Organizing Life: The Place for the Heart My Uncle, Who Was Called 'Teacher,' Taught Me.

The other day, we had a memorial service, and the conversation turned to my uncle.

When he was young, my uncle used to drive everywhere he went.

After he got older and surrendered his driver's license, he lived in a place far from shops like supermarkets, so he apparently stayed home all the time, thinking it wasn't worth the trouble of taking a bus just to go out.

His wife, my aunt, had spent many years running around caring for family members, diligently handling tasks like assisting with the toilet.

Devoting her strength to others was her daily life and her role. However, after that family member passed away, perhaps the thread that had been stretched taut finally snapped, as she began to show rapid symptoms of dementia and started living in a care facility.

Her dementia progressed gradually, and now she no longer recognizes even her own children.

Not long after entering the facility, she reportedly became unable to walk almost entirely.

After his wife was diagnosed with dementia and moved to the facility, my uncle became increasingly lethargic and prone to withdrawing, eventually leading to a diagnosis of depression.

He was diagnosed as being unable to continue living alone at home, so he began living in a facility.

It is said that after entering the facility, my uncle regained his motivation.

My uncle, who was originally a school teacher, began teaching Japanese to the foreign staff working at the facility.

Being called 'Teacher' by those around him and being relied upon apparently helped him regain his former liveliness.

The day after I heard that story, I was installing a ventilation fan at my parents' house.

From the television that was on in the background,

"A decline in motivation is the beginning of brain deterioration."

Words with a nuance like that suddenly flew into my ears.

Triggered by those words, the faces of my family members came to mind one after another.

My mother, who regained her expression after putting on lipstick and going to the department store.

My mother-in-law, for whom opportunities to "choose" decreased, making it harder to see her as lively as she once was.

My father, who began to mutter, "I'm no good anymore."

My aunt, whose body weakened in the facility and whose dementia became noticeably more advanced.

And my uncle, who regained his smile after finding a role as a "teacher" once again at the facility.

They each walked different paths.

But it seemed to me that there was one thing they all had in common.

Perhaps people feel motivated when they can feel a place where their heart belongs.

For my mother, it was the time spent putting on lipstick and grooming herself.

For my mother-in-law, it was the time spent choosing fish herself and thinking about the menu.

For my father, it was the time spent standing in the kitchen and cooking for the family.

For my aunt, it was the time she spent doing her best for someone else.

For my uncle, it was the time he was called "teacher" and could be useful to someone.

Even though the forms were different, there was a place for each of them where they could feel, "It's okay for me to be here."

A place for the heart might be something that is nurtured while organizing, choosing, and valuing the feeling that "I can still do this," all while connecting with others.

To live each day vibrantly and extend my healthy life expectancy, I want to live while cherishing my own 'place for the heart'.

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

I hope that today's article
will gently accompany your daily life
and become a drop of 'puchifuku' (a little bit of happiness).

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