By My mom passed quietly in her sleep the morning of March 27, 2017. She was 90. We held a memorial for her on April 7, 2017.
She was born in San Francisco in 1926. In 1942, at the age of 16, she and her family were forcibly removed from their home and relocated to a federal prison camp in Heart Mountain, Wyoming. There they lived for the next four years suffering through the cold Wyoming winters.
When she was released four years later, she and her family returned to San Francisco. At the age of 32, she meet her future husband (my dad) and six months after their first date, they were married on February 1, 1959.
After trying for several years to start a family, they made the decision to adopt me and my sister. I was beyond blessed to have them as my parents. My mom was dedicated to my dad and, in turn, they were dedicated to their family. My dad was my idol and my mentor. He set the benchmark for what it means to be a dad. I strive everyday to be just like him. My mom taught me to push myself and to never settle. Much of what I have accomplished in life both personally and professionally, I owe to my mom. I miss them both and will never forget them!!
PETE'S JOURNAL 