My mother bought salmon again.

Our family lives together across three generations.

My parents and I, and then my high school son and daughter. When five people live together, everyone has different schedules and different things they want to eat.

In our home, something happens from time to time.

When my mother returns from shopping, she says,
“You liked this, didn't you?”
and buys us snacks. I suppose when she finds things the children seem to like, she just can't help but reach for them.

Sometimes she buys salmon, which my daughter likes. And when she hears her grandchild say,
“This was delicious,”
my mother looks very happy.

So far, so good. The problem is what happens next.

The next time she goes shopping, she buys a huge amount of the same thing.

“Mom, you bought this much?”

I can't help but laugh. But from my mother's perspective, I think it's probably a very simple matter.

Her grandchild was happy. They said it was delicious. So, she wants to buy it for them again. That is all.

Watching my mother like that, I thought of something. No matter how old people get,

the desire to do something for someone they care about

might never change.

As we age, we gradually find ourselves on the receiving end more often.

Before I knew it, I had also started viewing my mother that way more and more.

Accompanying her to the hospital. Helping with shopping. Cooking. Worrying about whether she needs anything.

I thought I had become the one
“looking after”
my mother. But watching my mother buy salmon for her grandchild makes me realize that is not the case.

My mother is still someone who wants to do things for others.

She remembers what her grandchild likes, and when she finds it at the supermarket, she buys it.

And when she is told,
“It was delicious,”
she buys it again.

Even if it's a bit too much.
Watching her do that,
I somehow feel it's just like her.

And recently,
I've found myself overlapping with that image of my mother.

In my work, I provide home-visit rehabilitation.
When I do stretches and such during rehab,
the clients sometimes tell me,
"That feels good."

When I receive words like that,
I try to do the same thing again
the next time I visit.

Then,
"Oh, you remembered?"
they say,
and sometimes they show me a smile.

I really love this moment.
Of course, it makes me happy to have my skills praised.

But,
"You're good at this,"
rather than being told that,

"You remembered?"

when I am told that,
it makes me dozens of times happier.

I wonder why.
I had never thought about it deeply until now.

But,
watching my mother buy salmon for her grandchildren,
I felt like I understood a little.

My mother,
it might not just be that she "wants to buy them salmon."

She remembers that her grandchildren were happy.
And,
she wants to see them happy again.

I might be the same.
"That stretch felt good."
I remember those words.

So,
I think I'll try doing it again when I see them next.

And,
if they smile and say, "You remembered?"
I feel happy too.

There is no
amazing technique,
or anything special there.

Just,
I remember that you were happy.
There is just that feeling.

Come to think of it,
my mother never
"do this"
taught me that.

Remember what made your loved ones happy.
Do things that will make them happy again.
I have no memory of being told things like that.

But I am
doing the same thing.

Perhaps,
it wasn't that I was taught in words,
but that I had been watching my mother's back all along.

When I was a child,
my mother was always busy doing things for our family.

Back then,
I took it for granted.
But now,
as my mother has aged,
as I have become a parent myself,
and as I have come to interact with many people through my work,
there are things I finally understand.

What we inherit from our parents
might not just be our faces, voices,
or personalities.

Remembering what someone liked.
Remembering what made them happy.

And,
the thought of
“I want to make them happy again.”

Perhaps we inherit such invisible things
without even realizing it.

From my mother to me.
From me to my children.
And sometimes,
from me to someone I met through work.

In that way,
the feeling of caring for someone
might be passed from person to person.

I am sure that my mother
is not thinking about all that when she buys salmon.

On her next shopping trip,
she might buy it again.

And what's more,
she'll probably buy a little too much again (laughs).

At that time, I will surely
say,
“You bought so much again.”

But my eyes,
when looking at my mother, seem to have changed just a little.

Because beyond that salmon,

“They were happy, so I want to do it again.”

I feel like I can hear my mother's voice,
if only just a little.

And that voice,
before I knew it, was inside me too.

Remembering that someone was happy.
And,
wanting to see that smile again.

Perhaps I inherited even those feelings
from my mother's back.

From now on, I would like to continue listening to the "unseen voices" in our daily lives and
put each one of them into words.