Remembering Life, Lessons of My Grandmother, Mrs. Hana Unno

Mrs. Hana Unno was born in 1910 as the first-born child of parents Rev. Kyuun and Mrs. Tono Kimura at Myosenji Temple in Fukuoka, Japan. 

In those days, it was customary to have arranged marriages, and in the case of Buddhist temple families, to arrange for marriages between temples since the individual and their families would already be prepared for temple life. Tono selected for her daughter Hana to marry into Shōjōji Temple in the outskirts of the city of Kita-Kyūshūshi, where there was a young minister named Enryō Unno. 

Hana faced many challenges moving to a small temple in a rural setting, especially since there were many mouths to feed, with Rev. Enryō Unno, the eldest of five brothers who were all living in the temple. 

In the midst of these difficulties, Enryō learned through his contacts that there was a ministerial position available in the United States, in Hawaii. By this time, Enryō and Hana had three children, Taitetsu, Toshiko, and Tetsuo. 

In 1935, the family packed as many belongings as they could into a few packages and boarded a ship for Hawaii for a trip that took two weeks and included some rough seas.

When they arrived in Hawai’i, they learned that their suitcases had been washed overboard, and that they had lost everything. Moreover, it turned out that the ministerial post in Hawai’i was not available. 

After a series of frantic communications, Rev. Enryō Unno first went to the Berkeley Buddhist Temple. It turned out that there was a position available in a small BCA temple in San Luis Obispo, California, so Rev. Unno moved to nearby Pismo Beach, where he was joined by Hana Unno and their three children. 

One can only imagine trying to raise a young family in an unfamiliar country, unable to speak the language, with few belongings. Then, just as they were beginning to find their footing, the Pacific War broke out. 

Following Executive Order 9066, which authorized the mass uprooting and incarceration of Japanese immigrants and Japanese Americans from the West Coast, they were sent to the internment camp at Tule Lake, California, near the Oregon border, then to Rohwer, Arkansas, a dusty, hot, desolate location. By the time the family left Rohwer and started anew in California, there were five children, with the addition of Kazuo and Yoko. 

Life was difficult as the Unnos moved from temple to temple in such places as Marysville and Stockton, finally arriving at Senshin Buddhist Temple in Los Angeles, where Enryō helped to oversee the construction of the new temple hall, which still stands today. By this time, Rev. Enryō and Mrs. Hana Unno had become respected senior leaders not just at Senshin but in the Buddhist Churches of America. 

My earliest memories of my grandmother Hana Unno date to this period, as my father Taitetsu had taken the family to Japan where he completed his doctoral work at Tokyo University. We returned in 1968 and spent more than a month living with my grandparents in the parsonage at Senshin until we moved to Champaign, Illinois, where my father began teaching at the University of Illinois.

I still remember that time in Los Angeles as extended family members, including many cousins, gathered to socialize, share meals and attend services at Senshin. 

In particular, I recall my grandmother with endless energy, cooking up a storm several times a day — everything from somen noodles to chirashi sushi and teriyaki chicken. 

As cousins, we were young children (I was 8 and the eldest), and we ran around with our own endless energy. My grandmother let us roam around the house and yard and saved up discount coupons for us to go to Disneyland on a special occasion. 

Even though she let us play freely and fed us with so much delicious food, she would on occasion deliver a stern word, making sure we came to the table on time and had good manners. What stands out for me in thinking of my grandmother was a combination of great energy, warm compassion and indomitable spirit that was strict when needed. 

Hana and Enryō formed a great team. On the one hand, my grandfather exuded a deeply quiet but powerful presence. The profound compassion I felt in his presence emanated from his gentle yet penetrating eyes. 

In a world where drinking saké and beer was part of the normal socialization of ministers and congregations, he never drank a single drop his entire life. Even when he laughed, he would open his mouth widely, but no sound would emerge! He commanded respect, and he demanded seriousness from those who wished to inquire about Buddhism. So, it was often left to my grandmother, Hana Unno, to welcome guests to the parsonage, serve and share beverages and refreshments, often on a moment’s notice.

At Senshin, she was a widely respected leader of the Fujinkai, the Buddhist Women’s Association, and a cadre of women formed around her, learning from her the Buddha-Dharma through cooking, serving, listening to and conversing with my grandmother, through whom the teachings penetrated directly into their bodies as much as their minds and hearts. My grandmother was also talented in Japanese calligraphy, sumi-e or ink-brush painting, and flower arrangement, among other things.

In the fall of 1984, following the passing of my grandfather, I went to study Buddhist philosophy at Kyoto University, and I remained in Kyoto for five years studying and practicing Buddhism. I learned from Shin Buddhist ministers and scholars, and also Zen Buddhist masters and monks. 

For one year, I lived in the Zen temple of Ryōkōin, a subtemple of the Daitokuji Temple complex, under the tutelage of Zen master Nanrei Kobori. 

During that time, I received a long letter in Japanese from my grandmother. In it, she expressed how pleased she was that I was studying Buddhism, and that I should make the wisest choice for myself. This was followed, however, with a passionate statement about how my grandfather had become a minister, and how my father, Rev. Taitetsu Unno, and my uncle, Rev. Tetsuo Unno, had followed in my grandfather’s footsteps. 

It was in that moment that I suddenly realized that I had been given the precious, precious treasure of the Dharma through my grandparents, my father and uncle. Kobori Roshi had encouraged me to consider becoming a Zen monk in his Rinzai tradition. But after reading that letter from my grandmother, I knew that my heart was in the Nembutsu path of Shin Buddhism.

After my studies in Kyoto, I entered the Ph.D. program in Buddhist Studies at Stanford University, and my wife Megumi and I visited with my grandmother during that time, at least once or twice a year, often more. 

On every visit, she would cook up a storm, and I have many cherished memories of that time. The first time I was invited as a guest speaker at Senshin Buddhist Temple, I remember my grandmother sitting in the front row, beaming with pride but also with a hint of nervousness, as if to say, “Is he going to do a good job?” I can’t help but burst out laughing now, thinking of her loving spirit in that moment. Afterward, lunch was served in the social hall, and as I entered, still wearing my koromo robes, she said, “Take off your wagesa!” as that was only for the Dharma hall. 

She was such a vigorous personality throughout her life, and even as she entered her final years, now shuffling her feet instead of walking briskly, she remained a commanding presence, gentle but firm. 

Then, in 1999, I received a call from my father saying that my grandmother was in the hospital, and that there was likely not much time left. I was teaching at Carleton College in Minnesota at the time, but we were on break, so Megumi and I immediately purchased plane tickets and visited her at Santa Monica Medical Center of UCLA. 

She was lying in her hospital bed, and she had lost some weight, but even in this weakened state, she was a powerful presence. As we entered the room, and she saw us come in, I could see her smile with a twinkle in her eyes. She had such a great sense of humor even then, and I leaned close to her and said in Japanese, “Eighty-nine years old, and you’re still such a beauty!” She laughed and invited us to sit down, in a very small voice, as she had difficulty speaking. We continued to speak in Japanese, we exchanged small talk, she asked us what we had been doing, and so on. After about fifteen minutes, she said, “You’re tired from travel, so you need to go now!” 

However, I suddenly understood that there was something more she was communicating. What she was really saying was, “This is probably the last time I’m going to see you. So, if all you have is small talk, go home!”

Immediately, I responded, all in Japanese: “Grandma, it is thanks to you that I have been touched by Amida’s great compassion. Thank you from the bottom of my heart!”

In her weakened state, it should not have been possible, but in response, she spoke to me as if it were old times, at full strength, with a booming voice, “You said it!” (Yoo iu-ta!), meaning that I said what needed to be said, not for her sake, but for my own. In that moment, tears came to both our eyes as I took her hands in mine.

I feel incredibly fortunate that in my life, just when I needed them, I encountered many great Buddhist teachers, especially during my five years in Kyoto.

Yet, when I look back, no one played a greater role in my Buddhist path than my grandparents, Rev. Enryō Unno and Mrs. Hana Unno. As I look back on the combined Shin and Zen Buddhist paths that I have followed, I see now that my grandmother Mrs. Hana Unno was like a combination of the two, the deeply warm, compassionate Shin Buddhist grandmother and stern, penetrating Zen Buddhist master, all in one!

Thank you grandma!