New Year's Memories

Perhaps because I visited my uncle, who is nearly 90 and still writes novels, yesterday, memories of my childhood keep coming back to me.
My childhood was during the high-growth era of the Showa period. It was a time when everyone believed that Japan would become an even better place in the future.
It was customary to spend about two nights at my father's parents' house for the New Year, and I looked forward to it more than anything.
Once Christmas was over, I would count down the days until the next joy, the New Year.

The new clothes my mother made for me
New Year's money from my aunts and uncles
Playing with cousins I hadn't seen in a while
The dishes my aunt prepared, served one after another
Clutching my New Year's money and going to the nearby candy store to buy sweets or draw lots
Being taken to the market's 'first sale' held on the night of January 2nd

I remember waiting for all of these things at the end of the year with excitement, sometimes so thrilled that I couldn't fall asleep.
That is how special the New Year was.

Thinking back, the reason we were able to spend those New Years together was that the family relationships were going well, with our grandparents at the center, along with my father's six siblings, their spouses, and their children.

When everyone gathered, there were nearly 30 of us in total.
Eventually, as we, the children's generation, got married and had children of our own, those families also joined in these annual New Year and Obon traditions, further increasing the number of people.
Even so, I was able to spend a wonderful New Year every year.

Now that I am an adult with a family and children of my own, I feel gratitude toward my aunt, who cooked enough food to feed all those people and handled the cleanup as well.
Once I got a little older, I did help with the cleanup, but I suspect my aunt handled almost everything herself, from the shopping to the cooking.
My aunt has already passed away, and I cannot thank her again, but whenever I see her son, my cousin, I always tell him, 'Your mother really took good care of us. It's thanks to her that we were able to have such fun New Years.'

This New Year tradition continued until my grandmother passed away at the age of 96.
And that house, where so many relatives gathered, is no longer there. I visited it the other day out of nostalgia, but it is now a parking lot, and there is no trace of it left. However, standing where the house used to be, I could still see that two-story house, and the sight of my younger self and my cousins running out and dashing toward the candy store a few dozen meters away.

Even though it was nearly 50 years ago, the reason I feel like I can return to those days at any time is because it was so much fun that it became a vivid memory, which perhaps warps the space-time within me.
In those warped memories, I can see my uncle as a young man, whom I met yesterday, and it is truly a blessing to be able to see that he still holds the same unwavering passion for art and continues to burn with life until the very end that will eventually come.

Those memories of the New Year that I loved so much, which can no longer be recreated, are still so vivid that I can recall them in an instant.
I am filled with deep gratitude for all the relatives who allowed me to spend those New Years for decades, and for my parents who gave me such a New Year.

Houses and people will eventually disappear from this world, but thoughts and memories of them remain. And even now, as the New Year approaches, I remember those New Years that gently warm the depths of my heart.