6: My today is the future my mother wanted to live.

My time in Cambodia ended, and I headed to America.
Although it was a short period, I learned "Touch for Health" from Dr. Honma.
“Body and mind are one”──
The meaning of those words gradually deepened within me.

After returning to Japan, I went back to my resort part-time job.
It was early July, when summer begins.
Working at a hotel was something I had thought I wanted to try someday when I was in junior high school.
Now, I was standing on that very stage.

The first-class New Otani Hotel.
Weddings, dinner shows, and New Year's services.
In a place that supports the “special moments” of many people,
I learned the joy of interacting with others.

And then, I had an encounter.
She was a French major at a university in Korea.
For some reason, she took a Japanese seminar, and four of them came to Japan for training.
One of them was the person who would later become my wife.

After returning from America, she was my first work partner.
Apparently, her first impression of me wasn't very good.
She thought I was "fussy" and wondered, "What's with this guy who just came back from America?" (laughs)

But as we worked together,
our mutual “seriousness” and “consideration” began to resonate.

After finishing the training, she returned to Korea.
From then on, we kept each other updated via email and phone.

Then one day, I received a phone call from my father.
“Your mother might have cancer.”

His voice over the phone held impatience, sadness,
and a kind of vulnerability that sought support.
My hand holding the receiver trembled.
My mind went blank.

I didn't hesitate.
I quit my job in a week or two, packed my bags, and returned to Kagoshima.

Back in Kagoshima,
I spent my days accompanying my mother to the hospital.
On days when there was nothing to do, I ran a body care salon as a sole proprietor.
However, as my mother's condition progressed,
I would accompany her during the day and work part-time late at night,
cherishing the time I had with her.

I can say this now, but
at this time, my father was also diagnosed with colon cancer and had surgery.
With both parents getting cancer at the same time,
I remember talking over and over with my high school sister about "what we should do from now on."

My mother fought hard for nearly three years after that.
During that time, the Great East Japan Earthquake occurred.
While watching the news on TV, my mother said this.

“I'm suffering from cancer, but those who died in the earthquake are truly in pain.
I am still being given life.”

When I heard those words,
I felt that my mother already understood how to live one's life.
As a nurse, my mother had seen many “final moments.”
She also understood the meaning of going to a hospice.

Even so, she enjoyed her life until the very end.
“I want to eat lemon-flavored Ice Box,”
“I want to eat walnut bread,”
she would say with a gentle smile, and
I would run through the streets to buy them for her.

When I tore off a small piece of walnut bread and handed it to her,
she laughed, saying, "It's small!" (laughs).
I still remember that smile clearly even now.

And then, the final night.
I massaged my mother's feet, which had turned cyanotic, incessantly.
If I massaged them, the color would return. If I stopped, the cyanosis would spread.
I felt that if I stopped these hands,
I would never be able to see my mother again,
so I kept massaging while holding back my tears.

──Healing is not a technique, it is the heart.

Everything I had learned until now
seemed to be connected to this very moment.
To “heal” is to care for life.
That night was the moment I found the answer to my life.

The next morning, July 3rd.
It was pouring rain outside.
My mother quietly passed away.

Was the rain on July 3rd a rain of sorrow?
Was my mother crying?
I didn't know at the time.

My girlfriend at the time also came to the funeral.
That day, she met my father for the first time.
As I stared at my mother's portrait,
I felt 'meetings and partings' connecting into one.

Strangely, after the cremation was over,
my head and the depths of my heart felt suddenly lighter.
It wasn't that the sadness had disappeared,
but perhaps it was the moment my body quietly understood
that my mother had truly departed.

Four years have passed since then.
That year, July 3rd was sunny for the first time.

The moment I looked up at that blue sky, I suddenly thought:
──The today we are living
　might be a day someone else wanted to live.

It was a year where I felt I had truly received
a message from my mother.

And so, time flows on little by little.
Encounters changed their form, and life continued on.

Next time 7: Toward a new life──International marriage, and until I become a father.
With the meaning of 'living' I received from my mother in my heart,
new days begin.