🕊️ Memories of My Father and the Time That Cannot Be Regained

—On an autumn night when I couldn't stop the tears—

After my father moved into a care facility, I went alone to clear out his apartment.
Even though he was blind, he remembered everything, right down to the contents of his drawers.

His voice as he gave directions to the taxi driver was clear and steady,
and I couldn't help but whisper, "That's amazing."
The memories from when he could still see
remained vivid within him.

His memory was incredible for an 82-year-old.
Whether we were playing cards or doing math,
my father always won when we played as a family.

I can still see that face of his,
smiling happily as he watched us get frustrated.
—
I had heard that there was a bag in the back of the closet

containing important documents.

Inside, contract-related papers and valuables were neatly arranged.
Both of my parents were meticulous,
and I was once again impressed by that thoroughness.
Among them was a notebook.
The moment I picked it up and opened it,

I collapsed and wept.

—
In it,

the life my father lived after divorcing my mother was written down.

He had remarried three times.
His partners were women around my age,
and each of them had children.
When we learned that fact,
our family was deeply hurt,

and eventually, we cut ties with him.
Yet, in the end, my father returned from Aomori to Chiba.
I didn't know the reason why he returned back then.

—
In his diary,

there was a sentence that read, "With nowhere to go, I drank many cups of coffee at a family restaurant and stayed the night."

It was snowing outside.
The moment I saw the words, "I've been struggling like this for a long time,"
my heart felt like it was breaking.
—
At that time, I was living with my second husband's parents.
Even when my father reached out to me,
I told him, "I can't right now."

For a while after that day, I would watch the news every morning,

checking to see if my father's name appeared.
I spent sleepless nights worrying
that he might have been involved in an incident or accident.

—
Then I found another document.
It was an application for municipal housing.
On it—

were the names of me and my children.

When I fled my home to escape domestic violence, almost like running away in the night,
when I had lost my place to go,

it was my father who suggested, "Let's live together."
In the end, I didn't accept that offer

and chose a different path.
But now I think.
If I had lived with my father back then,
perhaps things would have been a little different for me, my children,
and my father's remaining years.

—
Back then,
I could neither blame my father nor forgive him.
But now I think,

"My father and I, we were all doing our best."

In the midst of a life where I suffered domestic violence,
these memories sometimes suddenly resurface.
Today, for some reason, I remembered this,
and I couldn't stop the tears on the train.

But those tears were no longer just of "sadness,"
they were tears of "forgiveness" and "affection."
—
Every time I trace my father's memories,

I remember that deep within that pain,
there was certainly "love."

I feel that it is slowly,

gently unraveling me.
—
📌 Please DM me on Instagram for individual consultations 💌

→ @seina.lifedesign
✨ I also share daily realizations and thoughts on Threads

→ @seina.lifedesign

#MemoriesWithFather #HealingTheHeart #LifeLessons #SoulRecords #HealingThePast
#FamilyShapes #LoveAndForgiveness #JourneyOfTheHeart #StoryOfRebirth