Delivering the Divorce Papers

A memory triggered by feeling a humid, muggy breeze.
...That's a lie.
In truth, I remember it when I feel the warm spring breeze. It was during cherry blossom season, a long time ago, when I first started writing this.

The first day after spring break was a day I absolutely had to go. Was it an orientation or guidance session for my courses?
When I passed through the familiar university gates, something felt different than usual.

Perhaps it was because of 'that thing' in my pocket.

Dragging a large gray suitcase, I had come straight from Narita Airport. I think to myself that I should have just sent the suitcase by courier service, but...
The me from my student days wanted to hand over souvenirs fresh from my trip. When I opened the suitcase, it was packed with a jumble of gifts for my friends.

On my shoulder was a khaki crossbody bag, and in its inner pocket was a brown envelope, and inside that was the folded-up 'thing'.

My mother had always said, 'Until you come of age.' And I would say, 'Isn't it about time?' So, that spring break must have been before I turned twenty, my last spring break as a teenager.

A subtropical country made up of several islands. I had to transfer on the way to the state capital, which was the destination. I can't remember if I arrived in the morning or the evening.
I had traveled abroad before, but it was always with family or for school training; I had never been alone.

A trip completely on my own.
Because I had a purpose that could be called a mission—'I must go!'—I was able to overcome the loneliness of the transfers.

A country so humid it was stifling.
But the nights were pleasant.

There was nothing around, and from the evening on, a leisurely time would flow. The sound of insects, the voices of street vendors selling satay. The barking of dogs.

Now, to the main point.
Momentum is important. If I didn't act while I had that momentum, the flame of my sense of mission might have gone out.

'It's this, I was asked to bring it to you.'

Staring... intently at that paper, my father cried.

I handed over the paper for a moment, and although I don't remember when I got it back, it was tucked securely in the pocket of my bag when I returned home.

The divorce papers he wouldn't sign no matter how much time passed.
I, his daughter, delivered them, showing my mother's seriousness.
That seriousness reached my father, and it returned as a signature.

Finally, my mother could be free.
That mere scrap of paper was treated like a valuable item, just like a passport, carefully, so carefully tucked into the pocket of my bag as I returned home.

When did they get divorced?
I still don't know the exact date.

I'm sure my mother has forgotten, too. Knowing my mother's serious nature, I suspect that she didn't actually submit that paper until after my birthday when I came of age. I, who inherited her seriousness, understand.

There is neither good nor bad in that divorce, really.

My divorced father seemed to keep worrying about my mother. Knowing my father's kind nature, he must have suffered with feelings of regret and shame. I, who also inherited his kindness, understand.

So, what happened to the two of them after that.
"It's a relief not being a married couple anymore," my mother said.
My mother would take her sisters to that humid, subtropical country time and again to play golf and relax.
"I think I might live there in my old age. It really is a relief now that we aren't a married couple anymore," she would say.

It was common at the time for Japanese expatriate families to have a live-in helper to take care of chores like cleaning and cooking, but my father, who was good at cooking, seemed to spend his days happily preparing meals for visitors and the helpers alike, sharing the table with them in a lively atmosphere.
He didn't seem lonely, which was a relief.

When she said she was going to take the dog we kept in Japan over there, I could feel my mother's resolve to "semi-emigrate."
A medium-sized dog and a small dog.
The small dog stayed in Japan with me because it wasn't physically strong enough to handle the pre-departure examinations or the medication to keep it asleep during the flight.

I was truly relieved at that time.
Because I was lonely, too.

The medium-sized dog spent the rest of its life with my father (they were mutually devoted and loved each other very much), living freely in a lush, beautifully maintained green lawn garden that would be unthinkable at our home in Japan. And the dog's presence became the number one reason for my mother to visit that country.
It wasn't for the golf, the relaxing time, or the ex-husband who said he felt relieved because they weren't a married couple anymore; it was the number one reason.

After that, the medium-sized dog spent many years with my father, wagging its tail and licking my mother during her frequent visits, until the old dog finally closed the curtain on its life.

The small dog that remained in Japan became a major reason for my mother to stop her emigration, and it spent the final chapter of its life with my mother and me.
Sometimes, when my mother was packing her suitcase, it would look restless. I wonder if it knew she was going to see its partner, the medium-sized dog. I wonder if it missed it.

Those divorce papers changed my mother's life significantly.
They changed my father's life, too, and the lives of the two dogs he loved so much. And my life, a little bit as well.

But no one was sad.
...That's a lie.
I was sad. But it was necessary.
And that was fine.

When I feel the warm spring breeze, I remember that day.
And when I feel the humid night air, I remember that paper.

The khaki crossbody bag, the brown envelope in the inner pocket, and "that thing" folded inside changed the lives of everyone in our family.

I have traveled abroad alone several times since then. But that level of sense of mission was only that one time.

After finishing the course orientation, I wandered around a famous cherry blossom spot near the university.
Dragging my suitcase along, I praised myself, saying "well done," and braced myself, thinking, "one more job to go."

To deliver the divorce papers to my mother.

I started writing this piece in the spring.
I had left it alone for a long time due to my busy daily life. But since today is Father's Day, I'm writing about events related to my father.