A Love Story
© Patty Fitts. All Rights Reserved.
A Love Story, by Boris Jiuliani
as told to John C. Fitts, III
Molly Jiuliani died on September 9, 1995.
This is a story of persevering love seen through the eyes of her
devoted husband, Boris.
I brought my wife home to die. I had put off calling Hospice because to me it meant finality and death. I convinced the doctors that I could take care of her, with the help of the nurses, and at last they agreed. So on August 26, 1995 the ambulance arrived with my Molly to our home now supplied with a hospital bed, three IV pumps, a suction machine with a wand, and all the dressings I would need for her wounds. The nurse taught me how to hook up her IV's, program them, and how to control her morphine drip and how to increase or decrease the dosages according to the degree of pain. I was all right for about a week, but it soon became a night and day chore and I was not getting any sleep. I was exhausted. I lay there that night on my bed, taking advantage of Hospice’s offer of continuous care, though I remained by her during the day. My thoughts went back to the days when we first met.
The war ended just as I was finishing high school. I thought I would see the world so I joined the U. S. Army. After the eight weeks of basic training I was put on orders to go to Korea, was assigned to the Ninth Infantry Division, post engineers. After eight months of duty there our outfit was transferred to Japan to serve in the occupation forces. We were sent to Camp Kokura, Twenty-fourth Infantry Division and my new assignment was the camp fire department as a firefighter. We would be on duty twenty-four hours and then have forty-eight hours off.
Not knowing anyone there except those I served with, I would walk the town and visit some sights on my days off. On one of those occasions I happened to walk into a department store to buy a few things to send home. I went to the cosmetic counter and gazed upon the most beautiful girl I had ever seen in my life. She had a face that was almost angelic and a figure to match. I knew instantly that I had to get to know her. I was so nervous all I could think to do was buy a comb. I tried to talk to her, but she could not speak English and I did not know Japanese. There was a look of fear in her eyes when I was standing near her. I was not familiar with the law that stated you could not associate with the Japanese people or go into any of their restaurants, theaters or bars. The MP¹s or Japanese police could give you a disciplinary report with the punishment being restriction to camp for five days. The only places you could go had to be approved by the First Army Headquarters.
I persisted and each time would buy some little something as a ploy to see her. I’ll bet my family wondered why I found combs to be such an interesting bit of Japanese culture to send home. As time went by she began to expect to see me. As usual, words were never spoken, but slowly, using sign language, she began to understand a little of what I was saying. I finally learned that her name was Fujie Akamatsu and she could also say my name, “Buddy,” as I was known. The relationship was progressing very slowly and I knew I wanted to take her out and be with her. The next visit to the store I brought an interpreter and had him explain to her that I intended her no harm and I only wanted to go out on a date and get to know her. She thought for awhile, and finally, after three months of trying, said yes.
Now we had the problem of going somewhere so as not to be seen. We decided she would walk ten paces in front of me and I would follow. Our first date was a Japanese movie and a small, out of the way restaurant. I made up words for the movie since it was all in Japanese. It didn’t matter. I don’t think I ever enjoyed anything so much. I could not believe how beautiful this girl was. This was the beginning of many dates together and my feelings for her were growing more certain.
Shortly after this time the First Army Headquarters changed their policy regarding Japanese and American people. If you had the invitation of the head of a Japanese household, you could visit one of their homes. But there was the problem of how Fujie’s family would accept me. Her mother was a wonderful woman and agreed to allow me to visit, but her dad was another thing. In the end he said yes. By this time we both knew our feelings were more than friendship and it was on my first visit to her home that I told her how much I loved her, we kissed, and she said that she loved me. There aren’t many words to express how we felt at that time. We discussed moving in together but we knew we had to talk it over with her mother. Her mother was concerned that when my time was up I would return to the States and forget about her daughter. I finally convinced her that no matter what it took we would marry and she would return to America as my wife. With her dad’s permission, he said that if we married under Japanese law, in a Shinto temple, it would be all right to live together. We had the ceremony as soon as possible. It was such a day, with her in her traditional dress and me in Japanese robes. She never looked so lovely.
We lived in her Dad’s house for about four months and we were so happy. Not far from our home was an orphanage run by a French Catholic priest. We visited there many times bringing foodstuffs and money that I collected from the boys at camp. One day we asked the priest if he could marry us. He explained that although we would be married in the eyes of God, the American government would not recognize the marriage. We had to have the wedding. Again we felt one step closer to making it legal. I thought I would talk to the CO about my problem. He explained that even as we spoke, congress was trying to get a bill passed that would allow military men to marry Japanese women.
There were so many great times we had together. Like when I had a five-day furlough in 1949. We decided to go to a small island off the shore of Misu beach. We brought a tent, our sleeping bags, and enough food for the stay. We had to take a boat bus over to the island. We set up our tent, unpacked our belongings and started to explore the area. We spied a small baby goat. I stopped to pet it and then picked it up. Suddenly the mother goat appeared and started to chase me. As I ran Fujie kept screaming, “Put it down, put the baby down!” I could not hear her very well. She kept screaming, “Put it down!” The mother was getting closer and closer and I could almost feel it butting me in the rear. I finally dropped the little goat and just as quickly the mother turned from me and went to the baby and started licking it, then scampered off. It took awhile for me to calm down. I never touched that young goat again as long as we stayed on the island. Fujie just laughed and laughed at me.
We spent the next four days fishing and using a boat that was on the island. This boat was the kind that had the oar in the back. To propel the boat you swung the oar from side to side. Fujie took us out a ways from the island because I had no idea how to row this thing. Then, without a word, she jumped but the boat and swam to the shore, leaving me there alone. I called to her to help be get back. Again she laughed and said that I was a grown man and should be able to row it back. Since I couldn’t swim I didn’t have a choice. With a lot of struggling and sweat I was able to get the boat back to shore.
As I was getting out of the boat, I saw a strange looking fish just lying still. I asked Fujie what kind it was and she just said, “Don’t touch it!” But I just had to pick it up. When I did it blew itself up and barbs came out all over it. I suddenly felt stings all over my hand and it was very sore. All my lady could say was, “I told you not to touch it.” I never touched another fish while we were there, not even the ones we caught with our poles. Believe it or not, she unhooked all the fish. She teased me about it for the longest time.
Since I was on the fire department I was able to take Fujie on assignments from time to time. Once I had to inspect an R & R hotel on top of Mount Aso. It was a volcano and now and then it would still erupt, just sending small particles of ash and stone into the air, and it had a strong smell of sulfur. Near the military hotel was a beautiful Japanese hotel. We stayed there. I finished my inspection of the hotel in one day, so we had another day to enjoy the area, since my orders were for two days. We thought we would climb to the top of the mountain and look down into the volcano. It was about a two-mile hike to the top and as we approached the top, we came to a sign that warned all visitors not to go beyond that point. The volcano was slightly active. We went anyway. We reached the edge of the mouth of the volcano and it was enormous. There were stairs cut into the rock so that people could get a closer look. We climbed down into the mouth about one hundred feet from the flames and what looked like stones on fire. The smell of sulfur was too much to bear and we could feel the heat, so we left. But the sight of the volcano was something we would never forget.
I had bought a surplus jeep while in Japan and we drove back to Kumamoto and Camp Wood. While on the way back to the city we came across a man on a bicycle with boxes tied to the back of it. Every time I tried to pass him he seemed to get in my way. Finally I sped by him and as I did, wouldn’t you know it, I hit him. The bike and the boxes of fish went all over the road. He got up screaming at me in Japanese and saying that he was going to report us to the police. Fujie tried to talk to him and we finally agreed that 2,000 Yen would be enough to cover the damages. I think he was happier to get the money than he was concerned about the loss of his fish. But as we drove away we could see him picking up those boxes and also all those fish.
There was another occasion when I was driving from my work at the camp into town to see Fujie. On the way there was a very sharp right turn to get to her house. It was impossible to see if anything was in the road or coming at you. As I turned right, there, before my eyes, was a “honey bucket.” I tried to stop in time but it was too late. I hit the “honey bucket” and its contents went all over the road and splattered all over my jeep, including me. In Japan at that time there were not many homes with sewers, so bathrooms had a large hole under them, a kind of rudimentary septic tank. When they were cleaned out, the contents were put in a “honey bucket.” So you can imagine what the area smelled like, as well as my jeep and myself. That incident cost me 8,000 Yen to keep from being reported. For months I always thought I could smell that odor in the jeep. Fujie would not let me in the house that night. She told me to go back to the camp, clean up, and wash the jeep.
And then it came to pass. The law. But it was for only one year. So we began the massive amount of paperwork that needed to be done. Everyone we knew tried to talk us out of it. We always told them of our love for each other and our desire to spend our lives together. Before a decision could be made I received my orders to return to the States because my tour of duty was over. We were devastated and so afraid of what the future held for us, but we knew our love was strong enough to endure. I asked for an extension or to be sent to Korea so I could stay in the area, but each request was denied. So the day came when I had to leave, and in our last conversation, through many tears, we promised each other that we would wait forever and that I would get back to her somehow.
As soon as I arrived stateside I began to write letters to everyone I thought could help me, my congressman, my senator, the Inspector General of the Army, even the President of the United States. I also hired a lawyer from New York to try to have a private bill passed in Congress to allow me to marry by proxy using the telephone. Although I received answers to all my letters, they always referred me to another department or division. So I wrote one more letter without much hope that it would do any good. It was to the Vatican and to the Pope himself. Behold, a few weeks later, my wife wrote me to say that a Catholic chaplain had visited her home to discuss our problem, by order of the Vatican. We were told that he would see what he could do for us.
In the meantime I was put on orders to report to Camp Polk, Louisiana, a reactivated National Guard unit from Ohio. There were only twenty-five regular army men there and life wasn’t too pleasant for us. As soon as I arrived I started to go through channels asking again for a transfer to Korea or Japan and I was refused, saying my MOS (job description) was too useful to the company. What made it worse was that I was never used for my own MOS. I drove a bus to transport men to class and back for meals.
I started to become so depressed. Letters came from Fujie saying she was so frightened and worried that we would never be together. I knew I had to do something to see her even if it meant more trouble for me. So when payday came I packed some civilian clothes, called a cab, and left for New Orleans with the intention of getting a ship back to Japan. I got a room near a bar and used to go just sit and have a beer or two.
It wasn’t long before I made some friends, one of whom I started to get close to. Before I knew it I was telling him my story. He told me he had some connections and might be able to get me a seaman’s certificate for twenty-five bucks. I would have to be any nationality but American. I told him I could speak Italian, so the papers would state my true name, but would say I was born in Florence, Italy. Once I had the seaman’s certificate he told me he could get me a berth on a ship that was owned by an English shipping company but flew the Panamanian flag. I later found out that the registry of a ship being in Panama meant that the company could do almost anything it chose to, that other companies wouldn’t dare to do. The name of the ship was the S. S. Anthony and carried a load of soybeans. The next day I spoke to the captain about my berth. After looking at my papers and asking how long I had worked as a seaman, I was allowed to sign the roster. Now I had a job on a ship going to Japan in a few days. I would see my beautiful lady. My worries were only starting.
I did not know one end of a ship from the other. I knew I would have to tell someone. I was to bunk with a young Italian boy. I thought, “What have I got to lose?” So I told my worry to him. He said I had to be crazy to try this, but he would try to help me. The third mate was supposed to be a nice fellow, which proved to be true. I was told that I would be on his watch in the early morning hours and he would teach me enough to get by. My first night was like a nightmare. I was so frightened and nervous when I went up to the bridge to my tour.
Before we left port immigration came aboard to check the crew and their papers. I never had a feeling of such fright. I thought I’d faint if after all this I were to get caught now. So I tried to remain calm. When my name was called I asked my friend to come up with me to act as my interpreter. When asked for my name, place of birth, and age, I pretended not to understand, looked at my friend and waited for him to tell me in Italian, and then answered the question. To my relief he stamped my papers, and so far I was in the clear. We left port two days later.
We traveled through the Panama Canal to San Pedro, California to pick up supplies and fresh water. After one day we were on our way once more. It wasn’t long before trouble started aboard ship. First we ran out of fresh water and had to wash and shave in salt water. If that wasn’t bad enough, fresh fruit and vegetables became scarce, and lamb and pasta became the mainstay of our diet. Also commissary items were in short supply. Before we even reached our first port of call there was anger among the men. But the days passed and we soon were only a few days from Yokohama where we were to drop half our load.
Our radioman was nicknamed “Sparks.” I asked him if he could send a message to Fujie. He replied that he could but that I would be charged for it. The message was sent that I would be seeing her in a few days. When we arrived at Yokohama the ship stayed at anchorage because the company would not pay dock charges. All the men who didn’t have duty were given shore passes but could only travel within a ten mile radius of the city. In order to see Fujie I would have to travel more than nine hundred miles.
So I took a train to Kamiyamada and a cab to her house. I was so excited to see her and when I went to her door she just threw herself into my arms and we were so, so happy. We had to leave after two days to get back to the next port of call, which was Shimazu. We arrived at the portmasters office to ask if the Anthony was at anchorage. When we mentioned the name of the ship, I was asked if I was Boris Jiuliani and subsequently placed under arrest and taken back to the ship to face the captain.
My Fujie was so worried and scared and I told her to find a local hotel and I would be back for I knew at that point that there was nothing he could do to me. When I was brought to the bridge the captain started ranting and raving and said he could send me back to Italy to face charges of desertion. It was at this point that I told him I was an American citizen and the only place he could send me was the closest American Consul’s office. With this he started to calm down and asked if I was willing to finish the trip to Vancouver, Canada, as he would be one seaman short. I was relieved that I didn’t have to hide my identity any longer. I got my pass and spent the next four days at the hotel with Fujie.
Back on the ship the men were arguing with the officers because the men going on pass wanted partial pay so they could enjoy themselves on shore. They were told that the agent never came on board with any funds. I had no idea what the men were going to ask of me when I returned. When that day came, I had to leave my wonderful, loving woman again, and we promised to wait for each other until I could straighten out my problem with the U. S. Army. By now it was almost two and a half months since I went AWOL.
Aboard the ship the first mate asked me to write a letter to the shipping company complaining about all the trouble aboard, including shortages of water, fresh fruits, vegetables, funds, commissary items as well as the captain’s attitude towards the men, and conditions in general. It was written and mailed before we left for Canada. The trip back was rather uneventful for the first time since I boarded the ship. Although worried about my future, I enjoyed the feel of the ocean, the winds, building of the clouds, the white caps on the water, and the fantastic sunsets. The day arrived when the port pilot came aboard along with an agent of the shipping company to give us our final pay slips and discharges to those who wanted to sign off. We also found out that the captain was to have a hearing to prove his fitness to keep his captain’s papers.
Now that I was in Vancouver I knew that I would have to face the Army. I crossed the border and went to the nearest Army post in the state of Washington. I walked up to the main gate and spoke to the MP on duty. I asked directions to the Provost Marshall’s office and was told to wait awhile and a jeep would be here to give me a ride. While I waited I was asked why I wanted to see the Provost Marshall. I replied that I was AWOL for three months. It didn’t take the MP long to place me under arrest and put me in a cell with my belt and shoelaces taken away from me. After one day an agent from the CID came to see me and questioned me about how I got out of the country and also how I got back in. All I would tell him is that I caught a ship to Japan, returned, and crossed back into the United States. It was simple. I was only asked a few questions. He left.
A young First Lieutenant came to see me and said he was to defend me at my trial. He said I was being charged with desertion and was going to have to face a court martial. After preliminary hearings on the charges a court date was set. During this time I continued to write to my lady. I kept telling her not to worry and that I loved her very much and I would be back, to just wait for me. But in reality I was extremely worried. If convicted of these charges, and the court decided to give me a dishonorable discharge or a bad conduct discharge, I would never be able to bring Fujie to America. I would lose many of my rights as a citizen. They could also find me guilty and give me a lesser punishment. At the trial my defense counsel told me he was going to put me on the stand and let me tell my story in my own words. But he said we would have to end my statement with something very dramatic. He asked if there were any children involved and I said no. He said since they have no way of knowing that you can tell finish by claiming that the driving force for your actions was a letter from Fujie saying that your baby was deathly ill. Then stop talking. Let that be the last thing they hear. Although I hated doing that because it was against all my principles, I had to get the court’s sympathy. When the verdict was given, to our happy surprise, I was reduced in grade to a private and fined sixty dollars a month for six months and to be returned to a replacement depot to await further orders.
Within a few weeks I was placed on orders to return to Yokohama, which most likely meant an assignment in either Japan or Korea. After my arrival in Japan, to my greatest joy, I was assigned to Camp Sendai, in Sendai, Japan. I couldn’t wait to get to a phone and tell Fujie how happy I was. She cried from joy and asked me when she could come join me. In about two weeks I was picking her up at the train station. Such a feeling could never be expressed in words. I just couldn’t let go of her hand, desperately afraid that I would lose her again.
At this time the law to allow marriages had again been extended for one more year, so we started first to find a place to live and then to go through channels to do the paperwork for marriage. It took us about two months to complete. Then came the real day. Orders were cut for us to go Tokyo American embassy to be legally married. This was October 13, 1952.
We spent seven days there before returning to my post and my new duty in the fire department. The first thing we did was get a camp pass, a PX card and a commissary pass so she could travel the post as she wished as my dependent. We found a larger home and had it furnished by a friend who worked in a dependent furnishing warehouse. Fujie decorated our place so lovely but we were to stay there only until July of 1953 when orders were again cut for my return and discharge from the service. We were still waiting for her visa and as the date of my departure drew closer and closer, I was afraid I would have to leave alone. It was then that I called my brother-in-law in New Jersey who I knew had a few connections in Washington. I got a call back telling me not to worry, her visa would be sent by teletype to my post. Three days before my departure she received her travel orders to leave with me. We left for Tokyo and were given a room in a hotel to await further orders.
There were many other couples also waiting to leave for the United States. Finally we were all called together and told that in the morning we would be conveyed by bus to the airstrip to fly home. The airline was the “Flying Tigers.” It was nothing special but all we cared about was that we were on our way to the United States. The plane was supposed to go the southern route, but somehow we landed on our first leg at the Aleutian Islands, there to catch a plane to San Francisco and on to Camp Stoneman. It was so cold they handed us parkas as we left the plane and gave us a hot meal. A few hours later we were winging our way to San Francisco. We were so overjoyed when we finally landed in the United States. They took us to Camp Stoneman and that night we slept in the officer’s barracks. The next day we started processing for discharge and return home to my family in New Jersey. That day came at last and we had trouble getting plane tickets. But a cab driver told us he could get two tickets to Newark if he got the fare to the airport. Of course we agreed. I remember that day so well. It was warm and sunny as we climbed into the plane and settled in our seats. I turned to my beautiful wife and said, “We are about to venture on our life together.”
I sensed her anxiety about what to expect upon arrival. How would my family accept her, a stranger in a new land with limited ability to speak English? I tried to assure her that everything would be fine, but in my heart I also had some fears. They were soon gone, for when we landed in Newark my whole family was there to greet us. My Mom, my Dad, sisters and their husbands hugged her and kissed her and welcomed her home. My Dad gave her the gift of a diamond ring and flowers. Fujie was overcome with emotion and began to cry. I was so happy the family was understanding and knew that in time they would grow to love her as I did.
We stayed with my oldest sister until we found an apartment of our own. Within the next three years after going to school for English and history of the United States, she became a citizen. She was so proud. The unusual thing was she was the first Japanese woman to become a citizen in Passaic County. A photo of her and the judge who administered the oath and a short story were placed in our local paper. That was 1955. We still have that clipping in her album. At this time she had her first name changed to “Molly.”
Those early days in New Jersey, my father wanted us to meet everyone. At that time my father belonged to an Italian sporting club called the Dover Independent Social Club, of which I was also a member. One time there was going to be a banquet and dance. My Dad asked if we wanted to go and that he already had the tickets for us. My wife was a little nervous about meeting all the wives of the members. My Dad told me, “You always remember one thing, son. She is your wife. You love her, so you must be proud of her, always. Keep your head up high, for she is a member of our family.” But there was talk going around that our marriage would not last six months, that I would find a good Italian girl and leave Molly. So we went and when we walked into the club all eyes were on us. When the women of the club saw this beautiful woman walk in with me, they came up to us, introduced themselves to us, and kissed and hugged her. Yet these were the same women who said I should not have brought Molly home with me. You try to figure out human nature.
When the dinner was over, the band started to play, and my Dad and Mom, Molly and I were at the same table. A young man came over and asked Molly to dance. She looked at me and I nodded yes to her. In a little while he came and asked to dance again. I still did not mind. But when he came over the third time to ask, I told him, “No, she doesn’t want to dance with you.” He walked away looking angry with me. After that she and I enjoyed the rest of the evening together, dancing almost every dance, for she loved to dance so much.
There were some small problems at first. People would look at us wherever we would go, but on the whole we really didn’t experience too much prejudice, although it was the early 1950's and there were some states we couldn’t even go into as husband and wife. Of course it was not too much longer that laws concerning inter-racial marriages were changed. But I can honestly say that as people got to know her and saw what a wonderful and sensitive and beautiful person she was, they all loved her. She had so many friends. And all that talk in the beginning that our marriage would not last was proved wrong by forty-three years together. During that time neither one of us ever looked at another person.
Time passed and our life was almost like a dream. I found a good job as a machinist and our first baby boy was born in 1954. Then before you knew it, in 1959, a second boy was born, and then in 1964 my wife got her beautiful daughter. She was a proud and good mother. The years passed and our commitment to each other never weakened. Our love remained so strong. After educating our children through grammar schools, high schools, and college, we thought our lives would finally become our own. We lived for each other. Our children were all settled and doing well and married. There were three grandchildren and we could not have been happier.
In 1987 Molly was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. When I heard the news I was in such shock. For the next eight years she underwent four major surgeries and chemotherapy of every kind almost every month. The first seven years weren’t too bad. We still lived a fairly good life, but we knew that she was suffering terribly at times. But she never complained. She was so strong and still tried so hard to be a loving wife. My fear was that I might lose her. What would I do? What would my life be without her? I loved her so. In 1993 she wanted to move to Florida where the weather was warmer. At first I had doubts. After much discussion I gave in to her wishes. We packed our belongings, sold our house, and moved to Florida. We bought a beautiful house in St. Petersburg and she enjoyed so much decorating and buying new furniture that spring of 1993.
We found new doctors in Tampa and the next two years things began to get worse. She was in the hospital five times during that time and still she never gave up. We were trying everything we could. Finally she had to be placed on permanent intravenous medications and feeding. She knew she was dying. One day she said we have to talk about her wake and that she had prepared the clothing, and the shoes and the jewelry that she wanted to wear. She made me promise not to let her die in the hospital. I was so worried and cried during that conversation. I couldn’t lose her.
She told me I would be all right, that I was strong. She had a near death experience in 1987. It was during that first surgery that she said she left her body and moved very fast through a tunnel where she saw a great light. When she reached it there were marble stairs and on the top were three pillars. But nothing was on the top. She said a soft voice told her that she must go back, and then there was a feeling of peace and comfort that she had never known. She didn’t want to come back. It was because of this experience that she told me, “I know where I’m going and when your time comes not to worry, I'll find you, I promise.” With that we both cried, hugged, and my fears were so great.
By August of 1995 everyone knew it wouldn’t be long. The doctors wanted to keep her in the hospital but I told them of the promise I had made to her, that she would die at home. They let me bring her home with hospice care. I fell asleep that night grateful for the first rest in weeks. The next morning I continued taking care of her during the daylight hours. I always waited until the midnight shift to go to bed and was up at six. I cleaned her, bathed her, and she also had a colostomy that needed attention. On September 7 she started to really get bad and I knew it would be any moment. I called the priest so that she could make her confession and at the end of his visit he asked that we all pray together. We held hands and prayed to our Lord and the Holy Mother. Even at that time I denied to myself that she would die. I just could not lose her.
That day she started to call to her mother and father and her brother who had died almost thirty-nine years before. She reached for my hand and told me how much she loved me, that we would be together again someday. That night she lapsed into a coma. Two days later, at 9:55 p.m., she died. I completely broke down with grief. She couldn’t have died. I wouldn’t allow it. I made the funeral director wait until 3:00 a.m. before they could take her, and when they tried to cover her face I screamed for them not to.
Two days passed and we flew back to New Jersey to arrange for everything to be done. My children were of such great help to me. We had the wake with so many friends paying their last respects. The next day we had a Mass said in the church we had attended for thirty-five years. After Mass the cremation was done and her ashes were buried in hallowed ground. Her headstone was bought and her name and date of death and my name and date of birth were placed on it. It was like it was all a dream. For the longest time I expected her to return home.
I returned to Florida and have been trying to put my life together ever since. She died on September 9, 1995, a day I shall never forget. That was the day I thought my life was over. Five months now since her death and I wake up in the morning thinking of her and many days still crying from the memories of that wonderful woman. I wait now only for the day when the good Lord joins us together once again, for I really feel totally useless. I can’t find a reason for my existence any longer. She was my life, my love, there never could be anyone on God’s earth to replace her. I live one day at a time just waiting. We knew each other for forty-eight years and were married for forty-three. We loved each other until the end of her life. It was love that sustained us and will me until the Lord calls me home to be with her again.
EPILOGUE
I first met Boris a month after Molly died. As a hospice chaplain, I became involved in the bereavement process. I asked him to tell me about Molly. He told me this story through rivers of tears. I hung on every word. I begged him to write it down but he said it would be too painful. Five months later he handed me a cassette tape and a few days later, another. I worked on it all day and wrote it down. Later he would tell me that this process was very healing for him.
My counseling with Boris lasted for over a year after Molly’s death. Even then there were still tears. Gradually he began to find a few things to do to keep busy and focus on living. A neighbor convinced him to go to her children’s class at school to volunteer. He would read stories and the little ones adopted him as “Grandpa Buddy.” He would tell me of their enthusiastic response to his story time. Smiles began to show on his face.
In the fall of 1997 Boris showed a significant change in attitude. He excitedly told me of a friend’s invitation to a new church. Skeptical at first, he said people who were warm and loving greeted him. He told me about a Sunday school class where they studied the Bible and also of a home study group. I stood there mesmerized by someone I barely recognized. He reminded me that he still missed Molly of course. I silently rejoiced at the transformation that was taking place.
I heard a few months later that Boris had been in the hospital for his heart. I knew that his heart was in bad condition and that he was on several medications. I stopped in to visit and saw a weaker and drained individual. I made a mental note to keep close tabs on him. So in March, when I went to visit, I learned that he was in the Cardiac Care Unit of a large hospital in downtown St. Petersburg. I couldn’t get there fast enough. I found him weak, and interestingly enough, very frightened of dying. I thought back to just two years ago, when he was begging to die. He wanted nothing more than to get out of this world and be with his dear Molly.
We talked then and for the next few days about his future, his illness, and the possibility of becoming a hospice patient himself. He resisted that because he remembered that this was his last resort option to get Molly home from the hospital. He worsened, however, and the next time I saw him he was on a respirator. I was afraid I had talked with him for the last time.
A few days later I found him in a semi-private room on the cardiac floor, improved but still weak. He said two of his kids were in town and would be in later. Then he asked me to get him a glass of water. I went to the hallway and started toward the room with the ice and water. I looked up at the nurse’s station and saw two young adults walk in, both with unmistakable Japanese features. I knew immediately they were Boris' son and daughter. I walked up to them and introduced myself. It was so strange. They knew of me through reading the first part of this story and from Boris telling them of me. I felt awed and awkward meeting these two that I had heard so much about. After getting acquainted they told me that the doctor said that their father could expect to live no more than six months due to his heart condition. They were very receptive to hospice, but said Boris was anxious and reluctant. Over the next few days, arrangements were made, Boris agreed, and he came home to our care.
Between Boris' anxiety and the difficulty of obtaining round the clock care, it soon became obvious that he needed to be admitted to our in-house hospice facility known as “Woodside.” Various people mentioned this to him, but he refused and became even more distraught. I went to his home on Wednesday with the idea of presenting this to him but there were just too many visitors. His daughter had just left to return home and it was obviously not the proper moment. So I suggested that I return the following day at nine o'clock and we would talk. He faintly agreed, then took my hand in both of his, put it to his mouth and kissed it. I could not speak except to say goodbye.
On Thursday morning I went by the office before going to see him. His nurse called and was frantic. She said she had stayed with him from eight o’clock until midnight and he had been up and down constantly. He was anxious and beset by night terrors. She felt like I was the best person to talk with him and help him see that going to “Woodside” was his best option for his care and to relieve a burden from his kids. So on Thursday morning, April 9, I arrived on a mission with some apprehension. I went to the den where Boris had just laid down on the couch after a refreshing time on the front porch. He was short of breath as usual and tired. I pulled up a chair and sat down, taking his hand in mine.
“Boris,” I said, “It’s not time for a nap yet, I’ve come to visit with you.”
He opened his eyes, nodded slightly, and said quietly, “John.”
I sat there watching his labored breathing, wondering where to start. Before I could begin my appeal, he suddenly opened his eyes, rolled back, and took a deep breath. Then there was nothing. His eyes remained open, but he did not breathe. I still held his hand. The last few days he had expressed his renewed desires to see his precious Molly once again. I realized now that they were together at last. Boris had finally joined his beloved Molly.
© JPCP, Inc. All rights reserved. This story first appeared in the Fall 1999 issue of the Journal of Pastoral Care and Counseling: John C. Fitts, III, A Love Story, 53 JPCC 343 (1999). It is reprinted here with permission of the publisher.
as told to John C. Fitts, III
Molly Jiuliani died on September 9, 1995.
This is a story of persevering love seen through the eyes of her
devoted husband, Boris.
I brought my wife home to die. I had put off calling Hospice because to me it meant finality and death. I convinced the doctors that I could take care of her, with the help of the nurses, and at last they agreed. So on August 26, 1995 the ambulance arrived with my Molly to our home now supplied with a hospital bed, three IV pumps, a suction machine with a wand, and all the dressings I would need for her wounds. The nurse taught me how to hook up her IV's, program them, and how to control her morphine drip and how to increase or decrease the dosages according to the degree of pain. I was all right for about a week, but it soon became a night and day chore and I was not getting any sleep. I was exhausted. I lay there that night on my bed, taking advantage of Hospice’s offer of continuous care, though I remained by her during the day. My thoughts went back to the days when we first met.
The war ended just as I was finishing high school. I thought I would see the world so I joined the U. S. Army. After the eight weeks of basic training I was put on orders to go to Korea, was assigned to the Ninth Infantry Division, post engineers. After eight months of duty there our outfit was transferred to Japan to serve in the occupation forces. We were sent to Camp Kokura, Twenty-fourth Infantry Division and my new assignment was the camp fire department as a firefighter. We would be on duty twenty-four hours and then have forty-eight hours off.
Not knowing anyone there except those I served with, I would walk the town and visit some sights on my days off. On one of those occasions I happened to walk into a department store to buy a few things to send home. I went to the cosmetic counter and gazed upon the most beautiful girl I had ever seen in my life. She had a face that was almost angelic and a figure to match. I knew instantly that I had to get to know her. I was so nervous all I could think to do was buy a comb. I tried to talk to her, but she could not speak English and I did not know Japanese. There was a look of fear in her eyes when I was standing near her. I was not familiar with the law that stated you could not associate with the Japanese people or go into any of their restaurants, theaters or bars. The MP¹s or Japanese police could give you a disciplinary report with the punishment being restriction to camp for five days. The only places you could go had to be approved by the First Army Headquarters.
I persisted and each time would buy some little something as a ploy to see her. I’ll bet my family wondered why I found combs to be such an interesting bit of Japanese culture to send home. As time went by she began to expect to see me. As usual, words were never spoken, but slowly, using sign language, she began to understand a little of what I was saying. I finally learned that her name was Fujie Akamatsu and she could also say my name, “Buddy,” as I was known. The relationship was progressing very slowly and I knew I wanted to take her out and be with her. The next visit to the store I brought an interpreter and had him explain to her that I intended her no harm and I only wanted to go out on a date and get to know her. She thought for awhile, and finally, after three months of trying, said yes.
Now we had the problem of going somewhere so as not to be seen. We decided she would walk ten paces in front of me and I would follow. Our first date was a Japanese movie and a small, out of the way restaurant. I made up words for the movie since it was all in Japanese. It didn’t matter. I don’t think I ever enjoyed anything so much. I could not believe how beautiful this girl was. This was the beginning of many dates together and my feelings for her were growing more certain.
Shortly after this time the First Army Headquarters changed their policy regarding Japanese and American people. If you had the invitation of the head of a Japanese household, you could visit one of their homes. But there was the problem of how Fujie’s family would accept me. Her mother was a wonderful woman and agreed to allow me to visit, but her dad was another thing. In the end he said yes. By this time we both knew our feelings were more than friendship and it was on my first visit to her home that I told her how much I loved her, we kissed, and she said that she loved me. There aren’t many words to express how we felt at that time. We discussed moving in together but we knew we had to talk it over with her mother. Her mother was concerned that when my time was up I would return to the States and forget about her daughter. I finally convinced her that no matter what it took we would marry and she would return to America as my wife. With her dad’s permission, he said that if we married under Japanese law, in a Shinto temple, it would be all right to live together. We had the ceremony as soon as possible. It was such a day, with her in her traditional dress and me in Japanese robes. She never looked so lovely.
We lived in her Dad’s house for about four months and we were so happy. Not far from our home was an orphanage run by a French Catholic priest. We visited there many times bringing foodstuffs and money that I collected from the boys at camp. One day we asked the priest if he could marry us. He explained that although we would be married in the eyes of God, the American government would not recognize the marriage. We had to have the wedding. Again we felt one step closer to making it legal. I thought I would talk to the CO about my problem. He explained that even as we spoke, congress was trying to get a bill passed that would allow military men to marry Japanese women.
There were so many great times we had together. Like when I had a five-day furlough in 1949. We decided to go to a small island off the shore of Misu beach. We brought a tent, our sleeping bags, and enough food for the stay. We had to take a boat bus over to the island. We set up our tent, unpacked our belongings and started to explore the area. We spied a small baby goat. I stopped to pet it and then picked it up. Suddenly the mother goat appeared and started to chase me. As I ran Fujie kept screaming, “Put it down, put the baby down!” I could not hear her very well. She kept screaming, “Put it down!” The mother was getting closer and closer and I could almost feel it butting me in the rear. I finally dropped the little goat and just as quickly the mother turned from me and went to the baby and started licking it, then scampered off. It took awhile for me to calm down. I never touched that young goat again as long as we stayed on the island. Fujie just laughed and laughed at me.
We spent the next four days fishing and using a boat that was on the island. This boat was the kind that had the oar in the back. To propel the boat you swung the oar from side to side. Fujie took us out a ways from the island because I had no idea how to row this thing. Then, without a word, she jumped but the boat and swam to the shore, leaving me there alone. I called to her to help be get back. Again she laughed and said that I was a grown man and should be able to row it back. Since I couldn’t swim I didn’t have a choice. With a lot of struggling and sweat I was able to get the boat back to shore.
As I was getting out of the boat, I saw a strange looking fish just lying still. I asked Fujie what kind it was and she just said, “Don’t touch it!” But I just had to pick it up. When I did it blew itself up and barbs came out all over it. I suddenly felt stings all over my hand and it was very sore. All my lady could say was, “I told you not to touch it.” I never touched another fish while we were there, not even the ones we caught with our poles. Believe it or not, she unhooked all the fish. She teased me about it for the longest time.
Since I was on the fire department I was able to take Fujie on assignments from time to time. Once I had to inspect an R & R hotel on top of Mount Aso. It was a volcano and now and then it would still erupt, just sending small particles of ash and stone into the air, and it had a strong smell of sulfur. Near the military hotel was a beautiful Japanese hotel. We stayed there. I finished my inspection of the hotel in one day, so we had another day to enjoy the area, since my orders were for two days. We thought we would climb to the top of the mountain and look down into the volcano. It was about a two-mile hike to the top and as we approached the top, we came to a sign that warned all visitors not to go beyond that point. The volcano was slightly active. We went anyway. We reached the edge of the mouth of the volcano and it was enormous. There were stairs cut into the rock so that people could get a closer look. We climbed down into the mouth about one hundred feet from the flames and what looked like stones on fire. The smell of sulfur was too much to bear and we could feel the heat, so we left. But the sight of the volcano was something we would never forget.
I had bought a surplus jeep while in Japan and we drove back to Kumamoto and Camp Wood. While on the way back to the city we came across a man on a bicycle with boxes tied to the back of it. Every time I tried to pass him he seemed to get in my way. Finally I sped by him and as I did, wouldn’t you know it, I hit him. The bike and the boxes of fish went all over the road. He got up screaming at me in Japanese and saying that he was going to report us to the police. Fujie tried to talk to him and we finally agreed that 2,000 Yen would be enough to cover the damages. I think he was happier to get the money than he was concerned about the loss of his fish. But as we drove away we could see him picking up those boxes and also all those fish.
There was another occasion when I was driving from my work at the camp into town to see Fujie. On the way there was a very sharp right turn to get to her house. It was impossible to see if anything was in the road or coming at you. As I turned right, there, before my eyes, was a “honey bucket.” I tried to stop in time but it was too late. I hit the “honey bucket” and its contents went all over the road and splattered all over my jeep, including me. In Japan at that time there were not many homes with sewers, so bathrooms had a large hole under them, a kind of rudimentary septic tank. When they were cleaned out, the contents were put in a “honey bucket.” So you can imagine what the area smelled like, as well as my jeep and myself. That incident cost me 8,000 Yen to keep from being reported. For months I always thought I could smell that odor in the jeep. Fujie would not let me in the house that night. She told me to go back to the camp, clean up, and wash the jeep.
And then it came to pass. The law. But it was for only one year. So we began the massive amount of paperwork that needed to be done. Everyone we knew tried to talk us out of it. We always told them of our love for each other and our desire to spend our lives together. Before a decision could be made I received my orders to return to the States because my tour of duty was over. We were devastated and so afraid of what the future held for us, but we knew our love was strong enough to endure. I asked for an extension or to be sent to Korea so I could stay in the area, but each request was denied. So the day came when I had to leave, and in our last conversation, through many tears, we promised each other that we would wait forever and that I would get back to her somehow.
As soon as I arrived stateside I began to write letters to everyone I thought could help me, my congressman, my senator, the Inspector General of the Army, even the President of the United States. I also hired a lawyer from New York to try to have a private bill passed in Congress to allow me to marry by proxy using the telephone. Although I received answers to all my letters, they always referred me to another department or division. So I wrote one more letter without much hope that it would do any good. It was to the Vatican and to the Pope himself. Behold, a few weeks later, my wife wrote me to say that a Catholic chaplain had visited her home to discuss our problem, by order of the Vatican. We were told that he would see what he could do for us.
In the meantime I was put on orders to report to Camp Polk, Louisiana, a reactivated National Guard unit from Ohio. There were only twenty-five regular army men there and life wasn’t too pleasant for us. As soon as I arrived I started to go through channels asking again for a transfer to Korea or Japan and I was refused, saying my MOS (job description) was too useful to the company. What made it worse was that I was never used for my own MOS. I drove a bus to transport men to class and back for meals.
I started to become so depressed. Letters came from Fujie saying she was so frightened and worried that we would never be together. I knew I had to do something to see her even if it meant more trouble for me. So when payday came I packed some civilian clothes, called a cab, and left for New Orleans with the intention of getting a ship back to Japan. I got a room near a bar and used to go just sit and have a beer or two.
It wasn’t long before I made some friends, one of whom I started to get close to. Before I knew it I was telling him my story. He told me he had some connections and might be able to get me a seaman’s certificate for twenty-five bucks. I would have to be any nationality but American. I told him I could speak Italian, so the papers would state my true name, but would say I was born in Florence, Italy. Once I had the seaman’s certificate he told me he could get me a berth on a ship that was owned by an English shipping company but flew the Panamanian flag. I later found out that the registry of a ship being in Panama meant that the company could do almost anything it chose to, that other companies wouldn’t dare to do. The name of the ship was the S. S. Anthony and carried a load of soybeans. The next day I spoke to the captain about my berth. After looking at my papers and asking how long I had worked as a seaman, I was allowed to sign the roster. Now I had a job on a ship going to Japan in a few days. I would see my beautiful lady. My worries were only starting.
I did not know one end of a ship from the other. I knew I would have to tell someone. I was to bunk with a young Italian boy. I thought, “What have I got to lose?” So I told my worry to him. He said I had to be crazy to try this, but he would try to help me. The third mate was supposed to be a nice fellow, which proved to be true. I was told that I would be on his watch in the early morning hours and he would teach me enough to get by. My first night was like a nightmare. I was so frightened and nervous when I went up to the bridge to my tour.
Before we left port immigration came aboard to check the crew and their papers. I never had a feeling of such fright. I thought I’d faint if after all this I were to get caught now. So I tried to remain calm. When my name was called I asked my friend to come up with me to act as my interpreter. When asked for my name, place of birth, and age, I pretended not to understand, looked at my friend and waited for him to tell me in Italian, and then answered the question. To my relief he stamped my papers, and so far I was in the clear. We left port two days later.
We traveled through the Panama Canal to San Pedro, California to pick up supplies and fresh water. After one day we were on our way once more. It wasn’t long before trouble started aboard ship. First we ran out of fresh water and had to wash and shave in salt water. If that wasn’t bad enough, fresh fruit and vegetables became scarce, and lamb and pasta became the mainstay of our diet. Also commissary items were in short supply. Before we even reached our first port of call there was anger among the men. But the days passed and we soon were only a few days from Yokohama where we were to drop half our load.
Our radioman was nicknamed “Sparks.” I asked him if he could send a message to Fujie. He replied that he could but that I would be charged for it. The message was sent that I would be seeing her in a few days. When we arrived at Yokohama the ship stayed at anchorage because the company would not pay dock charges. All the men who didn’t have duty were given shore passes but could only travel within a ten mile radius of the city. In order to see Fujie I would have to travel more than nine hundred miles.
So I took a train to Kamiyamada and a cab to her house. I was so excited to see her and when I went to her door she just threw herself into my arms and we were so, so happy. We had to leave after two days to get back to the next port of call, which was Shimazu. We arrived at the portmasters office to ask if the Anthony was at anchorage. When we mentioned the name of the ship, I was asked if I was Boris Jiuliani and subsequently placed under arrest and taken back to the ship to face the captain.
My Fujie was so worried and scared and I told her to find a local hotel and I would be back for I knew at that point that there was nothing he could do to me. When I was brought to the bridge the captain started ranting and raving and said he could send me back to Italy to face charges of desertion. It was at this point that I told him I was an American citizen and the only place he could send me was the closest American Consul’s office. With this he started to calm down and asked if I was willing to finish the trip to Vancouver, Canada, as he would be one seaman short. I was relieved that I didn’t have to hide my identity any longer. I got my pass and spent the next four days at the hotel with Fujie.
Back on the ship the men were arguing with the officers because the men going on pass wanted partial pay so they could enjoy themselves on shore. They were told that the agent never came on board with any funds. I had no idea what the men were going to ask of me when I returned. When that day came, I had to leave my wonderful, loving woman again, and we promised to wait for each other until I could straighten out my problem with the U. S. Army. By now it was almost two and a half months since I went AWOL.
Aboard the ship the first mate asked me to write a letter to the shipping company complaining about all the trouble aboard, including shortages of water, fresh fruits, vegetables, funds, commissary items as well as the captain’s attitude towards the men, and conditions in general. It was written and mailed before we left for Canada. The trip back was rather uneventful for the first time since I boarded the ship. Although worried about my future, I enjoyed the feel of the ocean, the winds, building of the clouds, the white caps on the water, and the fantastic sunsets. The day arrived when the port pilot came aboard along with an agent of the shipping company to give us our final pay slips and discharges to those who wanted to sign off. We also found out that the captain was to have a hearing to prove his fitness to keep his captain’s papers.
Now that I was in Vancouver I knew that I would have to face the Army. I crossed the border and went to the nearest Army post in the state of Washington. I walked up to the main gate and spoke to the MP on duty. I asked directions to the Provost Marshall’s office and was told to wait awhile and a jeep would be here to give me a ride. While I waited I was asked why I wanted to see the Provost Marshall. I replied that I was AWOL for three months. It didn’t take the MP long to place me under arrest and put me in a cell with my belt and shoelaces taken away from me. After one day an agent from the CID came to see me and questioned me about how I got out of the country and also how I got back in. All I would tell him is that I caught a ship to Japan, returned, and crossed back into the United States. It was simple. I was only asked a few questions. He left.
A young First Lieutenant came to see me and said he was to defend me at my trial. He said I was being charged with desertion and was going to have to face a court martial. After preliminary hearings on the charges a court date was set. During this time I continued to write to my lady. I kept telling her not to worry and that I loved her very much and I would be back, to just wait for me. But in reality I was extremely worried. If convicted of these charges, and the court decided to give me a dishonorable discharge or a bad conduct discharge, I would never be able to bring Fujie to America. I would lose many of my rights as a citizen. They could also find me guilty and give me a lesser punishment. At the trial my defense counsel told me he was going to put me on the stand and let me tell my story in my own words. But he said we would have to end my statement with something very dramatic. He asked if there were any children involved and I said no. He said since they have no way of knowing that you can tell finish by claiming that the driving force for your actions was a letter from Fujie saying that your baby was deathly ill. Then stop talking. Let that be the last thing they hear. Although I hated doing that because it was against all my principles, I had to get the court’s sympathy. When the verdict was given, to our happy surprise, I was reduced in grade to a private and fined sixty dollars a month for six months and to be returned to a replacement depot to await further orders.
Within a few weeks I was placed on orders to return to Yokohama, which most likely meant an assignment in either Japan or Korea. After my arrival in Japan, to my greatest joy, I was assigned to Camp Sendai, in Sendai, Japan. I couldn’t wait to get to a phone and tell Fujie how happy I was. She cried from joy and asked me when she could come join me. In about two weeks I was picking her up at the train station. Such a feeling could never be expressed in words. I just couldn’t let go of her hand, desperately afraid that I would lose her again.
At this time the law to allow marriages had again been extended for one more year, so we started first to find a place to live and then to go through channels to do the paperwork for marriage. It took us about two months to complete. Then came the real day. Orders were cut for us to go Tokyo American embassy to be legally married. This was October 13, 1952.
We spent seven days there before returning to my post and my new duty in the fire department. The first thing we did was get a camp pass, a PX card and a commissary pass so she could travel the post as she wished as my dependent. We found a larger home and had it furnished by a friend who worked in a dependent furnishing warehouse. Fujie decorated our place so lovely but we were to stay there only until July of 1953 when orders were again cut for my return and discharge from the service. We were still waiting for her visa and as the date of my departure drew closer and closer, I was afraid I would have to leave alone. It was then that I called my brother-in-law in New Jersey who I knew had a few connections in Washington. I got a call back telling me not to worry, her visa would be sent by teletype to my post. Three days before my departure she received her travel orders to leave with me. We left for Tokyo and were given a room in a hotel to await further orders.
There were many other couples also waiting to leave for the United States. Finally we were all called together and told that in the morning we would be conveyed by bus to the airstrip to fly home. The airline was the “Flying Tigers.” It was nothing special but all we cared about was that we were on our way to the United States. The plane was supposed to go the southern route, but somehow we landed on our first leg at the Aleutian Islands, there to catch a plane to San Francisco and on to Camp Stoneman. It was so cold they handed us parkas as we left the plane and gave us a hot meal. A few hours later we were winging our way to San Francisco. We were so overjoyed when we finally landed in the United States. They took us to Camp Stoneman and that night we slept in the officer’s barracks. The next day we started processing for discharge and return home to my family in New Jersey. That day came at last and we had trouble getting plane tickets. But a cab driver told us he could get two tickets to Newark if he got the fare to the airport. Of course we agreed. I remember that day so well. It was warm and sunny as we climbed into the plane and settled in our seats. I turned to my beautiful wife and said, “We are about to venture on our life together.”
I sensed her anxiety about what to expect upon arrival. How would my family accept her, a stranger in a new land with limited ability to speak English? I tried to assure her that everything would be fine, but in my heart I also had some fears. They were soon gone, for when we landed in Newark my whole family was there to greet us. My Mom, my Dad, sisters and their husbands hugged her and kissed her and welcomed her home. My Dad gave her the gift of a diamond ring and flowers. Fujie was overcome with emotion and began to cry. I was so happy the family was understanding and knew that in time they would grow to love her as I did.
We stayed with my oldest sister until we found an apartment of our own. Within the next three years after going to school for English and history of the United States, she became a citizen. She was so proud. The unusual thing was she was the first Japanese woman to become a citizen in Passaic County. A photo of her and the judge who administered the oath and a short story were placed in our local paper. That was 1955. We still have that clipping in her album. At this time she had her first name changed to “Molly.”
Those early days in New Jersey, my father wanted us to meet everyone. At that time my father belonged to an Italian sporting club called the Dover Independent Social Club, of which I was also a member. One time there was going to be a banquet and dance. My Dad asked if we wanted to go and that he already had the tickets for us. My wife was a little nervous about meeting all the wives of the members. My Dad told me, “You always remember one thing, son. She is your wife. You love her, so you must be proud of her, always. Keep your head up high, for she is a member of our family.” But there was talk going around that our marriage would not last six months, that I would find a good Italian girl and leave Molly. So we went and when we walked into the club all eyes were on us. When the women of the club saw this beautiful woman walk in with me, they came up to us, introduced themselves to us, and kissed and hugged her. Yet these were the same women who said I should not have brought Molly home with me. You try to figure out human nature.
When the dinner was over, the band started to play, and my Dad and Mom, Molly and I were at the same table. A young man came over and asked Molly to dance. She looked at me and I nodded yes to her. In a little while he came and asked to dance again. I still did not mind. But when he came over the third time to ask, I told him, “No, she doesn’t want to dance with you.” He walked away looking angry with me. After that she and I enjoyed the rest of the evening together, dancing almost every dance, for she loved to dance so much.
There were some small problems at first. People would look at us wherever we would go, but on the whole we really didn’t experience too much prejudice, although it was the early 1950's and there were some states we couldn’t even go into as husband and wife. Of course it was not too much longer that laws concerning inter-racial marriages were changed. But I can honestly say that as people got to know her and saw what a wonderful and sensitive and beautiful person she was, they all loved her. She had so many friends. And all that talk in the beginning that our marriage would not last was proved wrong by forty-three years together. During that time neither one of us ever looked at another person.
Time passed and our life was almost like a dream. I found a good job as a machinist and our first baby boy was born in 1954. Then before you knew it, in 1959, a second boy was born, and then in 1964 my wife got her beautiful daughter. She was a proud and good mother. The years passed and our commitment to each other never weakened. Our love remained so strong. After educating our children through grammar schools, high schools, and college, we thought our lives would finally become our own. We lived for each other. Our children were all settled and doing well and married. There were three grandchildren and we could not have been happier.
In 1987 Molly was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. When I heard the news I was in such shock. For the next eight years she underwent four major surgeries and chemotherapy of every kind almost every month. The first seven years weren’t too bad. We still lived a fairly good life, but we knew that she was suffering terribly at times. But she never complained. She was so strong and still tried so hard to be a loving wife. My fear was that I might lose her. What would I do? What would my life be without her? I loved her so. In 1993 she wanted to move to Florida where the weather was warmer. At first I had doubts. After much discussion I gave in to her wishes. We packed our belongings, sold our house, and moved to Florida. We bought a beautiful house in St. Petersburg and she enjoyed so much decorating and buying new furniture that spring of 1993.
We found new doctors in Tampa and the next two years things began to get worse. She was in the hospital five times during that time and still she never gave up. We were trying everything we could. Finally she had to be placed on permanent intravenous medications and feeding. She knew she was dying. One day she said we have to talk about her wake and that she had prepared the clothing, and the shoes and the jewelry that she wanted to wear. She made me promise not to let her die in the hospital. I was so worried and cried during that conversation. I couldn’t lose her.
She told me I would be all right, that I was strong. She had a near death experience in 1987. It was during that first surgery that she said she left her body and moved very fast through a tunnel where she saw a great light. When she reached it there were marble stairs and on the top were three pillars. But nothing was on the top. She said a soft voice told her that she must go back, and then there was a feeling of peace and comfort that she had never known. She didn’t want to come back. It was because of this experience that she told me, “I know where I’m going and when your time comes not to worry, I'll find you, I promise.” With that we both cried, hugged, and my fears were so great.
By August of 1995 everyone knew it wouldn’t be long. The doctors wanted to keep her in the hospital but I told them of the promise I had made to her, that she would die at home. They let me bring her home with hospice care. I fell asleep that night grateful for the first rest in weeks. The next morning I continued taking care of her during the daylight hours. I always waited until the midnight shift to go to bed and was up at six. I cleaned her, bathed her, and she also had a colostomy that needed attention. On September 7 she started to really get bad and I knew it would be any moment. I called the priest so that she could make her confession and at the end of his visit he asked that we all pray together. We held hands and prayed to our Lord and the Holy Mother. Even at that time I denied to myself that she would die. I just could not lose her.
That day she started to call to her mother and father and her brother who had died almost thirty-nine years before. She reached for my hand and told me how much she loved me, that we would be together again someday. That night she lapsed into a coma. Two days later, at 9:55 p.m., she died. I completely broke down with grief. She couldn’t have died. I wouldn’t allow it. I made the funeral director wait until 3:00 a.m. before they could take her, and when they tried to cover her face I screamed for them not to.
Two days passed and we flew back to New Jersey to arrange for everything to be done. My children were of such great help to me. We had the wake with so many friends paying their last respects. The next day we had a Mass said in the church we had attended for thirty-five years. After Mass the cremation was done and her ashes were buried in hallowed ground. Her headstone was bought and her name and date of death and my name and date of birth were placed on it. It was like it was all a dream. For the longest time I expected her to return home.
I returned to Florida and have been trying to put my life together ever since. She died on September 9, 1995, a day I shall never forget. That was the day I thought my life was over. Five months now since her death and I wake up in the morning thinking of her and many days still crying from the memories of that wonderful woman. I wait now only for the day when the good Lord joins us together once again, for I really feel totally useless. I can’t find a reason for my existence any longer. She was my life, my love, there never could be anyone on God’s earth to replace her. I live one day at a time just waiting. We knew each other for forty-eight years and were married for forty-three. We loved each other until the end of her life. It was love that sustained us and will me until the Lord calls me home to be with her again.
EPILOGUE
I first met Boris a month after Molly died. As a hospice chaplain, I became involved in the bereavement process. I asked him to tell me about Molly. He told me this story through rivers of tears. I hung on every word. I begged him to write it down but he said it would be too painful. Five months later he handed me a cassette tape and a few days later, another. I worked on it all day and wrote it down. Later he would tell me that this process was very healing for him.
My counseling with Boris lasted for over a year after Molly’s death. Even then there were still tears. Gradually he began to find a few things to do to keep busy and focus on living. A neighbor convinced him to go to her children’s class at school to volunteer. He would read stories and the little ones adopted him as “Grandpa Buddy.” He would tell me of their enthusiastic response to his story time. Smiles began to show on his face.
In the fall of 1997 Boris showed a significant change in attitude. He excitedly told me of a friend’s invitation to a new church. Skeptical at first, he said people who were warm and loving greeted him. He told me about a Sunday school class where they studied the Bible and also of a home study group. I stood there mesmerized by someone I barely recognized. He reminded me that he still missed Molly of course. I silently rejoiced at the transformation that was taking place.
I heard a few months later that Boris had been in the hospital for his heart. I knew that his heart was in bad condition and that he was on several medications. I stopped in to visit and saw a weaker and drained individual. I made a mental note to keep close tabs on him. So in March, when I went to visit, I learned that he was in the Cardiac Care Unit of a large hospital in downtown St. Petersburg. I couldn’t get there fast enough. I found him weak, and interestingly enough, very frightened of dying. I thought back to just two years ago, when he was begging to die. He wanted nothing more than to get out of this world and be with his dear Molly.
We talked then and for the next few days about his future, his illness, and the possibility of becoming a hospice patient himself. He resisted that because he remembered that this was his last resort option to get Molly home from the hospital. He worsened, however, and the next time I saw him he was on a respirator. I was afraid I had talked with him for the last time.
A few days later I found him in a semi-private room on the cardiac floor, improved but still weak. He said two of his kids were in town and would be in later. Then he asked me to get him a glass of water. I went to the hallway and started toward the room with the ice and water. I looked up at the nurse’s station and saw two young adults walk in, both with unmistakable Japanese features. I knew immediately they were Boris' son and daughter. I walked up to them and introduced myself. It was so strange. They knew of me through reading the first part of this story and from Boris telling them of me. I felt awed and awkward meeting these two that I had heard so much about. After getting acquainted they told me that the doctor said that their father could expect to live no more than six months due to his heart condition. They were very receptive to hospice, but said Boris was anxious and reluctant. Over the next few days, arrangements were made, Boris agreed, and he came home to our care.
Between Boris' anxiety and the difficulty of obtaining round the clock care, it soon became obvious that he needed to be admitted to our in-house hospice facility known as “Woodside.” Various people mentioned this to him, but he refused and became even more distraught. I went to his home on Wednesday with the idea of presenting this to him but there were just too many visitors. His daughter had just left to return home and it was obviously not the proper moment. So I suggested that I return the following day at nine o'clock and we would talk. He faintly agreed, then took my hand in both of his, put it to his mouth and kissed it. I could not speak except to say goodbye.
On Thursday morning I went by the office before going to see him. His nurse called and was frantic. She said she had stayed with him from eight o’clock until midnight and he had been up and down constantly. He was anxious and beset by night terrors. She felt like I was the best person to talk with him and help him see that going to “Woodside” was his best option for his care and to relieve a burden from his kids. So on Thursday morning, April 9, I arrived on a mission with some apprehension. I went to the den where Boris had just laid down on the couch after a refreshing time on the front porch. He was short of breath as usual and tired. I pulled up a chair and sat down, taking his hand in mine.
“Boris,” I said, “It’s not time for a nap yet, I’ve come to visit with you.”
He opened his eyes, nodded slightly, and said quietly, “John.”
I sat there watching his labored breathing, wondering where to start. Before I could begin my appeal, he suddenly opened his eyes, rolled back, and took a deep breath. Then there was nothing. His eyes remained open, but he did not breathe. I still held his hand. The last few days he had expressed his renewed desires to see his precious Molly once again. I realized now that they were together at last. Boris had finally joined his beloved Molly.
© JPCP, Inc. All rights reserved. This story first appeared in the Fall 1999 issue of the Journal of Pastoral Care and Counseling: John C. Fitts, III, A Love Story, 53 JPCC 343 (1999). It is reprinted here with permission of the publisher.
