I want to see the very last blossom. About the cherry tree that bloomed late, my children, and me (1,338 characters)

There is no one left to look up at it.

A single cherry tree on my commute. By the time mid-April arrives, the branches are completely covered in young leaves, and the traces of that pale pink have almost vanished.

When it was in full bloom, everyone would stop. People holding up their smartphones. Parents pulling their children's hands, looking up and saying, "It's beautiful, isn't it?" I was one of them.

This morning, as I passed under that tree now dyed in green, I suddenly noticed something and stopped.

In a small corner on the side opposite the street, a single tiny bud is just beginning to open, as if hiding.

The rest of the tree is already long past its peak. That one blossom looks just like a child who overslept, having only just woken up.

That one blossom feels strangely poignant.

Suddenly, the faces of my children came to mind.

They have never been the type to be quick on their feet. Both of them are children who cannot bloom at the same time as those around them.

Watching that, it would be a lie to say that as a parent, I don't feel anxious. I have lost count of how many times I almost said, "Can't you be a bit more efficient?"

But seeing that late-blooming blossom, I reconsidered.

These children are not behind schedule. Their turn simply hasn't come yet.

Cherry buds each have their own timing. Sunlight, position on the branch, how the wind hits them. Even if born on the same tree, they don't necessarily bloom on the same day. That is not a defect, just individuality.

If you bloom in the midst of full bloom, you can become part of a beautiful scene. But a blossom that blooms late has a different role.

To make someone stop in their tracks during the season of leaf-covered cherry trees. To light up a soft color one more time in a city where spring is coming to an end.

I think I was able to notice this blossom because I, myself, am someone on the "late" side.

In my student days, I was always a step behind while those around me handled things quickly and efficiently. Even after joining the company, I just marked time while my peers produced results. There were times I hated my own clumsiness.

But now, I can think this way: Because I am someone who arrived late, I can understand the beauty of things that bloom late. I can turn my eyes to the scenery after everyone else has passed by.

The version of me from back then is now helping me notice my child's single blossom.

The time I spent living clumsily was not in vain.
I can believe now that it was nurturing these eyes and this sensitivity.

However, one day my children will bloom in a place beyond my reach.

When that time comes, will there be someone who stops to look at my child's late-blooming flower?

The train time was approaching.

A small pink color peeking through the gaps in the cherry leaves.
I burn that image into my eyes.
The petals swaying in the wind looked somewhat proud.

Perhaps there is no will in each individual bud.
Even the cherry tree likely has no great thoughts about that one blossom.

Even so, I cannot help but wish.

In this wide world, there are people who, even if clumsy, are trying to bloom by trusting their own timing.
My child will one day be one of them.
When that happens, I hope someone will stop and notice them.

I want to prove that feeling, which is almost like a prayer, right here under this tree myself.

That is why I will look up at that blossom again tomorrow.
Believing that one day, someone will do the same for my child.

(Added on 4/12)
When I looked closely the next day, it wasn't just one, but seven or eight blossoms blooming (lol).
I intend to watch over them until the very last blossom.