A grandaughter of one of Australia’s WW2 military corp saw Akiko standing next to an exhibit bearing the flag, came over to her, and struck up a conversation.  The granddaughter told Akiko that her grandfather had forgiven all Japanese citizens for the war, which moved Akiko deeply.

Akiko had moments where she felt like the third wheel while with Sharon and I on the world cruise.  She found her stride by learning ballroom dancing, taking daily classes and dancing with other world cruisers many evenings. We noted several times Akiko’s loneliness on the long cruise, and her need to connect with others who looked like her, and spoke her language.  She would light up when she met others of Japanese background, and share conversations with them.

Akiko finally acknowledged to us in Southeast Asia  that her hearing was failing, and that she might need hearing aids soon.  Her recent poor hearing, coupled with her long-term ultra soft spoken voice, made many of us wonder if we needed hearing aids, too.

Akiko began singing lessons eight years ago, mainly to help her project her voice wirh more authority.  She would often sing on our nature and deep wilderness hikes, but the birds would usually overpower her still softened, though tuneful voice.

On the last evening of our 107 day journey, a dinner party was organized to honor our group.  Akiko, Sharon, and I shared the same table, and engaged in our small talk. Umm, I had gained a few pounds on the cruise, and there was no hiding from the fact. Unexpectedly, Akiko reached over.and placed her hand on my belly, and commented that my Buddha mind now had a Buddha belly to match it. I told her to rub it three times in a clockwise fashion, and I would then answer any question she could conceive of.  We all laughed so hard,and for so long we had tears running down our cheeks!

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Akiko was always planning the next adventure. We were within weeks of embarking on another journey together, a yacht trip from Ecuador to the Galapagos Islands with our grandson Tony.  Although we won’t get to share this experience with her, the memories of our travels will forever be etched in our hearts.

Akiko’s interests were as rich and varied as her character. She obviously found joy in the thrill of travelling and seeking excitement, yet, it was the family and friends get-togethers that truly captured Akiko’s heart, as these moments allowed her to surround herself with the love and laughter of those she held dear.
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One of Akiko’s primary medical needs was to prevent any occurrence of dementia, as her experience with her mother’s disease was a great lesson for her.  We had several difficult conversations around potential responses to dementia.

After a fall at her home in 2022, Akiko decided that it was time to move into a housing situation where her changing needs as an aging person could be better accommodated.  Rose Villa officially became her new home after our return from the world tour a year ago.  Once she got acclimated at Rose Villa, she blossomed yet again, as she became an active participant in the community.  She shared afternoon social time with neighbors, enjoyed Tuesday movie nights, resumed recorder lessons, and even participated on the dragon boat racing team. Sharon and I saw a lot less of Akiko with that move.

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Our final trip with Akiko was last year during the Day of the Dead ceremonial times in Oaxaca, Mexico, which coincided with Akiko’s final birthday..  We explored past civilizations and were fully immersed in a modern-day Oaxacan cultural experience.  She even joined with many others in one of the graveyards on a Day of the Dead evening, sharing Mezcal with grieving and partying families.  I never have had a better time in my life, and she was a most important part of it.
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She was often fearless when confronting others about poor dietary choices. Here is a capture of an email she sent to me, when I was drinking too many diet sodas:

Akiko was fiercely independent, though she learned to listen to the wisdom offered by others.  She made her health and well-being a primary consideration for herself, often diagnosing and creating self-treatment regimens. Akiko spent hundreds of hours researching dietary and health issues. She previously had serious health problems, so the dedication to her health was understandable.

I came to believe that she would long outlive me, even though she was thirteen years my senior. .

Akiko made the most informed decisions for her health and welfare, yet no one can ever be fully prepared for what is to come.

Akiko recently returned from Japan in April after attending her 62nd high school class reunion.  There were only 19 classmates who were present, and Akiko was concerned about the deteriorating health of her older friends.

Almost upon her return from Japan, Akiko joined with Michiko and Eiko on a trip to New Mexico.   She had not yet unpacked her suitcase when we entered her home after her death.

Akiko was cherished and respected by all who knew her.  Sharon and I loved her dearly, as did many others who had the honor of knowing her. Akiko was always there to help others, always remaining softspoken while engaging her great listening skills.

Akiko was the epitome of kindness.  She experienced much of life’s tragedies and heartbreaks, yet found her way out of any darkness, often turning her pains into a life lesson. She chose to soften into kindness whenever the temptation to become hardened was felt. She believed in the inherent goodness of life, and used her compassion liberally to change the quality of her relationships.  Akiko knew that in an increasingly divisive world, understanding and tenderness were required traveling companions.

Our world has lost a loving light, and somehow, we must all shine a little brighter in her absence.

Akiko’s presence will be profoundly missed, yet her memory will continue to inspire kindness and thoughtfulness in all who were blessed to know her. Her story does not end here, for it lives on through the cherished memories and the enduring love of her family in Japan and her friends here.

There is the story of a four-year old boy whose next door neighbor was an elderly gentleman.  His wife had just died.  Upon seeing the man sitting on a chair in his yard cry, the boy walked over to him and then climbed up into his lap and just sat there.  When his mother later asked the boy what he had said to their grieving neighbor, the boy said;

“Nothing.  I just helped him cry”.

Sometimes that is all it takes to help those in grief.

n closing, I urge us all to remember that Life is unpredictable, and we must cherish every moment we have with those we hold dear.  Savor each flavor and enjoy to the fullest each meal, learn to appreciate each flower’s fragrance, treasure each waking breath, and value each conversation with our friends as if it were our last, for eventually, it will be.

The memory of Akiko will live on in our hearts forever.

Rest in peace, dear Hattori Akiko Anderson (11/03/1942–05/21/2024).
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Thank you.

Bruce Paullin

The Sacred Duty of Returning Stories (not read at memorial)

In a world where history often gets buried under the sands of time, certain duties stand as beacons of memory and legacy. Akiko’s sacred mission of returning Hosegaki Kinumaru flags to surviving Japanese families is one such duty, a poignant reminder of honor and connection. For me, the act of returning Akiko’s life story to her surviving friends and family carries the same sacred weight. It is more than a task; it is a profound obligation that I hold dear.

Memory is a fragile thing, easily lost and sometimes deliberately forgotten. Yet, it is memory that shapes our identity and connects us to our past. Akiko’s mission was not merely about the physical return of a flag; it was about the restoration of memory—a bridge between the past and the present. These flags, with their faded ink and weathered fabric, were more than relics. They embodied the stories, dreams, and sacrifices of those who came before us.

Similarly, Akiko’s life story—though incomplete—is a testament to resilience, compassion, and the human spirit. By sharing her narrative, I do not just honor one individual; I honor the collective experiences of countless souls who have endured, persevered, and triumphed in the face of adversity.

Stories have the power to transcend time and space. They are vessels of wisdom, carriers of culture, and instruments of change. In returning Akiko’s story to the world, I have participated in a timeless tradition of storytelling that has shaped civilizations and fostered understanding.

Each story we tell, each piece of history we preserve, becomes a thread in the intricate tapestry of human experience. It is through these threads that we find meaning, purpose, and a sense of belonging. Akiko’s story, with all its complexities and nuances, is a vital thread that adds texture and depth to this tapestry.

There is an ethical imperative to remember and to share. In a world where narratives are often manipulated or erased, the act of preserving and returning stories becomes a form of resistance against forgetting. It is a declaration that every life matters, every story is worth telling, and every memory is worth preserving.

Akiko’s sacred duty and my own are now intertwined in this ethical commitment. She was and I continue to be guardians of memory, custodians of stories, and stewards of history. Our tasks may seem small in the grand scheme of things, but they are imbued with profound significance.

This duty is not just mine now—it is ours. It calls upon each of us to be guardians of memory, to cherish the stories we inherit, and to share them with the world. In doing so, we ensure that the legacy of those who came before us continues to illuminate the path for those who will follow.

Reflect on the stories that have shaped your life. Share them. Preserve them. And in doing so, contribute to the rich tapestry of human experience.

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Akiko’s self portraitHattori Akiko Anderson