The people who keep my mother breathing.

Sometimes when I'm writing, I find myself holding my breath for a moment.
It's a habit I've had for a long time.
It's a habit I've had for a long time.

Every time I realize I've been holding my breath, I think a little about breathing, about respiration.
I think a little about breathing, about respiration.

My mother has been relying on an oxygen tank for about nine years now.

When she goes out, she walks with a tall, narrow bag that looks like a small shopping bag, containing her oxygen tank.

I'm always in a hurry when we go out, so I never really take the time to look at the entryway.

The other day, a familiar scene suddenly felt vivid and real.
It felt vivid and real.

My mother's oxygen tanks were lined up there.

Oh, my mother's breath is lined up there, I thought.
At first, we were both very pessimistic about it.

At first, we were both very pessimistic about it.

It's halfway to being a partner now, my mother says.

She tells me she doesn't feel embarrassed about being seen walking with an oxygen tank, and as her daughter, I'm really helped by that personality of hers.
She tells me she doesn't feel embarrassed about being seen walking with an oxygen tank, and as her daughter, I'm really helped by that personality of hers.

After more than nine years of living like this, it's just a normal part of our home life.
After more than nine years of living like this, it's just a normal part of our home life.

As I gazed blankly at the scene of just the oxygen tanks lined up by themselves,
As I gazed blankly at the scene of just the oxygen tanks lined up by themselves,

Ah, they aren't just objects; even though they are inorganic,
when I realized they were a part of my mother's breathing,
my heart wavered a little.

In a place far away, her breath is always waiting.

Always standing by to help my mother.

I felt a sort of gratitude toward them.
I felt a sort of gratitude toward them.

It's not like she always has to replenish her oxygen while at home, though.

And the person who always brings it to us is the representative from Teijin Pharma.
And the person who always brings it to us is the representative from Teijin Pharma.

If the vinyl tube called a cannula, which connects the nose to the machine, gets bent anywhere, the system is designed so that oxygen won't be delivered properly.If the vinyl tube called a cannula, which connects the nose to the machine, gets bent anywhere, the system is designed so that oxygen won't be delivered properly.

The machine is connected to both our home and the company, like a security system.

In our house, a slightly large device capable of providing 3 liters of oxygen is placed next to the telephone in the living room.

It is a pale blue, unobtrusive machine.

Since we amateurs cannot clean the inside of the device, we have a specialist from Teijin Pharma come about twice a year to clean it.

When they perform the cleaning and maintenance amidst the motor noise while the machine is running, they wipe it as if they are caring for the machine, gently wiping away the dirt.

It is only about 30 minutes of work, but just watching the staff member's careful work makes me feel calm.

The fact that they care for the machine that acts as my mother's breath makes me feel as if they are cherishing my mother's breath itself.

That was on, about three years ago on Christmas Eve day.

Since Christmas was the anniversary of my grandmother's death, I talked about memories of her before going to sleep and said goodnight.

When I woke up near dawn, I felt like I had been woken up by the sound of the doorbell, though it might have been my imagination.

However, I was sleepy, so I left it as it was and went back to sleep again.

And then, on the morning of the 25th, I woke up.

The green answering machine light on the living room phone was blinking repeatedly, which was unusual.

Wondering what had happened, I listened to the messages, and they were from the person in charge at Teijin Pharma, the oxygen cylinder company that always takes care of us.

It was just before 5 a.m., and they had called three times.

When my mother was sleeping at night with the oxygen inhaler, she had unknowingly fallen asleep with the oxygen cannula tube underneath her body, so the staff member had rushed over before anything terrible could happen.

I was flustered that they had cared that much.

When I asked later,

it seems that rushing over when they catch a sign of an oxygen malfunction is part of their office's job.

When my mother and I learned that fact, we hurriedly apologized over the phone, saying, 'I'm sorry, we are safe, we are fine. We are sorry for the trouble,' and he replied, 'Oh, that's good.'

He let us hear his voice of relief, just like a family member, saying, 'I'm relieved.'

I knew that Christmas wasn't a time when everyone spent their day only with the people they loved and were happy with.

I was grateful that he, who must have been on duty that night, rushed over to help.

It meant he had rushed over to protect my mother's breathing on Christmas Day.

Even if it was his job.

I had nothing but gratitude that he drove his car from several towns away in the middle of the night.

And when my mother learned of that fact, her eyes welled up with a few tears.

The other day, I found an interview article with an employee from Teijin Pharma.

I thought that this philosophy was indeed being upheld.
Knowing that "doing what you said you would do" requires a tremendous amount of energy if you truly intend to carry it out, I am truly humbled.

I associated the words "seeing things through to the end" with the representative who visited our home at dawn on that Christmas day.

And I later learned that during the earthquake disaster, while checking whether patients were at the evacuation centers in the areas they belonged to, the representatives promptly provided oxygen cylinders in each respective area.

My heart is full knowing that the breathing of patients, including my mother, is being steadfastly protected by such reliable people.

<Breath is what connects the world. It is what connects us to the people who once existed here, and to the people who will exist in the future.>

I was reminded of these words I had heard somewhere before.

The people who handle Teijin Pharma's oxygen therapy equipment are keeping breath connected here.

I'm not sure if the word "oshi" (favorite/supporter) is appropriate, but I support them.

The conduct and kindness of the Teijin Pharma representatives who always take care of us.

The fact that my mother's daily breath is supported by so many people is an unwavering "hope" for my mother and me.