In memory of Gillian Shaw

This morning I woke up to what I thought would be an ordinary day, nascent cold notwithstanding, and opened my email. "Sad news", wrote a friend, telling me that Gillian Shaw, a friend and former colleague for many years in Japan, had died on December 4.  It was sudden, I later learned from her closest friend, the woman who had shared her home. When she complained of chest pains, an ambulance was called, but Gillian's heart stopped on the way to the hospital. She had turned 70 just a week earlier, celebrating her birthday with our mutual friend in a special restaurant we all liked. She was still living in Japan, her adopted home since leaving England many years ago. Below is a photo of Gillian, taken at Italiana Restaurant, on her birthday in 2009.

It's evening now, and I've been thinking of Gillian ever since I read the news. Besides the shock of any sudden death like this one, there's the secondary shock, like after an earthquake, often worse. I will never, ever see Gillian again, and any kind words unsaid or issues unresolved will remain that way. Fortunately, over time, she and I had gone a long way to resolving ours. We taught together at Tamagawa University for 15+ years until I retired nearly a decade ago. During those years we sometimes rubbed each other the wrong way, so it was not always an easy relationship.

Things changed as I was getting ready to leave Japan eight years ago. I found myself with more stuff than I knew what to do with, and Gillian was instrumental in helping me cart and carry. She liked to bake--her own creations, seldom from a recipe--and shared them with me, another boost to the packing process. To my relief, she took what she or neighbors could use from my pile of possessions,  practiced as she was in living on a shoestring and repurposing things. I felt humbled by her help, and promised to continue our connection after I returned to the US.

Gillian wrote me after I left Japan--long handwritten letters. She wrote in great detail about her garden, her childhood in England after her parents' first family (four siblings) died in a bombing raid during World War II. She wrote about her early days in Japan, the books she was reading, about the little girl next door, a child she befriended through her growing-up years. Years earlier Gillian and her long-time friend, Michiko-san, bought a house together near the university--not ideally constructed or situated--so there were always stories about household projects. She was a skilled carpenter, and for a number of summers she donated her time and skills to a non-profit working with deaf children in The Philippines. I always looked forward to her letters, always interesting, hopeful, showing interest in my new life as well. Over time I came to believe that writing had allowed a different relationship to emerge between us, one far more satisfying than the one we had before. Later we switched to email for convenience, but it's the letters, written on the backs of calendar pages and sent in slim envelopes with beautiful postage stamps, that I treasured most. I saved most if not all of them.

In many ways, life was not easy for Gillian, who did not marry and had no children. Her parents were long gone, she was estranged from her sister in the UK, and only occasionally in touch with a brother who had emigrated with his family to South Africa. She was a part-time teacher for all of her career in Japan, with all of the insecurity that brings. When I first met her, she was teaching at other schools as well as Tamagawa, but as Japan's demographics changed, classes dried up, and her class load was significantly reduced. Through it all, Gillian, a former missionary, was buoyed by her Christian faith and belief that God was looking out for her.

She retired two years after I did, but remained closely tied to the university. She was a frequent visitor in the Agriculture Department, and enjoyed visiting a professor in the English Department, one who shared her love of reading English novels. Health was also a challenge for her. She had mobility difficulties as well as heart and breathing troubles over the years, so the cause of her death was not a total surprise.

The last time I saw Gillian was on my trip to Japan in early 2016. We talked of ordinary things--the changes at the university, her continuing difficulty walking, a variety of hopes and worries, the closure of Italiana--our favorite restaurant in the neighborhood and scene of many birthday parties over the years, and of course, the plants she had in her garden.  We parted, expressing hopes to meet again on my next trip, travel no longer being an option for her. As is the case with most of the time when death comes suddenly, we did not guess this would be the last time.  Below: Gillian, me and RT outside The Harvest Restaurant in Shin-Yurigaoka during that visit.

Her last message, however, came just two days before she died. She talked about her wonderful birthday lunch at The Harvest with RT, and her promise to write soon. I had not answered yet. If I shared her belief in God and an afterlife, I'd send a loving response with a nod up to heaven, but I'll have to settle for keeping her memory alive and sharing something of her life with you. We will remember you, Gillian.