雪の日に、人と時間が重なった (英語版) When Snow Carries Time and Memory

Yesterday, I was invited by a senior acupuncturist whom I deeply respect.
When she learned that I would soon be leaving Shizuoka for Matsuyama, she said,
“Since we’re both still in Shizuoka City, let’s meet once before you go.”

I arrived at her clinic around two in the afternoon, riding my bicycle.
From the moment we began talking, time seemed to soften.

She told me about her life—
graduating from high school, working for ten years to save money,
then attending a school in Atami while working in the mornings,
earning her licenses as an acupuncturist and massage therapist,
and opening her own practice at home.
She has been in this profession for nearly thirty years.

There must have been hardships, yet she spoke with brightness and calm strength.
“I never really wanted to get married,” she said with a smile,
“so I’ve lived my life this way.”

She now lives with her ninety-year-old mother.
That morning, her mother had gone out with a walker to get her hair cut.
At ninety, she still cared about looking beautiful.
I couldn’t help comparing her to my own mother, who lives in a care facility.

Our conversation flowed easily.
I learned so much, and my heart felt unexpectedly light.

When I said it might be time for me to leave,
she returned from the restroom, looked outside, and said,
“Ms. Ishikawa—snow. It’s snowing.”

It was coming down heavily.

Snow had already settled on my bicycle and even on my raincoat.
She asked if I would be all right.
I smiled and said I would be careful.

February 9th is the day I once had a car accident in the snow in Hakone.
So on February 8th, I promised myself I would be extra cautious.

That memory came back clearly.

Years ago, exhausted and overwhelmed by work,
I had driven to Hakone almost as if I were running away.
Shizuoka rarely sees snow, so I bought tire chains and learned how to use them.
I thought I was prepared.

But near Otome Pass, two cars pressured me from behind.
When I pulled over slightly to let them pass,
my car slid sideways and hit a snowbank near the guardrail.

I survived. No one was hurt.
But since that day, I have been afraid of cars—
especially tunnels.

When I retired, I sold my car and returned to a life on a bicycle.

Long before that accident,
when my son was ten and my daughter was seven,
there was another winter when snow fell heavily in Shizuoka.

That day, my children made a snowman for the first time at home.
The photograph still exists.

It was 1999, Heisei 11.

Now my son lives permanently in New Zealand with his wife and three children.
My daughter lives in Hiroshima, married, living her own life.
Time has moved on quietly and quickly.

On television, the Olympics fill the screen with snow.
I wonder what snow brings back for other people.

For me, it brings back my children’s smiles,
the snowman we made in Shizuoka,
and the warmth of a life that once felt crowded and busy.

And yesterday—
the snow that fell on the day I said goodbye to Shizuoka.

Snow carries time.
Snow carries memory.
And sometimes, it marks a gentle farewell.

#SnowAndMemory
#LifeMoments
#QuietReflections
#Shizuoka
#LettingGo
#TimePasses
#FamilyMemories
#LifeTransitions
#PersonalEssay