I don't know why, but I'm curious about my ancestors ~ The mysterious journey of ancestral research ①

Thank you for visiting this blog.
I suspect that you, who have found this page, are likely someone interested in history or the roots and origins of your own family line.

When I was young, I was preoccupied with what was right in front of me and my own future. Even when people mentioned ancestors, it felt like something from the distant past, and although I would put my hands together at gravesites or memorial services, I, "Furukotoya," could never really take it to heart. I would like to talk a little about how I came to start this kind of service.

"I collected the family registers and found out my father's roots."

A few years ago—
After we said goodbye to my father, my younger brother, who had been entrusted with all the inheritance procedures, sent me a LINE message saying that everything was finished. I still clearly remember how the final sentence of that message stirred up a feeling akin to impatience, telling me, "Ah, I really have to get around to doing this."

When we were children, for some reason, my father had a habit of occasionally rambling on about the house he was born and raised in, or about what seemed to be family legends. Some of these were so embarrassing that I don't even want to write them here—outlandish stories involving famous historical figures that made me want to retort, "There's no way that's true!" Because I always listened with my head in the clouds, I regret to this day that my siblings and I only remember fragments of what he said.

As time passed, I began to develop a slight interest in my ancestors, and when I finally decided I should ask him about it, my father was already in a hospital bed, suffering from pneumonia and hooked up to a ventilator.

I was barely able to communicate with him through writing, so I tried to fill in the gaps in my memory by exchanging messages on a whiteboard, but the information I could glean from his weak handwriting was limited.

As a result, this was the last opportunity I had to ask my father directly, but now I think that perhaps the stories he had heard from the generation above him were just as fragmented.

I didn't ask my brother at the time how much he had "found out about my father's roots." That was because I intuitively felt that the information from the family registers had, to be precise, only revealed the "entrance to the roots."

I don't know why, but I feel like that entrance is standing wide open, inviting me in...

This is where my mysterious journey of searching for my ancestors began.