Organizing Life: Finding a Place for the Heart in 'Still Capable'

My mother regained her motivation through the act of putting on makeup.

As my mother-in-law had fewer opportunities to make choices, the vibrant person she once was began to fade from view little by little.

She used to have an exceptional eye for selecting fish and meat.

The proud look on her face when she would say, "I'll choose this today," and find the freshest ingredients faster than anyone else.

I believe that for my mother-in-law, choosing was an important ritual of managing her own life.

Of course, when considering safety and daily routines, there are times when it becomes difficult due to the circumstances.

Even so, I feel that the very act of "choosing" is what supports a person's motivation.

Watching the two of them, I suddenly remembered my father.

My father was a man who loved to cook.

When my father stood in the kitchen, the pleasant sound of a knife hitting a cutting board always echoed through the house, and the air was filled with appetizing aromas.

Even now, I fondly remember the fried rice and okonomiyaki my father used to make.

I wanted to make things easier for my father, even if just a little.

"I'll cook today."

"You should rest, Dad."

At the time, I believed that was being a dutiful child.

But looking back now, I may have gradually taken away my father's opportunities to cook.

Both before and after developing dementia, people maintain their sense of self by continuing to do what they 'can do'.

I think that for my father, cooking was not just a household chore, but his 'role'.

From a certain point on, my father began to say things like this.

What he could do yesterday, he could not do today.

He expressed that frustration and sense of helplessness many times.

I accepted those words by telling myself, 'It's because of his dementia.'

Thinking back now, he might have still been at the stage of 'mild cognitive impairment'.

But at the time, I just dismissed it with those words.

Thinking back now, perhaps my father felt he was losing not only his abilities but also his place in the world.

My mother regaining her smile through makeup.

My mother-in-law losing the opportunity to choose and appearing listless.

And my father muttering, 'I'm no good anymore.'

Reflecting on the three of them, I realized one thing.

Motivation is not just the feeling of wanting to do your best.

It might be something that is born from a place where the heart feels it belongs, where one can think, 'It is okay for me to be here.'

That is why what is important in caregiving is not doing everything for someone else, but
preserving what that person 'can still do.'

I now believe that those small, accumulated efforts are what lead to protecting a person's place of belonging.

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The story of when my mother regained her smile through makeup

What my mother-in-law, who had an exceptional eye for quality, taught me

This place is
a small margin for gradually organizing your heart and your life.

I hope today's article
becomes a drop of 'petit-fuku' (small happiness)
that gently accompanies your daily life.

May you spend your time in a way that is true to yourself.