Grandma Forgets Me

When I was little, I didn't really like my grandma very much.

Grandma was the kind of person who seemed to live life at full throttle. She couldn't just sit around and relax; she would bustle back and forth inside that small, old, corrugated-roof house until it was time to sleep.
Since she was my paternal grandmother and lived in Nagoya, we three siblings called her "Nagoya Grandma" among ourselves.

There are many legends about Grandma passed down in our family.

Like how she once packed so much white rice into a homemade bento box for my father that it became rock-hard, and the plastic chopsticks broke repeatedly because it was so dense.
Or the story of how she would get indignant every time she saw how crowded the Meitetsu line was, shouting, "Don't people in Nagoya know any train etiquette!?" and would always get off the train with her arms crossed to push against the wave of Nagoya locals rushing in the moment the doors opened.

To my younger self, she was just a bit too intense.

I was a very quiet child.
When I went to a place I didn't know, I couldn't leave my father or mom's side until I got used to it. But my mom (my biological mother) was the type to leave me behind and bustle around quite busily, whether we were at her parents' home in Nagasaki or my father's parents' home in Nagoya, so I was basically always on my father's lap.
For me, Grandma's powerful energy was always a bit too much, and I felt it was a bit of a burden.

Grandma's loud voice echoed everywhere, all the time. Her mouth never stopped moving until the very moment she fell asleep.
My father, her son, would just sit there with me on his lap, replying with a laid-back "Uh-huh," "That's right," or "I'm getting there."
In the meantime, Grandma would drag my mom into the kitchen to prepare a feast for her son and grandchildren, filleting fish, cooking, and heating up the bath.

"Mother-in-law, that's not right!"
"You don't need that much, no way, no way!"

My mom would always talk to Grandma like they were real mother and daughter, laughing until she cried and saying, "Oh, you're too much."
At the time, they talked so naturally that I didn't really understand which one of them was actually Grandma's child. As a young girl who didn't even understand how the human body worked, I genuinely thought for a while that "Nagoya Grandma" was the mother of both my father and my mother.

Returning every summer vacation to that small, old house where Grandma, the quiet and kind Grandpa, and my aunt lived was something our family looked forward to.
But whenever Grandma's attention turned to me, the "pressure" was just too much, and I could never bring myself to get off my father's lap.

---However.
When I became a first-year high school student, I changed.
I had my "high school debut."

I shaved my eyebrows—or rather, they were gone—spiked my hair, added red highlights, and always had color on my nails. I just wanted to dress in a flashy way that no one else did, so I would read my favorite magazine, "Zipper," and deck myself out in unique fashion, mixing patterns with patterns.

My father would look at his daughter, who was becoming increasingly flashy, and say, "You have no eyebrows!" or "Hey, those nails! Aren't they pitch black? Are you dead inside?" and look a little sad.

However, there was someone who was happier about that change than anyone else.
It was Nagoya Grandma.

"Oh my! Shiimo-chan! You've become such a beauty!"
"You're so good at makeup! Grandma has pretty nice skin too, you know? Why don't you do my makeup sometime?"

Every time she looked at my face, she started saying things like that. Having expanded my social circle in the badminton club during junior high and high school, I had also come to understand the "interesting woman" side of Grandma.

"You know, you were just so plain from the moment you were born. Really. I was so worried about what to do with you! Oh, but I'm so glad now!"

Saying unnecessary things is exactly why Grandma is an "interesting woman."
"What, you were that worried? And you don't have to say that, you know."
I had become the kind of woman who could laugh off Grandma's remarks.

I finally realized that life gets interesting once you get a taste of Nagoya Grandma.

It was back then, when I was a first-year high school student, shortly after my high school debut.
The Expo 2005 Aichi was being held in Aichi Prefecture.
It was in 2005.
My father had somehow managed to get tickets.
Knowing my serious father, it certainly wasn't anything illicit.

"Shiimo! Let's go to the Expo! Together with Grandma from Nagoya!"

I headed to the site of the Expo with my second older brother and my father. I don't remember if it was because of the number of tickets, but my mom and oldest brother stayed home, making us an unusual group of four: my father, my second older brother, me, and Grandma.

"Shiimo-chan. You look so cute. That hat is lovely, too. Your hair is jet black, and there's just a little bit of red here—that's wonderful, too."

Grandma was praising every single part of me, now that I had made my high school debut.

"Oh my. Really. You used to be so plain, didn't you? Your eyebrows were so thick, too. You were so frumpy. Now you're truly beautiful. Wonderful! You've even groomed your eyebrows. That's just right, yes."

Grandma never forgot to add an unnecessary comment, anytime, anywhere.

To be honest, I don't really remember which pavilions we went to or what we saw at the Expo.

What I do remember is eating Turkish ice cream for the first time.

I remember Grandma staring intently at the Turkish ice cream performance, where the vendor keeps the ice cream stuck to the scoop and won't hand it over, and saying, "My goodness, that's clever! How do they do that?!" with great admiration.

When we were climbing a long staircase.
"Shiimo-chaan, wait for me!"
Saying that, Grandma, who had nimbly run up the stairs, grabbed my arm.

"Oh, you're so cute. Grandma is so happy to be here with you!"

Grandma clung to my arm and laughed, saying that over and over.

"I love you too, Grandma. I'm glad I came."
I said.

Of course, I had always loved Grandma before that, too.
But from that day on, from the moment I felt the strength of the arm she had linked with mine.

I truly came to love Grandma as a "person."

We looked at each other and walked side by side, sticking close together.
Seeing the two of us like that, my father smiled gently.

That was the last time I went to Nagoya with my father.

The following year.

My father passed away.

In a faraway land.
The feelings of a grandmother who lost her son without even knowing it.
I cannot even imagine.

When my father died, as soon as we contacted her, Grandma and Grandpa flew from Nagoya to my house at the edge of Kanagawa. Upon arriving, she immediately gave my mother a strong hug.
My mother was crying.
............I wonder if Grandma was crying.
I don't know.

Grandma.
What did you say to my mother back then?

Having lost your son, you must have been so incredibly sad that you would have cried and cried until your tears ran dry.

Why was Grandma so strong back then?

A few years after my father passed away.
Grandpa collapsed at home.
It was a cerebral infarction.

Grandpa was hospitalized with hemiplegia.
He became almost completely bedridden.

For the sake of my weakening grandfather, Grandma visited the hospital almost every day, and I heard she would talk to him cheerfully, just as she always did.

And, even though he was bedridden, she once gave him a monaka wafer on her own, nearly killing Grandpa by choking.

Grandma apparently felt indignant when the nurse scolded her, saying, 'I gave it to him because I love him and thought it would make him feel better.' My aunt, who had to go to the hospital repeatedly to apologize for Grandma's actions, seemed incredibly exhausted. I felt guilty that I was living far away.

Even so.
The care provided by my aunt, who did her best despite being busy, and the presence of my cousin, her daughter.
And the progress of modern medicine, along with the daily dedication of the medical staff.
And, thanks in part to Grandma no longer giving him monaka wafers on her own, Grandpa's condition gradually improved.
A few years later, he was even able to attend my wedding in a wheelchair.

On the day of the wedding, Grandma pushed Grandpa's wheelchair and said,
'Look, Grandpa. Shiimo is so beautiful, isn't she?'
Grandpa was smiling broadly. As I gazed at that smile, which looked just like my father's, my heart overflowed with happiness.

After that, Grandpa moved to a nursing facility after being cared for at home.
Around the time Grandpa moved to the facility, I gave birth to twins, my third delivery.
Then, I took my mother, my eldest brother's family, my second brother, my husband, and my four children to visit Grandpa. It was also a year late for my father's thirteenth memorial service.
It was in the autumn of 2019.

'Grandpa! It's Shiimo! Everyone has come to see you!'

Grandma, who had come to the facility with us, shouted into Grandpa's ear to explain. I worried that it might be too much of a shock, but Grandpa moved his stiff facial muscles, nodded, and smiled.
He was crying quietly, so quietly.
I wiped away his tears with the palm of my second daughter's hand, whom I was holding.

I stared intently, burning the image of Grandpa into my eyes.

During that time, Grandma whispered to me many times, 'I'm going over there soon, too.'
'Shiimo-chan, I'm sure you'll take a great photo. Take my funeral portrait! Okay!?'
She said that to me at Grandpa's facility, as if whispering in my ear.
'Shiimo-chan, take my funeral portrait! And then, send it to [Aunt's Name]! Okay!' she repeated.

I tried to brush it off, thinking it was too soon to talk about funeral portraits after seeing Grandpa, but she eventually dragged me into the restroom.
'The wall here is beautiful! Okay, Shiimo-chan, take it!'
She struck a cute pose, so I had no choice but to take a funeral portrait (candidate) in the nursing facility restroom.

I looked at the funeral portrait remaining in my camera roll. Grandma has excellent posture and is a beautiful person. She keeps herself so well that others wouldn't believe she's in her 80s. And I've heard she has endured great hardships since she was young.

Let's take a funeral portrait. In front of a beautiful wall.

When I realize I've reached the age where that time is coming. I wonder if I could say something like that.
At the very least, I wouldn't be able to say, 'Let's take it in the restroom.'

"My, what a truly handsome man. My husband. Young men really are wonderful, aren't they?"

Watching her back as she walked with a skip in her step, arm linked with my husband, who had stopped her after she came out of the restroom and took the wrong turn in the opposite direction.
That is what I thought.

---Not long after that.
COVID spread, and we couldn't see Grandpa anymore.
When we were finally able to see him again.
Grandpa was lying in his coffin as if asleep.
He had a very calm and gentle expression.

The night before Grandpa's funeral.
It was a small funeral for relatives only. After the wake, we spent the final night with Grandpa, who was sleeping in the facility attached to the funeral hall.
In the middle of the night, my aunt suddenly woke us up.

"Grandma is gone. She might have escaped."

We jumped up. I had heard that since Grandpa became bedridden, Grandma would often wander off on her own, get lost, and have to be helped by the police. That's why we had made sure someone was always by her side that day.
Yet, without a sound, Grandma had disappeared from the room where we were all sleeping. Fearing the worst, we panicked.

"Huh...?"

Suddenly, while everyone was scrambling to get ready to go outside and search, I caught a glimpse of a familiar figure in the corner of my eye.
I quietly followed the shadow.

In the back of the funeral hall, in a small waiting room-like area lined with cushions and chairs, Grandma was pacing around looking uncomfortable.

"Oh... Grandma..."

I let out a sigh of relief, my voice losing its tension.

"Geez. Why are you here?"

As I said that and took a step closer, Grandma noticed me.

“Oh. Hello there……”

Grandma said.
……She started to say that, then stared intently at my face and froze.
On her face was that friendly, approachable, “public-facing” smile she used to greet everyone.

“……Shii-mo-chan! Oh my, Grandma here, I needed to use the restroom. Where is it? What is this place, I wonder?”

Grandma began to speak briskly, as if she had suddenly remembered who I was. I think that freeze lasted only about two seconds.
But I.

“……No…… haha, isn’t this… a storage room? The restroom is this way.”

───I.
Unable to escape the shock of being looked at by my beloved grandma as if I were a stranger.
Like leading a small child by the hand, I brought her back to everyone else.

No.
It’s no good, Grandma.

Just like that day at the Expo.
You have to hold onto my arm properly, or it won’t do.
That’s why you always wander off somewhere, Grandma.
Not yet. It’s too early for you to forget.
Too early.

The day of the funeral was very sunny.
My cousin, who had lived with them for a long time, read a final letter to Grandpa. My husband took our twins, who were crying from the unfamiliar atmosphere, outside.

During the long, long sutra chanting.
As if to say, "Why am I here?"
I was worried the whole time about Grandma, who would occasionally stare off into the distance.
Even so, the funeral proceeded solemnly without her trying to escape.

Just before the coffin was taken out, we packed many memories into Grandpa's coffin along with colorful flowers. I gently placed the photos I had printed at home and the letter I had written near Grandpa's hands, so he could see them as soon as he arrived on the other side.
My daughter and nephews put in many origami figures we had folded together the night before.

"Grandma, here. ...This is the last time."

Urged on by my aunt, Grandma picked up the largest bouquet. Holding the beautiful white lilies to her chest, she quietly moved to the head of Grandpa's coffin.

The meaning of those flowers.
The meaning of "this is the last time."
Does Grandma understand?
I wondered as I watched over Grandma and Grandpa's final moment together.

"Grandpa!"

As Grandma placed the flowers in the coffin,
she called out in a loud voice right by Grandpa's peaceful ear.

"Grandpa! Thank you so much. I... I was so very happy!"

Saying that,
Grandma touched Grandpa's head and smiled.

My tears wouldn't stop flowing.
Everyone there was crying.
Only Grandma.
She looked straight at the person she loved and smiled.

Sad and lonely.
But leaving behind that warm afterglow,
the black car carrying Grandpa drove smoothly away under the sunny sky.

After Grandpa passed away, Grandma's dementia progressed rapidly.
And then.
Because the burden on my aunt and cousin had become too great, Grandma finally moved into a nursing home.

I heard that when she first moved in, she would make a fuss about wanting to go home or try to leave on her own.
But now, they say Grandma is as calm as a completely different person.
It seems she often struggles to recognize my aunt, her own daughter, and sometimes mistakes my cousin for my aunt.
However, my aunt, who had suffered for so long caring for her parents, felt relieved.
She was happy that she could now spend time massaging Grandma's feet while Grandma bowed and thanked her.
She says she wants to cherish that quiet, lonely, yet gentle time until the very end.

Grandma is still at the nursing home in Nagoya.
I haven't been able to see her since she moved in.
Partly because I gave birth to my third son, and later because my eldest daughter stopped going to school, making it difficult for me to travel far.

But in truth, perhaps I am just...

Perhaps I am just afraid that my beloved Grandma will look at me with that same expression she gives a stranger.

"I want to see Grandma."

A few years later, when my aunt and cousin came to stay at our house, I said to my aunt:

"But, you know, she probably won't even recognize me if I go to see her now."

I said it as if to make an excuse. I knew it was foolish to look for reasons not to go visit her.
I think my aunt realized how I was feeling.
As she listened to me, nodding along, she said:

"She forgets a lot of things. Sometimes she looks at me like she doesn't know who I am, too. But apparently, she tells the people around her, 'I have a wonderful grandchild I'm proud of.' And, 'I have such lovely grandchildren.' So, she hasn't forgotten her grandchildren, you know. She really hasn't."

───Hearing that, I replied,
"I see. ...Is that so..."
That is what I said.

"Then, I should go see her while I can. While she can still talk."
"Yes. You should do that for her."

My aunt said.
My cousin was sitting with my third son on her lap, smiling brightly.
My cousin, a high school student much younger than me, looked just like my aunt did when she was young.

Hey.
Grandma.
In the end, I'm sorry I still can't go to see you.

Hey. Do you still remember?

The frumpy, plain me who couldn't get off my father's lap.
The me who had a high school makeover and was suddenly promoted to 'cute granddaughter'.
The me who walked around the vast venue of Expo 2005 with you, Grandma.

My husband, whom you said was a 'good man'.
My eldest brother, whom you always told, 'You look just like your father'.
My second brother, whom you worried about, saying, 'He has such a handsome face, though'.
My mother, with whom you had a mother-in-law/daughter-in-law relationship that was like mother and daughter, like friends.

Filled with plenty of food and love.
Your son, whom you raised to be so big.

---You might not remember, might you.

But I remember.

The back of Grandma, who would immediately talk to strangers and get scolded by the family.
Grandma's huge, coarse toothbrush, which she used to brush her teeth with salt, saying, 'This works the best'.
The cool way Grandma got off her bicycle when she came to pick me up on the day I wandered too far on a walk and got lost.

'Shiimo-chan!'

The thin, strong hand that grabbed my arm on those long, long stairs at Expo 2005.

Grandma. It's so frustrating.

It's unfair that I'm the only one who remembers. It's really lonely, you know.
I'm frustrated, wondering why you have to forget.

But, Grandma.
It's okay if you forget now.
In return, I will never, ever forget you.

The way you lived your life.
The way you looked at things.
Your boisterous spirit.

I'll keep it all together,
and remember how much I love you.