The Whereabouts of the Jet Balloon

Seven years ago, my father passed away.

He had collapsed from a cerebral infarction and passed away after a two-year battle with illness. I would like to talk about a miracle that happened during my father's funeral.

First, before I begin this story, there is something important I want you all to know.

My father was a "bad man."

He was sloppy with women and money, and in my eyes, he was a more dramatically bad man and a playboy than any bad man you'd find in a novel or movie. He caused trouble for everyone around him, but he himself seemed to be having a great time.

・ He fathered an illegitimate child the same age as his own grandchild.
・ He tried to set women up with shops despite having no financial means.
・ It almost always failed.
・ He would run away immediately when in trouble. (He was incredibly light on his feet.)

He was an incredibly bad man, but it is also true that he was popular because he was charming, using a mysterious mix of Kansai and Kyushu dialects (he was from Kobe, but had lived in Kyushu for 50 years since his late 20s) and was always cheerful and smiling.

And he was a huge Hanshin Tigers fan.
Every year, he would watch the camp information thoroughly,
saying, "I have a feeling this year's Hanshin will do it. I feel something similar to the year we won the championship in 1985," repeating his inaccurate Hanshin championship predictions,
and he would happily gaze at the autograph of Yoshio Yoshida (the Hanshin manager during the '85 championship) that he displayed in a multinational snack bar he started without his family's knowledge. (He was often scolded by customers who were Giants fans.)

My father, who was like that, passed away, and it was time for the funeral.

Actually, during his illness, I was told several times that "tonight is the critical moment," so I desperately looked for a funeral home each time, and by the time he really passed away, I had found a good one.
They said they would make it more of a "farewell party" than a "funeral."
They decorated the venue with things the deceased liked, played their favorite music, and allowed us to enjoy snacks, drinks, and conversation in a cafe-like atmosphere with the coffin placed there.

Things my father liked.
That was the Hanshin Tigers.
I ran to the venue with all the Hanshin goods I owned. My sister-in-law borrowed an album from a rental shop called "Rokko Oroshi Collection," which contained the Hanshin cheering song "Rokko Oroshi" in various musical styles.

I tried playing the CD.
First, the normal Rokko Oroshi. Next, a heavy metal version of Rokko Oroshi. Next, an enka version. In this way, 10 versions of Rokko Oroshi played. He was in a good mood. Rokko Oroshi at a wake. It was quite rock and roll.

This farewell party was a free-time system where you could "come at any time you like and leave at any time you like until the next morning."
Since we run a business like our family, this free-time style was appreciated, and many people really came to say goodbye until the next morning.
We drank, laughed, and cried.
Hearing the playboy legends of my father that we, his family, didn't know, I was taken aback all over again.
(I knew some of it vaguely, but hearing it again was terrible.)

Late at night, my nephew, who was drunk and crying loudly, said,
"We promised to drink together when I turned 20! Why did you die! Let's drink! Okay, let's drink together now!" and
poured beer on my father in the coffin.
At that time,
I gently consoled my nephew, saying, "You shouldn't do that, but it's good, it's good that you could drink together," and wiped the beer off my father, but the next morning, when we looked at my father in the coffin, everyone was so surprised they almost lost their footing.

He was smiling with his mouth open.
Perhaps his mouth was moistened by the beer. Or maybe the beer was just that delicious.

During his illness, he lived a life where he couldn't eat or drink the things he liked (to prevent aspiration) and couldn't go anywhere. I think it must have been very painful. His first beer in a long time. And being able to drink it with his grandson, he looked truly happy.

Just seeing my father smiling made us, his family, happy, and I think we were in a strange mood from the alcohol and fatigue.
"Shall we release jet balloons at the time of the funeral procession?"The conversation turned to that.
Those are the jet balloons that Hanshin fans are familiar with, which are released in the 7th inning and at the moment of victory.
It was meant as a bit of a joke, but the funeral home staff also joined in on this plan, saying, "It's our first time releasing jet balloons at a funeral procession, so we're looking forward to it. But it's dangerous outside, so please do it indoors."

The time for the funeral procession arrived.
All the relatives surrounded my smiling father, who was surrounded by flowers and Hanshin goods, and we played Rokko Oroshi loudly.

The role of releasing the jet balloon was my son's. (He was the youngest of the grandchildren and was doted on by my father.)
He was gripping the mouth of the balloon with a tense look on his face.
When the Rokko Oroshi entered the interlude,
"Now! Now is the time!" I said,
and when I gave the signal to my son,
the balloon flew up high with a whoosh.
It hit the ceiling with great force, and while deflating, it swayed and fell to the right and left. I think it was an event that lasted about 2 seconds, but the sight of the balloon flying up and falling must have been seen in slow motion by all the relatives.
Everyone opened their mouths and followed the balloon with their eyes.

The balloon fell straight onto my father's crotch in the coffin.

"It's a direct hit," someone said.

My son, who released the jet balloon, was overjoyed when it hit his crotch!
Everyone smiled, cheered with an 'Oh!', and applauded.
At the call of 'The casket is leaving!', my father departed with a smile, the deflated jet balloon still resting on his crotch.

I know there are mixed opinions, but our family was saved by that smile and the jet balloon.
I feel it was the culmination of my father's life as a playboy.

However, as I write this while remembering it now, I realized something.
I really am lonely after all.
Perhaps I had been admiring my father.