A Child's Memories and the Desire Not to Forget

On the day my father-in-law passed away, my daughter was absorbed in drawing while I was making dinner. She didn't seem to notice when dinner was ready, so I peeked to see what she was drawing. My daughter, who still struggles with writing, was diligently spelling out sentences in her own way. When I asked her what it said, this was the content.

“Grandad died when I was six. On the fourth of November. Which means he died on Monday.”
“Grandad died when I was six. It was November 4th. That means he died on a Monday.”

“The saddest thing that happened so far. By the way, this happened when I was six.”
“This is the saddest thing that has happened so far. By the way, this also happened when I was six.”

My daughter is aware that she sometimes cannot recall events from last year, so she writes them down in her own way so she won't forget. As for me, I hardly remember anything from when I was six. I only have a few scattered memories that I feel I recall vaguely because there are photographs.

Seeing this, I suddenly remembered Hayao Miyazaki's film The Boy and the Heron. Even memories etched into the heart might be forgotten after passing through a door. Perhaps that is just how childhood memories are.

That night, my daughter repeated like a mantra, “I will never forget Grandad for as long as I live.” I intend to keep this drawing safe. Even when she becomes an adult, looking at this picture might bring back the feelings she had at that time.

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