[Essay] Less than leaving the nest, less than caregiving

It is a big deal.
My mother has decided to have surgery for cataracts in both eyes.

I think many people would say, "What, is that all?"

In fact, cataract surgery is often done as a day surgery,
and it seems to be what you call a "simple procedure."
I hear some hospitals keep patients overnight,
but my mother is having a day surgery.

However, it is both eyes.
First, she will have surgery on her right eye, which has more severe symptoms, and live with an eye patch.
One week later, surgery on her left eye.
Then she will switch to living with an eye patch on her left eye.
I was convinced it would be two weeks of living with one eye.

I, the only one of the three siblings remaining in the prefecture,
was summoned.
That might be an exaggeration.
Hearing that cooking and laundry after the surgery would be difficult,
I said, "Should I come home?"
and since she said,
"I'd be happy if you came home, but..."
I just decided to go home. But there was a bit of a "read between the lines" vibe.
I can't stay for a full two weeks, so
I'll do two trips of four days and three nights, starting from the surgery date.

So, it is a big deal.
After all, I have always been the one relying on others.
Suddenly, I have turned into the one providing support.
Even when caring for my beloved dog, I was able to get through it
because my mother was there,
but this time, it is supporting my mother herself.

Even though my mother is perfectly fine,
I have been restless since half a month ago.
This time, the hospital is close, so we can walk there.
In the poor visibility of the rainy season,
I don't want to let my mother walk alone with an eye patch,
so I will walk with her.
In Kagoshima, a car-dependent society,
I have become a "paper driver" (someone with a license but no driving experience),
and I feel deep regret.
As both my parents get older,
my father will likely be unable to drive either.
When that happens,
should I be the one driving and supporting their lives?
How much is a refresher driving course?
Should I move back home, or move near my parents' house?
Where did my older brother and sister go?
My mind flies ten years into the future.

I decided to stop thinking about it for a while.

This time, it's not quite caregiving,
if I had to say, it's less than caregiving.
It is strictly support for her post-surgery life.
The duration is only two trips of four days and three nights.

For now,
• The key to my parents' house that I don't usually carry
• My own medicine
If I have these, I should be able to manage.
The hospital should take good care of my mother's eyes.


Two days before the surgery.
My parents came to my house,
and brought back the T-shirts and sneakers I needed for this trip home.
The sneakers were especially helpful.
The forecast for the day I return is a typhoon, and cloudy after that.
Since I'll be wearing rain shoes on the day I return,
it would have been hard to walk while accompanying her to the hospital afterward.
With sneakers, I'll be fine.
Returning home from work during a typhoon, I wanted to avoid having too much luggage, so this was a big help.
I feel like my parents' attitude has changed a little recently.
It's like they are relying on me, or perhaps they are acting a bit spoiled.
I feel like they have become a little kinder than before.

But in the end, I'm the one having things done for me.
Even though I didn't ask, they even bought me rice.
Parental love is a mysterious thing.
From this trip home,
I was nervous that I would be the one providing life support.
I thought maybe they had started to rely on me a little mentally,
but physically and financially, I am the one being spoiled.

I felt lonely thinking my parents had aged,
but they were still very much my parents.

The day before the surgery.
A typhoon is approaching.
I had planned to head to my parents' house tomorrow afternoon after work, but the JR trains will be suspended all day tomorrow.
I'm pinning my hopes on the bus.
I check the traffic information repeatedly.
If the bus is also suspended, I'm done for.
I got a LINE message from work saying "Tomorrow is a day off,"

and I decided to go home tonight.
I threw the summer oranges that were starting to wither,

which I had planned to eat tonight, into my bag,
and rushed out of the house.
The wind is howling.
It's the wind of a typhoon.
It's still weak for a typhoon, and it's not raining yet.
The volcanic ash that fell yesterday is swirling and sliding across the road.
Tonight is my chance.

I arrived at the station.
People are passing by incessantly.
During the evening rush hour,
announcements about the suspension of limited express trains are overlapping.
It is filled with a unique buzz of "it's still okay" and "it will definitely get worse from here."
More than 30 minutes until departure.
I decided to wait on a bench.
Fortunately, I was able to get a seat on the train.

Luck is on my side.

When I got home,
my parents were very happy.
My father even bowed to me.
He said, "I didn't know what to do on my own.
I couldn't let your mother go to the hospital alone
with an eye patch."
My worrying nature is inherited from my father.
My father is still working, so
he can only accompany my mother on the day of the surgery tomorrow.

My mother peeled the skin and segments of the summer oranges for me.
We all ate them together.
The inside was surprisingly juicy.
Even though I'm pushing forty, I'm still treated like a child.
It was a strange time,
a mix of my position as a daughter who is a child and a daughter who is an adult.

When you watch the typhoon on TV,
the urgency seems to jump up.
I don't have a TV at home, so
I might have underestimated this typhoon a little.
The footage of the banyan tree in Okinawa falling over
was quite shocking.

The day of the right eye surgery.
In the morning, I eat the breakfast my mother prepared.
Why did I come home again?
Well, the surgery is in the afternoon, and
for my mother, it's just one extra person in her usual routine,
so maybe there's no problem.
I didn't know at the time that
breakfast would be prepared every morning when I woke up during my stay.
When I cleaned the bathroom, my mother looked happy.
Since I was in charge of cleaning the bathroom when I lived at home,

it's easy for me to do.
My mother also had knee surgery, so
it seems like a chore she'd rather not do if she can help it.
There is some mold growing, so
I'll try cleaning it with more enthusiasm tomorrow.
My legs and lower back were surprisingly tired from cleaning the bathroom for the first time in a while.

The typhoon is still in Amami.
The wind and rain have also become stronger on the mainland of the prefecture.
My mother said with sparkling eyes,
"It's better for you to be here too, isn't it?
That way, I don't have to worry about you."
For my part, I wanted to protect my own home.
Well, she looks happy, so I guess it's fine.
In the end, my mother is also a worrier.
Perhaps parents always want to take care of their children,
no matter how old they get.

In the afternoon, my mother finally went for surgery.
The typhoon hasn't approached yet, and
I'm relieved because my father is driving her to the hospital.

I make curry while my parents are away.
I had declared it beforehand, so
it's not a surprise, but
somehow it's easier to cook when my parents aren't around.

The kitchen at my parents' house is spacious and easy to use.
After all, it has a three-burner stove.
The workspace and sink are also large.
My kitchen at home has a one-burner stove.
Since there is no workspace,
I use a standing desk instead.
The ease of making curry was completely different.
I was even able to make boiled eggs at the same time.
As usual, I put too much water in the curry.
It wouldn't thicken.
I'll simmer it for a while to let the water evaporate.

Just as the curry was finished
and I took off my apron,
my parents came home.
They came home while the typhoon was still quiet.
As soon as they came in, they both said, "It smells like good curry!"
and were happy.
My mother with her eye patch looked more pitiful than I expected.
Over the gauze held in place with medical tape,
she is wearing a transparent plastic eye patch.
But perhaps relieved that one surgery was over,
she was smiling.

Since I made the curry early,
we spent the evening relaxing and watching TV.
My mother cut the horse mackerel sashimi that was in the fridge.
I was relieved to see that she could use the kitchen knife without any trouble,
even with the eye patch on.
I thickened the watery curry by adding more curry roux.
They told me it was delicious.

I did the cleanup, which I usually tend to leave to my mother.
After that, we all relaxed and watched TV.
Both my father and mother seemed happy and laughed a lot.
Watching TV together might also be a form of filial piety.

Perhaps feeling relieved, my father started keeping a carrot.
I am doing regeneration vegetable gardening,
growing leaves from the carrot top.
When I showed him that before,
he excitedly said, "It's like a forest right here."
My father loves moss and wild grasses.
It seems he was envious.
He wanted a carrot top, so
I cut one and gave it to him, and he happily started growing it.
My mother's regeneration vegetable carrot was also in the kitchen.
My mother's goal is probably harvesting.
My father's is a pet.
I'm doing both.
We are a family that grows carrots.

One day after the right eye surgery.
I go to the hospital with my mother, who is wearing an eye patch.
She doesn't seem to have the unsteadiness I was worried about, so she seems fine.
Cars drive quite a bit on the narrow road without a sidewalk.
I thought about holding her hand,
but it wasn't necessary.
Even so, just in case, I walk on the road side to guide my mother.
In the waiting room, there were many people
wearing eye patches who looked like they had surgery yesterday.
Most people came alone.

My mother, who returned from the examination room,
had taken off her eye patch and was wearing post-surgery glasses.
They are protective glasses
to keep dust out.
I had assumed she would be living with an eye patch for two weeks,
but it seems I was mistaken.
The glasses are stylish and suit her quite well.
I was relieved to hear that her post-surgery progress is also good.

Although I've never had a serious illness,
thinking about how my mother used to accompany me to the hospital
when I was a child,
I felt something deeply moving.
I was finally able to do something that feels like less than nursing care.

After returning home, when I brewed coffee,
she said, "It's easy when Hiyoko is here."
During this visit home,
I will do my best to go from being the one pampered by my mother
to being the one who pampers her.

"Father and Hiyoko are worriers.
Even though I'm perfectly fine,"
my mother laughed at me.
But my mother's smiles are also increasing.

I put back the laundry pole I had taken down for typhoon protection,
and cleaned the bath and the toilet.
It really is less than nursing care.
It's just a matter of taking on
a bit more of the household chores than before.

I had been turning a blind eye to cleaning the toilet
because my mother had been doing it until now,
but quite a bit of dust had accumulated.
I felt once again that her vision really must have been poor.

After preparing lunch and cleaning up,
my mother beamed at me again,
"It's easy when Hiyoko is here~."
Since she seems to have accumulated fatigue from years of housework,
this surgery
might be a good refreshing vacation.
Far from less than nursing care, it's my mother's princess week.
If it's about four nights and five days plus three nights and four days,
I can support her.
I'll let her be a princess to her heart's content.

However,
while I looked away, she started ironing.
What a hard worker.
Her eyes seem to be seeing well, and
she's probably bored with too much free time.
She won't stay a princess for long.

Two days after the right eye surgery.
When I woke up at 6:30 in the morning,
the curry pot I had left soaking
had been washed clean.
The laundry had also started running.
I told my mother, "You can just be a princess,"
but
she said, "It would be a problem if I let you do everything and you thought 'I've had enough'."
Indeed, doing all the housework is a burden.
Maybe it's good for my mother to have things to do.
But I do want her to be a princess.
When I went to take out the trash in the rain, she was happy.
I managed to make my mother a princess.

Accompanying her to the hospital again today.
It's raining hard and is a bit chilly.
My mother was all set to take a taxi,
but someone beat us to it right in front of us.
Fortunately, my mother was wearing rain shoes,
so we decided to walk.
Maybe I should have called a taxi company
and had them come to the house.
The princess strategy failed due to my carelessness.

Post-surgery progress is good.
It seems her vision has also improved from 0.03 to 0.9.
Accompanying her to the hospital,
I'm just waiting in the waiting room and not doing anything in particular.
Honestly,
I wonder if there's any point in me being there.
Even so, both my father and mother
seem to want me to accompany them.
When I said yesterday, "I'm just tagging along,"
both of them panicked and said they wanted me to come along.
Mentally, I must be useful.

My mother has a habit of not being able to accept people's kindness well.
This time, she is relying on me quite a bit for her, so
I'll do my best to have her be a princess.
Even for lunch,
even though I promised I would make it,
my mother makes it before the promised time.
Today, even though we hadn't set a time,
she waited for me.
The princess strategy is gradually succeeding.
But what she made was microwave pasta.

Since it was three o'clock,
I asked my mother, who was napping on the sofa,
"Shall I brew some coffee?"
She smiled from inside the blanket
and replied, "Yes. I'm a princess."
The princess strategy is a great success.

Since I'm returning to my own home tomorrow,
she can take it easy until today.
When I started saying, "You'll have to do it yourself from tomorrow,"
my mother's face stiffened.
It seems she thought she was going to be scolded.
When I continued, "You should just take it easy until today,"
she smiled as if she were truly relieved.
After that, we watched a suspense drama together.

An evening rerun of an old drama.
We watched the same series yesterday too, but
for some reason, in both, the culprit's motive was parental love and misunderstanding.

Tonight's dinner was
beef, onions, and green peppers
stir-fried and simmered in sukiyaki sauce,
and yam mixed with plum.
My father, who doesn't usually eat much dinner,
asked for seconds.
I'm glad I made it.
But since I seasoned it with sukiyaki sauce,
I'm fully relying on corporate efforts.

My father was also happy that the carrot leaves had grown larger.
Three days after the right eye surgery.


Today is the day I return to my home for a while.
My father took the day off,
so I'll leave accompanying her to the hospital to him.
Since they can go by car, my mother's burden will likely be small.
In the meantime, I'll make potato salad.
Even after I leave,
if there's potato salad, my mother should be able to take it easy.
My potato salad includes mixed beans
in addition to the standard ingredients,
so it's quite hearty.
Just as I was finishing making it, the two of them returned.
When I showed them the potato salad,
they were surprised, saying, "That's a lot!"
It seems I was a bit too enthusiastic.
I set aside the portion I would eat at home.
With this, I can take it easy too.
My mother was also happy, saying it would be a snack for my father.

My mother gave me some pocket money
with a thank-you note written on a light blue envelope.
Come to think of it, when I first started helping out,
I feel like she said, "I'll give you some pocket money properly."
I had completely forgotten.
I accepted it gratefully, thinking it was parental love.
It was a big deal for me, but
it must have been a major event for my father and mother as well.
Driving home with my father.

On the way, we stopped at a conveyor belt sushi restaurant for lunch.
I ate the same thing as always, eel and natto rolls.
My father ate a lot of pickled ginger and wasabi as usual
and was sweating on his head.
I found a Mont Blanc on the touch panel.
My mother's favorite.
When I recommended it, she decided immediately.
I also ate a chocolate parfait.
When my mother went to the restroom,
my father secretly
said, "Mother has become more cheerful."
It's probably the sense of liberation from being able to see,
and maybe the princess strategy worked too.

At the time of parting, my mother held my hand.
Her eyes were a little moist.
There were people passing by, and
she's not the type of person who usually does that in public.
I was bewildered by her attitude, as if it were a final farewell.
If it were my father, his affection and anger are always exaggerated.
My mother doesn't like things to be too exaggerated.
Did the princess strategy work too well?
I said I'd be back in four days,
and we waved goodbye.

My dinner alone was egg porridge.
It was much more troublesome
than making curry or potato salad for my parents.

Day of the left eye surgery.
Yesterday, I couldn't help but feel restless.
The right eye was a success,
and I know it's a "simple surgery,"
but I'm still not calm.

This time, I'm returning by train after work.
When I arrived at the station platform, there was a 30-minute wait.
The platform in the rainy season chill is windy.
It can't be helped, so
I wait while deleting emails and writing haiku.

I received a LINE message saying the surgery ended safely.

When I got home, my parents welcomed me with smiles.
My mother's eye patch look wasn't too painful to see this time.
Rather, she looks radiant and I feel like she's rejuvenated.
Her smile is even bigger than last time.
Maybe my mother has also reached a milestone and is relieved.
My father also has a radiant smile.
He said, "Thank you for coming back."
Last time, my father said that
it's scary for a couple to face the entrance to old age together,
so maybe just me being here
is enough to reassure them.
My father's carrot was also growing leaves vigorously.
My father brought me a printout

for a matchmaking event from his workplace.

I had talked about wanting to get married and not having any encounters
for a long time.
But when it comes down to it, I get cold feet.
An around-forty with no career is too disadvantaged.
But as things are now, it doesn't look like I'll be able to get married.
They say there will be light snacks and sweets, so
it might be good to go for that.
They say it's a lottery if there are many applicants, so
should I at least try applying?
One day after the left eye surgery.
I woke up and understood the reason


I wasn't enthusiastic about the matchmaking event.
My preference is for older men.
But this event is for up to forty years old.
It's expected that there will be almost no one older.
Age isn't an absolute condition, but...
Even so, I know well that
my ideal person won't appear if I just stand there silently.
ChatGPT told me,
"If the recruitment is up to forty, it's expected that around-forties will come. You won't stand out."
and I made up my mind.

Accompanying my mother to the hospital, I went into the examination room today.
A brisk and pleasant nurse
kept things moving along.
It was eye drop administration (three types), eye pressure test,
and an examination by the doctor.
It was over in a flash.

On the way home, my mother said she felt a bit unsteady,
so I hurriedly held her hand.
Rather than her balance changing because she took off the eye patch,
it seemed her legs and lower back had weakened a little.
Both my father and I might have been treating my mother too carefully.
My mother's hand that I held was warm and a little wrinkled, but
I was too busy watching out for cars to be sentimental.

After returning home, while I brewed coffee,
I had her do some stepping on a health device.
Even though it was just the time it took to brew coffee,
she said she was tired.
What ways are there to make my mother want to exercise?

While Mom was taking a nap after starting the laundry,
I went shopping,
made fried rice, ate, and we both took a nap.
Today, Mom tucked me in with a blanket.
I'm being treated like a princess.

Three o'clock.
When I brewed coffee, she smiled and said,
"You're a princess."
For my coffee-loving mom, coffee seems to be the most effective thing.
Mom is also collecting campaign stickers for Dairy milk,
so we added milk and drank it as café au lait.

Today was sunny, a complete change from yesterday.
We folded the laundry together,
and I cleaned the toilet and used the Quickle mop.
Mom did some ironing.
This time, rather than the princess strategy,
it felt more like I was taking on a larger share of the housework.

We also made our weekly call to Grandma together.
Grandma, who is over ninety, has a clear mind, but
she seems unable to keep up with unexpected topics.
I wasn't sure if she understood the talk about the cataract surgery,
but she seemed well.

The menu for dinner was
tofu miso soup,
a retort-pouch hamburger steak,
and cucumber with sushi vinegar.
The main dish was a retort pouch, but my own condition was low this time too.
I'll do what I can.
The cucumber with sushi vinegar
also served as a snack for Dad and was well-received.
My cooking repertoire is small.
But I seem to be good at
turning the contents of the fridge into something edible.
Usually, if I just season the ingredients or
fry them with salt and pepper, it works out somehow.

We had a great time watching the Kagoshima local broadcast
called "Tege Tege."
Even though nothing dramatic happens,
it's just fun to see places in the prefecture that we know and don't know.
The cast members,
I think, are just as good as those on national broadcasts.
Second day after left eye surgery.


It's hot.
Cleaning the toilet and taking out the trash from the morning.
Accompanying Mom to the hospital again today.
I feel like the nurses and the receptionist
have started looking at me more kindly.
It seems I've been updated from "family member" to "kind daughter."
The post-operative progress is smooth.
Her vision has apparently improved to 1.0.
While eating breakfast and on the way back from the hospital,
Mom said to me, "Hiyo-chan, are you going home tomorrow already?"

I wonder if she's lonely.
I'm lonely too.
Life supporting Mom was surprisingly rewarding.
A color not found in living alone.
Starting tomorrow, it's back to living alone.
Work starts too.
How boring.

I brewed drip coffee today.
Mom seemed to like it, so I recommended it to her.
Mom smiled and said, "It's okay to splurge on coffee, right?"
Mom doesn't spend much money on herself.
The princess strategy seems to have worked.
I'm happy when she takes care of herself too.

I moved Dad's carrots to a sunny windowsill.
I feel like it would be fine to put them in the garden on sunny days.
They are currently hydroponically grown, but
I told him he should plant them in soil once the roots come out.
Next to the carrots,
there was a moss terrarium made in a bug-catching cage.

Shopping at the drugstore with Mom.
Buying ingredients for tonight's dinner and tomorrow's breakfast.
We also bought ice cream.
The cooler bag was small,
and Mom tried her best to stuff it all in.
When we got home and ate it, the cone part was crushed, but
it was delicious.

Mom seems worried that her legs have gotten a bit weaker.
In the morning on the way to the hospital, she said she was "tired,"
and at the drugstore, she said, "It's surprisingly far, isn't it?"
While eating ice cream,
I checked the step count on my smartphone.
I reflected that maybe both Dad and I were being too overprotective.
Well, starting tomorrow, it's life as usual.
Her legs and lower back should recover too.

A nap with Mom.
We just keep taking naps together.
I couldn't sleep because I drank coffee, but
somehow I didn't want this time to end,
so I just lounged around next to Mom.

Tonight's dinner is
potato miso soup,
frozen cheese-filled chicken tender cutlets (pan-fried),
and natto.
On the last day, I ended up cutting corners a bit.
But I was tired and my repertoire had run out.
The satisfaction level was high.
Dad was in a bad mood right after coming home, but
after eating the cheese-filled chicken tender cutlets,
his mood improved a little.
Frozen food is great.

Third day after left eye surgery.
Dad took the day off work, so
I'll leave Mom's hospital visit to him.
In the meantime,
I made pumpkin salad and stir-fried spinach with bacon in advance.
Mom should be able to take it easy for today and tomorrow.
A three-burner stove is convenient.
Where I live next,
I want to live in a house with at least a two-burner stove.

This time too,
I received some pocket money with a thank-you note written on the envelope.
You don't have to do that, but
I was grateful, so I accepted it.
More than the money, the comment on the envelope made me happy.

Dad is driving me home this time too.
We decided to stop by the iris garden we saw on TV.
The road is quite narrow.
When we went inside,
an iris garden using a fallow rice field spread out before us.
Deep purple, pale purple, and white irises
were lined up in rows, and it was beautiful.
When I was walking ahead alone, it got noisy behind me.
Mom is being worried over by a stranger.
It seems Mom got her foot caught in the mud and fell.
The leg she had surgery on before
doesn't seem to have much stability.
I should have been holding her hand.
At home, she was doing laundry and
walking around just fine, so I let my guard down.
Fortunately, there were no injuries.
I thanked the stranger and took Mom back.
Her clothes were dirty with mud, so
we went back to my parents' house for Mom to change.

To a conveyor belt sushi restaurant.
When I asked Mom if her body hurt,
she replied, "It doesn't hurt, but it's a bit..."
It seems she really did hit it quite hard.
Dad was eating a lot of wasabi and pickled ginger today too,
and he was sweating from his head.
Mom and I had peach parfaits for dessert.
Peach gelato, peach jelly, and whipped cream.
The flavor of peach spread throughout my mouth,
and it was very delicious.

Arrived at home.
In my small 1K apartment,
the three of us lay down like puzzle pieces and took a nap.
After that, at a nearby supermarket,
they bought me groceries.
I can't afford beef on my own, so I'm grateful.

When leaving, this time everyone was cheerful,
high-fiving, laughing, and waving goodbye.
After all, the hardest part was
the first half when the surgery was an unknown.
The second half was just an extension of daily life.

However,
even though I'm going back next month, I developed homesickness.
It's quite a severe case.
I want to go back to my parents' house already.
But I know that if I stay any longer,
we'll end up fighting.

Sixth day after left eye surgery.
Today is the end of Mom's daily hospital visits.
When I called Mom, she said things were going well.
The next hospital visit is apparently in a week.
Mom's voice was bright, and I was relieved.
We talked a lot about the Soccer World Cup and other random things.
After the call,
I stir-fried the beef, onions, and green peppers I was bought the other day
and seasoned it with yakiniku sauce.
The two weeks of support after the cataract surgery
ended safely.

Even so,
it was a two-week period where I realized that
my parents' aging is definitely drawing closer.
Until now, I used to go back to my parents' house because of homesickness, but
from now on, the proportion of time I spend checking on my parents
might increase.
I will probably remain un-independent from my parents like this.
I'll likely increase the housework and accompaniment little by little.

These two weeks will surely remain in my memory for a lifetime.