Kanamori's life-story

by Paul M. Kanamori

While their mother was with them they thought their home was a sweet and bright home,—heaven on earth. They were all so happy and contented, but when their dear mother was taken away from them the home became a dark, dismal hell on earth. Yes, in those days the home was full of weeping and wailing day and night.

In the midst of this darkness a light as from heaven flashed into my home, in this way. The children were crying because their mother was gone, and they could not see her again, but suddenly they changed their tone and began to say, “No, our mother is not gone. What we have buried in her grave was not mother herself, but only her body. Our mother has gone to heaven to be with her God. And if she has gone to heaven and is with God now, as God is everywhere our mother also might be here in spirit. Though we cannot see her, she might be seeing from there these nine poor motherless children crying day and night for her.”

Then, in order to realize their mother’s spiritual presence in the home, they began to decorate the whole house with her picture. They hung up large pictures of her in the dining-room, in the parlor, in the bedroom, and in other rooms. There was not a single room in the whole house where her picture was not hanging on the wall. And on all of their desks they placed their mother’s picture.

Thus they began to say “Mama, mama,” once more. “Mama” is an English word, not Japanese, but as its sound was very endearing to their hearts, all my children used to call her by that name.

You know children love to say “mama” or “mother.” When they come back from school the first word they utter is “mama,” or “mother.” If they cannot use this endearing word they cannot be happy. Now my children had suddenly been deprived of this dear word by the death of their mother, and so they were crying. But now, once more, they began to say this dear word.

Pointing to those pictures of their mother, they began to say: “That is a dining-room mama, that a parlor mama, and that your mama, and this mine, on my desk.” There was a picture of her holding the youngest child in her arms and kissing his cheeks. This picture the youngest boy always called his own mama. Thus, you see, as soon as that endearing word “mama” came into the children’s mouths, the whole house was brightened up, and home became sweet again. These pictures were a great comfort to my children in those days of sorrow. They even became a source of inspiration and encouragement in the times of trial and difficulty.

One of my boys went to take the entrance examination of a medical college shortly after his mother’s death. He went down to the college town before the examination to prepare for it. One day, when I went to see how he was getting on, I found three boys studying in the same room. On the desks of the other two boys I noticed pictures of Gladstone and Bismarck. Perhaps these great men were the objects of their hero-worship, but on my boy’s desk I saw his mother’s picture, right in front, as usual. He thought his mother’s picture was just as good for him, if not better, than those of great men. I was much pleased with this expression of his love for his dead mother, even in such a place as this.

The examination was said to be hard, especially in mathematics. There were five questions to answer. Four of them he disposed of quickly, but he could make nothing out of the fifth. If he could not answer all five questions satisfactorily, his failure to pass would be certain, because there were ten times more applicants for the examination than the college could possibly take in that year. The time set for the examination was quickly passing; so, closing his eyes, he tried very hard to think out the solution. Just at that moment his mother’s figure flashed before him. In surprise he opened his eyes, and the solution of the problem was in his mind. He took up his pen and wrote it out satisfactorily.

He entered the college at the head of his class, and wrote to me afterward, saying, “Surely mama helped me.”

One day my youngest girl came to me with a curious question. She said, “Papa, when you go to any faraway place you always come back, don’t you?”