Reconnecting with my family, ancestors and motherland

Today, I’d like to share a little about myself and my recent trip to Japan, my motherland. It was a deeply meaningful experience that reconnected me with my family, ancestors and the land itself. This post isn’t about birth like my other blogs but I hope it offers some reflections and inspiration for those who read it.

Calling to see my grandmother

At the very beginning of October, I attended an in-person retreat for the Death & Grief Doula Preparation Course in Pembrokeshire. I'm still processing the depth of that experience and I'm sure I will share more about it in time. After journeying through the deep grief of my mother's death, there was a strong calling to go to see my maternal grandmother in my motherland.

My grandmother has just turned 102 years old. When I visited Japan this time last year — after 6 years away — we had planned to see her at the care home where she lives. Sadly, just before we arrived, the home closed completely to visitors due to outbreaks of flu and COVID. It was heart breaking. I felt as though I’d lost my last chance to see her while she was still alive.

When I checked my schedule I realised I had less than 2 weeks before my next on-call period for birth support. I had to leave and return as soon as possible. The day after I came back from the retreat, I called my father to make sure my grandmother's care home was still open - and 2 days later, I was on my (very long) way there. I've never taken such a spontaneous and short trip there, except when my mother passed away 10 years ago.

My purpose of this trip and fear

My mother was never able to tell her mother that she had been suffering from cancer. Even now, my grandmother hasn’t been told that her daughter — my mother — has died. She has dementia and her memories seem to exist in fragments rather than connected lines, so she doesn’t ask why my mother hasn’t visited for so long. After the retreat, when I thought of them both, my heart and body knew I needed to go — to see her, to hold her hands.

The purpose of such a short trip to the other side of the world was clear, yet it felt like a big and scary commitment. I had just returned from a week away and leaving again meant a significant impact on my family, rescheduling plans, and a considerable financial commitment. On top of that, there was no guarantee that the care home wouldn't close again while I was travelling. Doubt & guilt crept in many times but I kept coming back to trust my intuition.

At the retreat, I was told that the time just after such an experience can require space to integrate it into daily life, however, it can also be when we are at our most powerful. I truly felt that. I don't usually find the courage to take such a big leap.

My 16-year-old son decided to come with me. Another important part of this trip was giving my children more opportunities to experience my side of their heritage - to feel it in their bones. To my surprise, he felt a stronger sense of connection to my family than I had expected and was very keen to join me. I'm now so grateful he was there. His presence was a great support, both practically and emotionally.

My hometown

My "Super Grandmother"

After a full day of travelling to London and another long day on planes, I finally arrived at my father's house just outside Tokyo. We took the next day to rest and then set off to see my grandmother. My father decided to come with us - he hadn't seen her for a few years.

It was about a 2-hour journey by train and car to where my grandmother lives - the same area where my mother was born and grew up. It's a rural mountain area and seeing Mt. Myogi brought back memories of the summers I loved there as a child.

My mother and me

It had been over 7 years since I last saw her and I could see that she had grown thinner and more frail with age. Yet she recognised us - even my son, who had only met her a few times when he was little. She kept saying, "Oh, I'm so happy you came all this way." When I held her hands, they were warm and something about them felt just like my mother's. 

My family and I call my grandmother "Super Grandmother." Even in her 80s, she was still teaching shodō (Japanese Calligraphy), with her beautiful work displayed in many exhibitions. She also lifted weights every morning and even learnt how to use a computer. I recently heard that she went through a difficult time when she was younger, not being treated fairly by her in-laws. She's always been competitive and strong-spirited and I somehow always knew she would live beyond 100. Although she was in a wheelchair when we met, she was still our "Super Grandmother" - even making sure, as always, that we didn't leave anything behind when we left.

The gifts of this trip

This trip was also a special opportunity to have a meaningful conversation with my father. One night, we stayed up until late talking about my experience at the retreat, his wishes around death, our grief journeys and also our complex feelings around my grandmother and our extended family. The train journey to see my grandmother passed quickly as we talked about our bloodlines and ancestors. I know these moments are ones I'll always remember.

I also had the opportunity to visit my aunt and uncle, who now live on the land where my grandmother lived and where my mother grew up. The house where my mother spent so much time was still standing there. Even though my aunt wasn’t feeling well, she made tempura with vegetables my uncle had grown on their land, along with chestnut rice made from their own chestnuts — both dishes that take a lot of care and effort to prepare. I was filled with gratitude and a deep awareness of how much I’ve been supported by others throughout my life, ever since childhood.

The house where my mother grew up was still standing there

There was also a great opportunity to have a heartfelt conversation with my mother's best friend. Even though my son and I were there only for a little over 3 days, she came to see us twice. She has known me since childhood and played a big role in my family - especially when my mother died and on our grief journeys. She is more than just a friend. Although we're not related by blood, when I think of my family and ancestors, she always comes to my mind. I was so grateful to be able to tell her that and thank her. Later, I learnt about the concept of the "milk line" - not a bloodline, but a lineage of those who have nurtured us and our ancestors. 

With her and my father in the back

My father still lives on the land where I grew up. It's in a fairly large suburban city and each time I return, the city feels taller — more buildings, less sky. To be honest, in recent years, I’ve often felt suffocated in such a built-up area - especially after living in Wales, surrounded by rolling hills and the sea. For a while, I thought I had become disconnected from that place.

The garden where I spent so much time has changed but those stepping stones are still there.

But this time was different. Sleeping once again on the land of my childhood brought a slightly different feeling to my body - a warm, welcoming sense that held me as I lay with my arms and legs stretched wide. My motherland was holding me. This is, and always will be, my only motherland.

The Kinmokusei (sweet osmanthus) tree I planted before I left over 15 years ago - my favourite scent.

It was such an intense trip. Physically, I couldn’t do much compared to the well-planned, fun trip we made last year, yet I have a feeling this is the one I’ll remember in my heart for the rest of my life. The Death Doula retreat had opened my heart and deepened my sensitivity, and this time I felt everything more vividly. All that I felt in my bones and heart, and every conversation held this time, was deeply meaningful.

The family gravestone holding the ashes of my mother, grandparents and ancestors

Following my heart and travelling so spontaneously brought me closer to my motherland, my family and my ancestors. It now feels somehow closer. Although I felt betrayed by the world when I couldn’t see my grandmother last year, I now wonder if that was what allowed this trip to happen. I now carry a quiet seed of thought - that there may be something only my motherland can offer, waiting for me to explore in the future. I also wonder how my son will remember this trip in years to come.

With gratitude from the bottom of my heart to those who supported me practically and also held my heart and soul throughout this journey.