The Ripples of That Day

More than 20 days have passed since I decided to write this article...

No, I had been thinking about writing it for a year, ever since this time of year came around.

But...

Is it really okay to write about something like this?

Will anyone even read something like this?

If I write this, will people be put off by me?

I worried and worried, and finally, I made up my mind to write it.

I once let my daughter die...

I intend to face this fact.

That was just about a year ago.

At the time, I was living on Tokunoshima.

It was one day in July, about two months after I had moved there, that I went to the sea.

I had been to the sea many times before that.

My daughter had also been gradually learning how to swim.

However, the conditions were poor.

That day, the wind was strong and the water level was high.

I'm sure you can already guess.

My daughter drowned in the sea.

And then, she went into cardiac arrest.

I let my daughter die in the sea.

I will try to remember it little by little, in detail.

We had gone to the sea as a family of four.

Me, my wife, and our daughters, who were five and one at the time.

I was playing at a certain beach.

Usually, it is shallow, with some deeper spots, but even if you go out a bit, it is surrounded by reefs.

If you swim, the distance to the reefs is short enough to reach easily.

However, that day, the tide was high enough that the reefs were no longer visible.

And the wind was also a bit strong.

Despite the somewhat poor conditions, I think we had been playing in the sea for about two hours without any particular incidents.

Since we had played quite a lot, I said, "Let's take a break."

It was because the older child was clearly tired.

The reply I got was, "No! I want to play more!"

I've become able to swim a little.

I can see fish of all sizes and colors.

A beach with high transparency.

Even with the strong wind, I can see the bottom perfectly.

It must have been so much fun for them.

I understand why they don't want to take a break.

Since there was no other choice, I decided to play a little longer.

I heard a voice saying, "Dad, over there!"

I was trying to catch fish with my older child.

Since I was using my bare hands, there was no way I could catch them.

But my older child knows that I am a pretty good swimmer.

That is why I was told over and over again.

"Daddy, over there," "Daddy, catch that," "Daddy," "Daddy"...

Every time I was called, I would dive.

I dove over and over again.

At that moment, too, my daughter found a fish.

I dove.

I touched the fish with my bare hands.

Oh, I might be able to catch this one.

That shouldn't be possible.

I struggled for a minute or two.

But that was enough time for my daughter to die.

I looked up.

I searched for my daughter.

My daughter was floating in the sea.

Facing upward.

I thought it was a joke.

Where is the snorkel?

Thinking that, I rush toward them in the water.

I look at their face.

Purple.

I pick them up.

I dash to the beach.

My wife notices too.

"Help!" "Help!"

My wife screamed.

I just keep dashing to the beach.

I have an old injury on my left leg.

Under normal circumstances, sprinting would definitely cause pain.

But I didn't feel anything like that at all.

Without thinking about anything, I just headed for the beach.

Without a doubt, it was the fastest sprint of my life.

I climbed up onto the beach.

A black shadow came sprinting from the left.

I think there were probably two of them.

People who had come to play, just like us.

One of them scooped up the girl.

Lay them down.

Their face, their arms, the color kept changing.

Turning purple.

I thought they were completely dead.

I thought it was over.

I couldn't even make a sound.

In the midst of that, one person began treatment.

Send someone to get the AED.

Chest compressions, rescue breaths.

Gah.

My daughter coughed up water.

My wife kept calling out to her, over and over.

I tried to call out to her, too.

But no sound would come out.

I think only a raspy voice came out.

The AED arrived.

I think they administered the electric shock twice.

She coughed up water again, and her complexion returned a little.

My daughter said something.

"~~~~"

I can't make it out.

My daughter started to move a little.

The ambulance arrived quickly.

She is being carried in.

"~~~~~~"

It seemed like she said something again.

My mind was observing reality as if it were someone else's business.

"Oh, I need to give her my smartphone so she can contact someone."

I hand the smartphone to my wife.

My wife rides in the ambulance with them.

It drives away.

I still couldn't believe it was real.

I was holding our younger child.

I don't think I felt any weight at all.

I didn't know what I should do from here on.

Yet, somewhere, I was calm enough to wonder which hospital they were going to.

"Which hospital should I go to?"

I ask the person who helped us.

"Go to ~~ Hospital. Don't panic! You'll get into an accident if you do."

I thought, "I need to gather my things."

It must have been escapism.

Someone from a nearby facility called out to me.

"I'll gather your things, so just go!"

I said, "Thank you."

For now, I headed to the car to go to the hospital.

Is this reality?

I drove while thinking things like that.

I only have fragmented memories.

Wherever I looked, I could see the blue sky and the blue sea.

Under normal circumstances, I would have been excited.

But at that moment, it was just something I was seeing.

I arrived at the hospital.

Where should I park?

There was a part of me that was strangely calm, and another part wondering if this was even real.

I parked in the lot.

I went inside.

I spoke to someone nearby.

They told me it was over there.

They must have performed emergency treatment.

My daughter was lying in bed with many tubes attached to her.

I enter.

My wife was there.

The hospital staff who had been treating her spoke to my daughter.

My daughter tries to lift her body slightly.

It seems she noticed me.

Her swimsuit had been cut for the treatment.

I don't remember what we talked about.

For now, we exchanged a few words.

I am alive.

At that moment, that was enough.

Since there were no facilities available to handle the situation, my daughter was flown to Amami by a doctor helicopter.

My wife went to Amami later that same day.

I returned home with our younger child.

Everyone was worried about me.

My wife told me many times, "She is our child, so she will definitely be okay."

I also received a message from my mother-in-law.

I don't know exactly when it happened.

It was just at a time when my younger child had fallen asleep at home.

Perhaps it was when I received a call from my mother.

The thread snapped.

I cried.

It had probably been over twenty years since I last shed tears.

I had felt like crying before that, too.

I usually keep my emotions suppressed so they don't show.

Even so, it was impossible to hold them back.

I cried, letting out a soundless voice.

More than ever before.

Even in the midst of all that, my exchanges with my wife continued.

She told me she had arrived at the hospital.

She said she didn't have a ride, but was walking to gather the things needed for her admission.

She said she walked while crying.

I'm sorry...

But she was concerned for me.

She told me it wasn't my fault.

I felt that it was nothing but my fault.

I think that's true, and I have no intention of making excuses.

I just wanted you to be safe.

Anyway, time felt like it was moving so slowly.

I couldn't sleep.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling until morning came.

I was just waiting for word from my wife.

I felt like a corpse, just keeping the younger child alive.

I have no interest in myself at all.

I have no memory of what I ate, or even if I ate anything at all.

My wife contacted me from time to time.

She said it didn't look like the worst-case scenario would happen.

However, she was told that there would likely be lasting aftereffects.

A few days must have passed, and I took my younger child and flew to Amami.

We arrived at night.

I couldn't get into the hospital, so I stayed at a hotel for the night.

That night, my younger child had a hard time falling asleep.

Perhaps they sensed the emotions I couldn't process.

Even I thought I was acting strange.

There was the part of me watching from a distance, and the part of me holding onto emotions I couldn't put into words.

The younger child sobbed uncontrollably.

Until they cried themselves to sleep.

The next day.

Finally, a visit at the hospital.

Their arm looked painful, covered in needle marks from the IV.

My daughter is undergoing rehabilitation.

She is conscious.

However, the anesthesia hasn't fully worn off, and she seems dazed.

I'm just glad she's alive.

But I can't process my emotions.

There is no doubt that I am happy to see her face.

Does she remember?

What about the emotional trauma?

Are there any lasting effects?

I had so many worries.

From what I heard, my daughter didn't seem to clearly remember drowning.

She told me what she had heard from my wife as if she remembered it herself.

"I drowned because of Daddy. I drowned because Daddy was looking for fish."

No matter what she said, it was true.

I was grateful that I could talk to my daughter.

Even while having such exchanges, life in the hospital continued.

The physical therapist watched my daughter's body movements intently during her rehabilitation.

What I heard from my wife about that felt strangely real.

My daughter gradually regained her appetite.

However, the hospital food didn't seem to suit her.

I consulted with the nurse and got permission to buy food for her to eat.

Even some sweets in secret.

Over the next few days, they performed tests, including on her brain.

My daughter was visibly recovering.

I think it was about a week after she drowned?

The doctor came for an examination.

It was time to be told the results of the tests...

The result was...

Absolutely nothing abnormal.

Huh?

Even though I was prepared to accept reality,

I didn't quite understand what you were saying.

There is a backstory.

This whole thing was really, truly just a matter of luck.

The person who saved me was from the fire department.

A paramedic, at that.

He said, "If it hadn't been me, you probably would have died."

That is almost certainly true.

I wondered what the odds were of me actually surviving.

The paramedic just happened to be off-duty, just happened to decide to go to the beach, just happened to be at the same beach as us, just happened to be there at the right time, and just happened to be close enough to hear us.

And so, by chance, he was able to provide treatment immediately.

No matter how much I think about it, I have no idea what those odds were.

I suppose you would call this a miracle.

I thought I had been given a second chance at life.

And ever since my daughter was discharged from the hospital, I have been worried sick.

Every year, during the summer, day after day, person after person dies in the ocean.

Honestly, everyone underestimates it.

I was one of them.

Because I could swim, I couldn't even imagine that such a thing could happen.

But reality was different.

It is something that ends in one go.

I felt I had no choice but to convey it.

Even if it is just one person, if it remains in someone's heart, even if it is just one person, I want it to reach them.

With that thought in mind, I wrote and erased, wrote and erased, over and over again.

Writing so clumsy that it even makes me feel embarrassed.

I released it into the world.

Again this year, people are dying every day.

Even if I avoid the news because I don't want to see such things, it makes no difference.

They jump into my eyes without permission.

It was a one-time thing.

Even though I was saved by a miracle,

I dreamed of that purple face, that figure floating in the sea, over and over again.

After more than half a year, I stopped thinking about it as much, but,

It really was a one-time thing.

Even now, as I finish writing this article, to be honest, I am worried about whether it was right to write it.

I am worried about whether I should publish it.

Even while writing this article, there were times when my hands trembled.

I will never truly understand the feelings of someone who has lost a child.

There is a vast divide here.

If such people were to come across this article, what would they think?

You haven't lost anyone, so don't write as if you understand.

If it were me, I might think the same thing.

In the end, it's because you took your eyes off them, isn't it?

That is nothing but the truth.

I imagined what else might be thought of me.

...

But if it reaches even one person, that is enough.

I decided to think of it that way.

Like a ripple, even if it is small, if something is stirred, that is enough.