A mutual friend of your dad and mammy passed away on Monday.
He came back home in the midnight, he was drunk and (it seems) he stumbled at the entrance, and lost his conscious.
He was there when your dad and mammy met for the first time – more than 10 years ago. It was the party after our punkrock show.
He showed us his newly-learned card trick. He looked he was always smiling.
While both your dad and mammy were walking on winding paths in many reason after graduating the uni, his mammy was gone, and soon, his dad, too.
He was only child and his relatives lived far away from Nara. He was namely lonely.
Your dad and mammy are fine, grandpa and grandma too, you also have 4 unkles, aunts, and cousins. Can you imagine a day you lose all of them – us – all at once? I cannot.
After bringing you to the nursery school this morning, we went to the crematory to see him. He lied in the box closing his eyes. The very same person got up in the morning, took lunch, watched TV and went to bed until 4 days ago, same as all of us, same as you.
Be born, live, survive. A death sometimes reaps the heaviness, toughness and complexity of life in really simple way.
Your mammy and I were counting uncompleted promises with him in front of his quiet body. We said: let’s have a BBQ party at our home. Let’s go to Izakaya. There were so many things we had not done yet. We were counting number of regrets under the sunshine of August. All who gathered to the crematory were counting it.
A thing that I would like you to remember: it is sometimes quite easy for a death to take someone from this world, and you always realize that you have lost something really important, just after losing it. But my son, let’s remind it to ourselves beforehand. Let’s live as much as we can everyday. Let’s meet people we need to see. Let’s move our projects before it’s too late.
Let’s keep him in heart and mind. You know, you met him when you were 6-month old.
…and ask your mammy about him if you have chance. She can tell you many many funny stories with him!