My mother was named Akiko. “Aki,” the Japanese kanji character, is composed of two parts: one meaning the sun and the other the moon. Together it has a dual meaning: bright - full of light, and intelligent.

She was an intelligent and caring person with great sensitivity toward others. Like the lives of most people, hers was complicated. Her privileged youth was affected by the war. Her high school education was interrupted by the bombing of Tokyo and mandatory labor at a factory. Her father died at war on March 17, 1945.

The first photograph was taken during Akiko’s visit to California in 1986. Although it was not yet diagnosed, she was already suffering from the illness which took her life. Her contemplative mood is evident.

All but one photograph, made in 1992, document the last several months of my mother’s life.

The last photograph is of a card expressing appreciation that the family sent to those who attended her funeral. The magnifying glass my grandmother and mother used sits on the card in a giant clamshell which has decorated the garden of my family’s home since even before I was born.

The decision to include the post-surgical image was made after much contemplation. It symbolizes my mother’s suffering.

“AKIKO” deals with the end of her life and the difficult experience of losing a loved one. She showed courage, strength, dignity and gracefulness in a time of difficulty.

September 13, 2008