What remains at the end of life, realized at my 96-year-old grandmother's funeral

Hello, I am Jin.

I attended the funeral of my 96-year-old grandmother.

What remains at the end of life is,

not how much money you had,
nor how much wealth you built,

but how much you loved and were loved by others,
how much you nurtured connections with people,
and how much virtue you were able to accumulate.

It was a day that made me think about such things.

My grandmother lived alone in a single-story house in the countryside of Wakayama.
She lived by herself.

After the war, while my grandfather was away working,
she ran a fruit shop in front of the station,
worked in administration for a taxi company,
and supported the household while raising four children.

She had a strong core,
and was the type to speak her mind clearly.

Sometimes she would say harsh things to those around her,
and I heard my mother had a hard time with her.

Even so, to me, her grandchild,
she was always a kind grandmother.

When I would return home to visit,
she would always be sitting on the veranda,
looking out at the garden,
waiting for my arrival.

When I opened the front door,
she would welcome me by saying,
"I'm glad you came."

When I entered the house,
it smelled like my grandmother's house.

Just that alone
made me feel relieved,
thinking, "Ah, I'm finally home."

Sitting in front of the Buddhist altar,
putting my hands together for my grandfather,
and reporting, "I'm home, I've been doing well,"
was also
a time that brought peace to my heart.

When I went to the house where my grandmother,
who had always welcomed me as if it were a matter of course,
had passed away,
even though it was the same house, the same room, and the same smell,
I felt a somewhat different atmosphere.

I only visited for a few days out of every 365 days,
but just knowing that my grandmother was there,
that even though we were far apart, my grandmother existed,
and that I could see her again when I returned home,
was a source of strength in my life.

The existence of someone who accepts you
without any regard for profit or loss
is significant.

It is something irreplaceable
that cannot be exchanged for anything else
in the process of living.

People who cared for you
continue to exist somewhere
within your consciousness
forever.

About 50 people, including children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and relatives who usually live apart, gathered for the funeral.

Although we were a group of people who felt somewhat awkward and distant, with different statuses and positions as working adults,

we were not strangers simply because we were relatives, and we spoke with the closeness of family.

The people gathered at the funeral, the conversations exchanged there, those smiling nostalgically, and those wearing expressions of sadness.

At the ceremony, I found myself observing the scene somewhat objectively, and I truly felt that my grandmother had lived her life while being loved by so many people.

Even if
・No matter how much money you have
・No matter how much property you have
・No matter how much inheritance you leave behind
in the end, when you pass away,
all that remains
is that person's 'virtue,' I felt.

What my grandmother left behind at the very end was time to reconsider the obvious fact that 'everyone dies someday,'

and
・What kind of life I want to lead from now on
・What kind of time I want to spend
・What kind of end I want to meet
she left me with the opportunity to ask myself these questions.

Having passed the halfway point of my life, I want to cherish how I spend my time from here on out.

The time I can spend with my children now.
The people I can meet because it is now.
The things I can experience because it is now.
I want to live while cherishing such things.

Like my grandmother, I want to live in a way that, in the end, the people who gather will cherish me and say 'thank you.'

To that end, I will not do anything special, but rather cherish time with my family, treat the people in front of me with sincerity, and cherish each day as it comes.

I want to continue making such small, steady efforts.