Perhaps I had been longing for that kind of interaction.

You can do whatever you want to do.
Words I had said to my daughter in a bossy way.
I kept saying it to her, but I wasn't doing it myself at all.

Even so, lately, little by little,
I am redoing the things I actually wanted to do.

A clock I originally wanted to place where I could see it from my bed.
When I asked my husband, he installed it in a different spot, saying, "It's easier to mount it here."

I finally climbed onto a chair and reinstalled that clock.
Watching the hands move in the place I wanted to put it, I felt a little happy.
It's such a small thing, but
for me right now, it is a truly meaningful event.

On mornings when I don't have to make a bento for my daughter,
I had wanted to take a slow walk with my dog, Ita.
It took a while after I thought of it, but
I was finally able to go.

An early morning park with few people.
I found myself thanking Ita as she hopped around.

Since I started going to a new hospital and taking medication,
I have become able to move around much better.
I feel anxious when the number of pills increases, but
I feel like this one pill is gradually setting me right, and I want to say thank you to each one.

Having become a middle school student, she said a bit shyly,
"I want to try playing the violin..."
She joined the orchestra club,
and lately, she has been working hard at practicing the violin.
When she first started,
it sounded like Shizuka-chan from Doraemon.

It was a time when I would listen intently,
imagining the sounds that hadn't quite become a melody yet.
There were days she said she didn't want to go to club activities.
Even so, listening to the sound of the senior she admires,
she looks at her friends and picks up the bow again.
In that repetition,
the sound changed little by little.
The sound from a little while ago suddenly comes to mind.
That already feels nostalgic.
Today, she played through to the end without hesitation.


I was told this when I tried to start something.
"It's difficult."
I suddenly remembered that there was a feeling I had kept tucked away after being told that.
Things I had given up on before I knew it.

While listening to my daughter's sound, I felt like I might be able to move a little.

And, I noticed one more thing that has changed.

Whether it's because of the illness or my age, I feel like my speed of thinking has slowed down.

Like a while ago, I can no longer think about this and that at the same time, and I forget things more often.

At first, that change was a little scary, but

now, I want to carefully feel myself being in this slow flow.

A little bit about those who added my articles to their magazines.

A little bit about Donyu-san.

When I was reading this person's article, I realized I was crying.

Whether it was the kindness behind the words or a quiet strength, I can't say well, but I definitely felt like I was given a push.

Once again, thank you.

And, Torori-san.

Torori-san's careful words soak in slowly, and I feel like I receive many small realizations every time I read them.

Because such wonderful people supported me,
I feel like I can see a little bit of how to return to myself.

I hope it reaches someone who is in a similar time as well.

The yam that my husband's parents send every year.

I worried for a while about whether I should wash it and hand it over in a ready-to-use state to take to my neighbor who has small children.

Wondering if it would be meddlesome, or if they wouldn't like something washed in someone else's house.

In the end, I washed the yam and took it over.

In return, I received bamboo shoots that had already been soaked to remove the bitterness.

It must have been quite a chore to soak them while looking after a small child.

The bamboo shoots, which carried the warmth of someone else's care, tasted several times better than usual.

Interacting with my neighbor reminds me of the picture book I used to read to my daughter.

It's a story I read when I was a child, too,

"The Return Gift."

In the end, the fox and the raccoon's wives
even swap houses.
I suddenly thought that perhaps I had been longing for that kind of exchange between the two wives.

Once again, I feel a little more
inclined to connect with people.

I looked at the sky, clearly divided into two colors, top and bottom.
It felt like looking at my past self and my present self,

and it was a sky I wanted to remember.