Canon's Diary

On the morning of May 11th, after finishing breakfast, I did some laundry under the clear skies. While I was at it, the floor mat I had ordered arrived. With all the furniture finally in place, the floor mat was the last piece. So, I moved the TV stand, the table, and the cupboard out of the room to lay it down. The bed, however, was far too heavy to move alone, and getting the mat under it was a real struggle. The early summer warmth quickly soaked my T-shirt in sweat. After much effort, I finally managed to slide the mat under the bed and started the next task.

Just then, my phone rang. It was my mother.
“The hospital just called,” she said calmly. “Your father doesn’t seem well. He’s not responding to voices. They said it would be best if the family gathered—can you come to Tokyo now?”
My mind froze for a moment, then shifted abruptly.
“Of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I replied, then hung up.

I hurriedly brought the laundry inside, changed out of my sweaty T-shirt, threw on a jacket, and left the apartment with the furniture still scattered about. I tried to stay calm, but it wasn’t easy. Little things—like a slow walker ahead of me, or the loud clang of a train crossing—set my nerves on edge. I boarded the Nozomi 94 from Kyoto at 13:45. It was scheduled to arrive in Shin-Yokohama at 15:37, so I expected to reach Machida Municipal Hospital around 16:30. I sent a message via LINE to my family, letting them know my ETA, but there was no “read” mark. They were likely too preoccupied to check their phones.

Around the time the Shinkansen approached Hamamatsu, a LINE message came from my wife.
Sadly, she wrote, my father was already in cardiopulmonary arrest by the time she and my mother arrived at the hospital.
The doctors would wait until my sister arrived before giving the official explanation and death certificate.
But because rigor mortis would begin soon, they wouldn’t be able to wait for me.

The roaring sound of the Shinkansen filled the car. Office workers typing on laptops, couples enjoying bento and beer, a young man quietly listening to music with eyes closed, a woman watching streaming videos on her phone—the cabin looked just like any ordinary day.
I didn’t know what kind of expression I should wear. I put on my mask, lowered my head, and let my bangs fall over my face.

From Machida, I took a taxi to the hospital and finally saw my father in the mortuary.
He looked peaceful, as if smiling in his sleep.
A wave of emotion surged through me—powerful and unstoppable.