The Prayer of a Thousand Cranes

Because of the saying, "Cranes live for a thousand years, turtles for ten thousand,"
cranes and turtles are considered auspicious symbols.

Often, the mizuhiki decorative cords on wedding gift envelopes
are adorned with shapes like cranes to pray for blessings and lasting happiness.

Also, at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park,
there are a thousand paper cranes offered by many people praying for peace.
There is also the "Children's Peace Monument," dedicated to a girl who was exposed to the atomic bomb in Hiroshima and developed radiation sickness ten years later,
continuing to fold a thousand cranes until she passed away at the age of twelve.

A thousand paper cranes embody meanings such as longevity, happiness, and recovery from illness.

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Cranes in Australia

It was over twenty years ago,
when I was working as a volunteer assistant teacher
in a Japanese language class at a private high school in Australia.

One of the students fell ill,
and together with the Japanese teachers and other students,
we folded a thousand cranes to give to them.

Although it was an unfamiliar Japanese custom for the family,
they were deeply moved when they learned the meaning behind the thousand cranes.

After I returned to Japan, I heard that the student had made a full recovery.

A Bolt from the Blue

I had returned from my overseas volunteer work
and was just about to head to another country
when I was diagnosed with cancer.

I had no choice but to cancel all my plans.

While I was hospitalized, my sisters folded a thousand cranes
and brought them to me.

Cancer was once called an incurable disease,
but today, the chances of survival are much higher with early detection.

I am glad I was in Japan at the time.

If I had been in the developing country where I was staying until then,
my life would likely not have been guaranteed.

The surgery was a success, and it has already been over ten years.

"I am being kept alive."

A feeling of gratitude naturally welled up within me.

The rest of my life is a gift from God,,
I began to think I want to use it to be of service to others I came to think so.



Unfortunately, I heard through the grapevine that the doctor who took care of me later died of cancer.
This is truly a case of a doctor failing to take care of their own health.
Human life is fragile.

Doctors who save lives are also human.

Things necessary for living

When my mother's cancer was discovered,
partly because of her advanced age,
the young attending physician said, "We will not provide treatment.".

He didn't say he wanted to but "couldn't," he clearly said he "would not."

He was a kind and pleasant doctor, but those words
made my mother lose the will to live.

A doctor's words can be both medicine and poison.

Even though my mother was always cheerful and talkative,
she lost her energy in the blink of an eye.

She used to sing often, dreaming of one day appearing on the "Nodo Jiman" TV program broadcast on Sunday afternoons, but she stopped even humming.

She even stopped watching her favorite morning serial drama halfway through.



Hope is necessary to go on living. That hope is the ability to believe that tomorrow will be a better day.

And if you can find a single ray of light even in the deepest darkness,
the courage to go on living will well up.

I believed that if you wished for that light, you would surely find it.
My mother said, "I don't want to just wait to die," and let her frustration show by saying, "Why did my body end up like this?"

Unable to accept the words "We will not provide treatment," we believed in a glimmer of hope and a miracle, and sought a second opinion from a doctor at another hospital.

That elderly doctor told us the facts, but
he never made us lose hope.
He told us that the most important thing is
the patient's own will to live.

I felt dignity and compassion in his eyes, born from many years of experience, and thought that this must be what an ideal doctor is like.

However, my mother was too weak to hear those words directly.


When her condition worsened while she was recuperating at home and she was rushed to the hospital by ambulance, the doctor told us she had only a few days to two weeks left to live.

Her grandchildren rushed from far away, but
they were unable to meet her in person due to the hospital's visitation restrictions.

Since video calls on smartphones were permitted,
my mother tried her best through the screen, using her eye movements and expressions to
convey, "Even if we can't meet, I understand everything, so it's okay."
She was moved to the palliative care ward, and I returned home temporarily.

It was only for one night, but being able to spend time relaxing at home with my grandchildren and daughters was,
in the end,
a happy time granted by God.

In the palliative care ward,
family members were allowed to stay one at a time,
so the four of us sisters took turns staying overnight.

My mother could no longer speak, but she could still hear.

So, I
read her a picture book I had made myself
during a workshop.

There is a scene at the end where my mother appears.
It is a story like the Blue Bird,
where I return from a trip abroad,
reunite with my mother, and realize what true happiness is.


During the two months until her life ended,
even when she could no longer move or speak, she conveyed with her whole being
her strong tenacity for life and her overflowing love for her family.

Through my mother, Iwas made to realize the weight and preciousness of life.

Until the very end, she left a message for her children through her own life.
Parents are irreplaceable beings.

I am left with regrets that I let her pass away
without having been able to do much for her in return.

My mother's face in death was beautiful, as if she were just sleeping.

I felt as if she might open her eyes at any moment, roll them mischievously,
and give me a big smile.
But she never woke up again.

We placed colorful flowers and paper cranes in her coffin,
strung together the thousand cranes we had been making,
decorated the funeral hall with them, and saw her off together.

The memorial service has ended, and quiet days continue.

Sitting at the desk where my mother used to write her haiku,
I folded a crane using traditional Japanese washi paper
while thinking of her.

When I placed it by the window,
the crane's wings moved slightly in the breeze for a moment.

I looked up at the blue sky outside the window
and prayed that it would reach the heavens.

Thank you for reading until the end.

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🌈The cover and illustrations were generated using Gemini

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