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mou_ikkai"Dekiru koto nara Steed de"
Trip 4: Okayama
My grandfather from my father’s side passed away. He was 91. The news came in late June, at night, while I was going home from Minami-ku by taxi.
Longevity is quite common in our family, and it was the first time I experienced a death of a close relative. I wasn’t sure what to do, but first of all I closed my eyes, pressed my hands together and thought about grandfather.
My paternal grandparents come from Souja in Okayama prefecture; when I was little, our family would often visit my father’s parents in summer. When I became a junior high school student, the classes and my job in show-business made it difficult to find the time, but I still continued to visit them more often than my mother’s parents in Akita.
However, I don’t remember talking to granddad that much. I barely have memories of him at all. There was a time when we would take a bath together and he spoke about the war, but I can’t remember the exact contents of those talks, which is very regretful now.
I probably didn’t like spending time with granddad back then.
He was an active and emotional person. He used to work for the prefectural government, and even after retirement due to age, instead of resting, he kept himself busy with things like managing an apartment complex or farming, that was his side-business. He had a lot of dissatisfaction with the local government and society in general, was constantly angry at one person or another, didn’t hesitate to barge into the municipal office to make a complaint, and, very pleased with himself, would tell everyone about it afterwards; it is no wonder that the entire family felt intimidated by granddad who was like this all the time. It was probably the reason why granddad and my father used to argue a lot, to the point of trading insults in heavy Souja dialect, and witnessing that was unbearable. It wasn’t only with my father, granddad used to have this kind of heated talks with my grandmother and my aunt, too.
To me granddad was very kind though. He often got angry with my cousins, who are the same age, but, for some reason, never with me. And I still wasn’t able to come to really like him.
Anyway, granddad was always fierce, and it was only 2-3 years ago that the family realized he became so weak that he needed to be placed in a nursing home. Among my 4 grandparents, including both grandparents from my mother’s side, he always seemed the most vigorous, so it was completely unexpected that he would become the first one in need of a nursing home. Before he was placed there, as his health deteriorated, my father and my aunt, who lives in Kobe, started visiting their parents’ home more often to take care of them in turns. The first signs of dementia, however, made placing granddad in a special care facility an inevitable next step.
It must have been painful for my father to watch his own father become weaker, but he spoke about those visits in a humorous way, turning the interactions with granddad into jokes. One of the episodes that stuck with me was the one when granddad asked, “You have two sons, don’t cha? How’re they?” I’m an only child, so my father thought that it had become difficult for granddad to tell his grandchildren apart. “You must be mixin’ him up with someone else”, he said, and then granddad clarified, “One sings and dances, the other writes.” As he always loved reading, it seems he was fonder of the grandson who is a writer.
Father told me about episodes like this several times and finished them saying, “Go see him while you still can.” To be honest, I was curious which one granddad would recognize me as if he saw me in person, “the singing and dancing” or the “writing” grandson, so I thought I should visit him as soon as possible.
Then, last year, we had a live concert in Hiroshima, and my parents and I decided that I’d meet them there afterwards to go to Souja for the first time in five years.
During the car ride from Okayama station, which takes about an hour, I was looking out of the window, and some peach trees and vines caught my eye. As the five-storied pagoda of Bicchuu-Kokubun temple came into view, we knew we were close to our destination. There is a river nearby my grandparents’ house where my cousins and I used to catch crayfish. The nostalgic scenes from the past were revived in my memory at once.
Before going to granddad’s place, we picked up grandma first. On the days when my father and aunt are not around, she doesn’t stay in her home, they take her to a facility, too, although not the same where granddad resided. It has something to do with the difference in their conditions and the availability of vacant rooms, but anyway, the only chance for granddad and grandma to see each other would come up only when my father visited them like today, not every time even, so it was not more often than once a month.
The moment grandma saw me, a cheerful smile lit up her face. “How nice of you to come”, she said. Learning from the staff that grandma often brags about her grandson made it all the more obvious that my visit was very welcome.
Grandma joined us, and we headed to granddad’s place. Passing through the entrance, we saw an old man having a meal at the table. His hand holding a spoon with white rice porridge was very thin, his back bent, his gaze unfocused.
“Like a different person, in’t he”, my father whispered. There was not a trace left of the vigor that used to be overflowing. I was so shocked with granddad’s changed appearance that I felt completely lost about how to greet him, and father must have noticed it, so he started walking towards granddad, bringing me along. He bent closer to granddad’s ear and said in a loud voice, “Dad, Shige’s here to see you.”
Granddad looked up at me. His eyes locked on mine, his voice quiet, he said, “Excuse me, who are you?”
Neither the singing and dancing one, nor the one who writes books – granddad didn’t recognize me at all. Truth be told, it wasn’t completely unexpected. Just as he had changed, I must have looked different from what he remembered as well.
However, it wasn’t the same when grandma, who walked a little slower, came up to him from behind us. His face broke into a grin, the blank stare was gone, eyes twinkling now. He could forget anyone and anything but his lifelong companion. I was inadvertently moved.
The five of us went to granddad’s room and looked through some family pictures. Granddad was still not able to remember who I was, so father explained it to him once more, “He’s your grandson.” “What do you do?” he asked me then, and I said, “I guess it’s to do with singing and dancing.” Seeing he was still not satisfied, father added, “Well, you also write books.” Suddenly, granddad’s expression changed, indicating that he finally recognized me.
“Right. What’s it called again… the one that was made into a movie…”
“Pink and Gray”.
“Some books’re made into movies and some are not, if they made a movie, that’s a big thing, in’t it”.
Then he said, “Sorry, I keep forgetting things.” After that, there was a sudden declaration: “I’m gonna sleep now”, and lay down he did. Hardly more than fifteen minutes had passed since we entered the nursing home. Lying on his bed, closing and opening his eyes repeatedly, granddad murmured, “Might be the last time we’re gathered like this.”
He suddenly reached out from under the futon to where grandma was. He wanted to hold her hand. Grandma gently put her hand on top of his.
“Warm as always, your hand”.
He “kept forgetting things”, but remembered the warmth of grandma’s hands that he’d held so many times.
“It’s ‘cause yours’ve always been cold”.
The soft light of the setting sun was flowing into the room through the window and embracing the two. As he was watching them, my father’s eyes became seemingly bleary. I say that, but I had to wipe some wetness from mine, too, trying to keep it unnoticed.
After that, granddad fell asleep for real. “What a troublesome man”, grandma said exasperatedly, still holding his hand.
It couldn’t be helped, we decided to head back. “I’m leaving, d’you hear me?” grandma called to granddad. “Bye, grandpa” I said, and he asked again, looking at me in half-awaken confusion, “Excuse me, who are you?” It was so much like a punch line of a rakugo story that I couldn’t help laughing. “I’ll come visit you again, okay?” I said, and left the nursing home with a light heart.
Granddad was right, another day when we would all get together never came. It was the last time I spoke to him. It became the last vivid memory I have of him.
After that, my father would often send me pictures when he visited his hometown. Those pictures showed granddad becoming weaker day by day; it gradually came to the point when he was no longer able to eat with his mouth.
When father was informed by the nursing home staff that granddad was in critical condition, he immediately went to Okayama. In the first photo he sent me upon arrival, granddad was on mechanical ventilation and unconscious.
Several days later, my grandfather quietly passed away.
When the sad news reached me, I checked my schedule to see if I’d be able to attend the funeral and the memorial service, but it turned impossible to arrange. I texted father, “I’m very sorry but there’s no way I can attend”, and his immediate reply was, “Your job is like this, I understand”. He kept me informed about the ceremony. Grandfather was laid in a coffin; they placed cotton behind his cheeks and applied makeup. Never before had I seen such a gentle and peaceful expression on his face. The hot-tempered grandfather had indeed left this world. Looking at this picture, I, who didn’t love granddad that much, felt sudden fondness – and emptiness.
After the memorial service, my father told me a lot about grandfather. During the war, granddad, aged 16 at the time, joined Yokaren, and had the war ended one year later than it did, he would have become a member of a kamikaze squad. As the war ended, however, grandfather realized how much misery Japan brought to other countries, and it pained him; he travelled to Iwozima, Okinawa, Australia and other places to talk to the people who lived there and to honor the memory of the deceased. At a young age he began making donations to Red Cross and UNICEF, and although the sums were not big, he continued to do so until he died. He hated gambling, wouldn’t even play go or shougi. “One’s superiority leads to seeing people as unequal”, that was his firm belief.
“Then why did he use to get belligerent and go to public offices like that?”
“That’s not logical, but he couldn’t stand it when some rules created an unfair situation for him or the people around him, he would make the authorities listen to his opinions and fight till he was satisfied”.
What I learnt was so different from my own perception; I was disappointed in myself for not seeing earlier what kind of person my grandfather truly was. At the same time, it made me happy to know that I had such an amazing grandfather. My father, too, seemed proud as he spoke about him.
On the day I last visited Okayama, father stayed behind, and mother and I took the bullet train back to Tokyo. At one point during our train ride I asked mom, “Do you think dad’s going to cry when grandpa dies?” And she said, “Of course he’ll cry. It might not look like it, but he’s actually a crybaby”. Since grandfather’s condition was gradually worsening, it seemed that father was prepared for the inevitable. Mother’s words came as a surprise for me.
“Seriously? Jeez, I don’t want to see dad crying”.
In all truthfulness, I felt a little relieved when it turned out that my work schedule left no possibility of me attending the funeral and the memorial service. I would be spared of seeing my father’s moment of weakness.
As soon as I received the sad news while riding in a taxi, I got most worried about my father. In a reply text, I asked him, “Are you alright, father (otou-san)?” I usually call him “oyaji”, but this time I couldn’t. “I am fine”, he texted back, using keigo (respectful speech) for some reason.
A-ah, we’re family, aren’t we, I thought, looking absentmindedly out of the window of a taxi at the night sky above Tokyo.
Trip 4: Okayama
My grandfather from my father’s side passed away. He was 91. The news came in late June, at night, while I was going home from Minami-ku by taxi.
Longevity is quite common in our family, and it was the first time I experienced a death of a close relative. I wasn’t sure what to do, but first of all I closed my eyes, pressed my hands together and thought about grandfather.
My paternal grandparents come from Souja in Okayama prefecture; when I was little, our family would often visit my father’s parents in summer. When I became a junior high school student, the classes and my job in show-business made it difficult to find the time, but I still continued to visit them more often than my mother’s parents in Akita.
However, I don’t remember talking to granddad that much. I barely have memories of him at all. There was a time when we would take a bath together and he spoke about the war, but I can’t remember the exact contents of those talks, which is very regretful now.
I probably didn’t like spending time with granddad back then.
He was an active and emotional person. He used to work for the prefectural government, and even after retirement due to age, instead of resting, he kept himself busy with things like managing an apartment complex or farming, that was his side-business. He had a lot of dissatisfaction with the local government and society in general, was constantly angry at one person or another, didn’t hesitate to barge into the municipal office to make a complaint, and, very pleased with himself, would tell everyone about it afterwards; it is no wonder that the entire family felt intimidated by granddad who was like this all the time. It was probably the reason why granddad and my father used to argue a lot, to the point of trading insults in heavy Souja dialect, and witnessing that was unbearable. It wasn’t only with my father, granddad used to have this kind of heated talks with my grandmother and my aunt, too.
To me granddad was very kind though. He often got angry with my cousins, who are the same age, but, for some reason, never with me. And I still wasn’t able to come to really like him.
Anyway, granddad was always fierce, and it was only 2-3 years ago that the family realized he became so weak that he needed to be placed in a nursing home. Among my 4 grandparents, including both grandparents from my mother’s side, he always seemed the most vigorous, so it was completely unexpected that he would become the first one in need of a nursing home. Before he was placed there, as his health deteriorated, my father and my aunt, who lives in Kobe, started visiting their parents’ home more often to take care of them in turns. The first signs of dementia, however, made placing granddad in a special care facility an inevitable next step.
It must have been painful for my father to watch his own father become weaker, but he spoke about those visits in a humorous way, turning the interactions with granddad into jokes. One of the episodes that stuck with me was the one when granddad asked, “You have two sons, don’t cha? How’re they?” I’m an only child, so my father thought that it had become difficult for granddad to tell his grandchildren apart. “You must be mixin’ him up with someone else”, he said, and then granddad clarified, “One sings and dances, the other writes.” As he always loved reading, it seems he was fonder of the grandson who is a writer.
Father told me about episodes like this several times and finished them saying, “Go see him while you still can.” To be honest, I was curious which one granddad would recognize me as if he saw me in person, “the singing and dancing” or the “writing” grandson, so I thought I should visit him as soon as possible.
Then, last year, we had a live concert in Hiroshima, and my parents and I decided that I’d meet them there afterwards to go to Souja for the first time in five years.
During the car ride from Okayama station, which takes about an hour, I was looking out of the window, and some peach trees and vines caught my eye. As the five-storied pagoda of Bicchuu-Kokubun temple came into view, we knew we were close to our destination. There is a river nearby my grandparents’ house where my cousins and I used to catch crayfish. The nostalgic scenes from the past were revived in my memory at once.
Before going to granddad’s place, we picked up grandma first. On the days when my father and aunt are not around, she doesn’t stay in her home, they take her to a facility, too, although not the same where granddad resided. It has something to do with the difference in their conditions and the availability of vacant rooms, but anyway, the only chance for granddad and grandma to see each other would come up only when my father visited them like today, not every time even, so it was not more often than once a month.
The moment grandma saw me, a cheerful smile lit up her face. “How nice of you to come”, she said. Learning from the staff that grandma often brags about her grandson made it all the more obvious that my visit was very welcome.
Grandma joined us, and we headed to granddad’s place. Passing through the entrance, we saw an old man having a meal at the table. His hand holding a spoon with white rice porridge was very thin, his back bent, his gaze unfocused.
“Like a different person, in’t he”, my father whispered. There was not a trace left of the vigor that used to be overflowing. I was so shocked with granddad’s changed appearance that I felt completely lost about how to greet him, and father must have noticed it, so he started walking towards granddad, bringing me along. He bent closer to granddad’s ear and said in a loud voice, “Dad, Shige’s here to see you.”
Granddad looked up at me. His eyes locked on mine, his voice quiet, he said, “Excuse me, who are you?”
Neither the singing and dancing one, nor the one who writes books – granddad didn’t recognize me at all. Truth be told, it wasn’t completely unexpected. Just as he had changed, I must have looked different from what he remembered as well.
However, it wasn’t the same when grandma, who walked a little slower, came up to him from behind us. His face broke into a grin, the blank stare was gone, eyes twinkling now. He could forget anyone and anything but his lifelong companion. I was inadvertently moved.
The five of us went to granddad’s room and looked through some family pictures. Granddad was still not able to remember who I was, so father explained it to him once more, “He’s your grandson.” “What do you do?” he asked me then, and I said, “I guess it’s to do with singing and dancing.” Seeing he was still not satisfied, father added, “Well, you also write books.” Suddenly, granddad’s expression changed, indicating that he finally recognized me.
“Right. What’s it called again… the one that was made into a movie…”
“Pink and Gray”.
“Some books’re made into movies and some are not, if they made a movie, that’s a big thing, in’t it”.
Then he said, “Sorry, I keep forgetting things.” After that, there was a sudden declaration: “I’m gonna sleep now”, and lay down he did. Hardly more than fifteen minutes had passed since we entered the nursing home. Lying on his bed, closing and opening his eyes repeatedly, granddad murmured, “Might be the last time we’re gathered like this.”
He suddenly reached out from under the futon to where grandma was. He wanted to hold her hand. Grandma gently put her hand on top of his.
“Warm as always, your hand”.
He “kept forgetting things”, but remembered the warmth of grandma’s hands that he’d held so many times.
“It’s ‘cause yours’ve always been cold”.
The soft light of the setting sun was flowing into the room through the window and embracing the two. As he was watching them, my father’s eyes became seemingly bleary. I say that, but I had to wipe some wetness from mine, too, trying to keep it unnoticed.
After that, granddad fell asleep for real. “What a troublesome man”, grandma said exasperatedly, still holding his hand.
It couldn’t be helped, we decided to head back. “I’m leaving, d’you hear me?” grandma called to granddad. “Bye, grandpa” I said, and he asked again, looking at me in half-awaken confusion, “Excuse me, who are you?” It was so much like a punch line of a rakugo story that I couldn’t help laughing. “I’ll come visit you again, okay?” I said, and left the nursing home with a light heart.
Granddad was right, another day when we would all get together never came. It was the last time I spoke to him. It became the last vivid memory I have of him.
After that, my father would often send me pictures when he visited his hometown. Those pictures showed granddad becoming weaker day by day; it gradually came to the point when he was no longer able to eat with his mouth.
When father was informed by the nursing home staff that granddad was in critical condition, he immediately went to Okayama. In the first photo he sent me upon arrival, granddad was on mechanical ventilation and unconscious.
Several days later, my grandfather quietly passed away.
When the sad news reached me, I checked my schedule to see if I’d be able to attend the funeral and the memorial service, but it turned impossible to arrange. I texted father, “I’m very sorry but there’s no way I can attend”, and his immediate reply was, “Your job is like this, I understand”. He kept me informed about the ceremony. Grandfather was laid in a coffin; they placed cotton behind his cheeks and applied makeup. Never before had I seen such a gentle and peaceful expression on his face. The hot-tempered grandfather had indeed left this world. Looking at this picture, I, who didn’t love granddad that much, felt sudden fondness – and emptiness.
After the memorial service, my father told me a lot about grandfather. During the war, granddad, aged 16 at the time, joined Yokaren, and had the war ended one year later than it did, he would have become a member of a kamikaze squad. As the war ended, however, grandfather realized how much misery Japan brought to other countries, and it pained him; he travelled to Iwozima, Okinawa, Australia and other places to talk to the people who lived there and to honor the memory of the deceased. At a young age he began making donations to Red Cross and UNICEF, and although the sums were not big, he continued to do so until he died. He hated gambling, wouldn’t even play go or shougi. “One’s superiority leads to seeing people as unequal”, that was his firm belief.
“Then why did he use to get belligerent and go to public offices like that?”
“That’s not logical, but he couldn’t stand it when some rules created an unfair situation for him or the people around him, he would make the authorities listen to his opinions and fight till he was satisfied”.
What I learnt was so different from my own perception; I was disappointed in myself for not seeing earlier what kind of person my grandfather truly was. At the same time, it made me happy to know that I had such an amazing grandfather. My father, too, seemed proud as he spoke about him.
On the day I last visited Okayama, father stayed behind, and mother and I took the bullet train back to Tokyo. At one point during our train ride I asked mom, “Do you think dad’s going to cry when grandpa dies?” And she said, “Of course he’ll cry. It might not look like it, but he’s actually a crybaby”. Since grandfather’s condition was gradually worsening, it seemed that father was prepared for the inevitable. Mother’s words came as a surprise for me.
“Seriously? Jeez, I don’t want to see dad crying”.
In all truthfulness, I felt a little relieved when it turned out that my work schedule left no possibility of me attending the funeral and the memorial service. I would be spared of seeing my father’s moment of weakness.
As soon as I received the sad news while riding in a taxi, I got most worried about my father. In a reply text, I asked him, “Are you alright, father (otou-san)?” I usually call him “oyaji”, but this time I couldn’t. “I am fine”, he texted back, using keigo (respectful speech) for some reason.
A-ah, we’re family, aren’t we, I thought, looking absentmindedly out of the window of a taxi at the night sky above Tokyo.
