Canon's Diary

Saturday, June 21. I arrived at my parents’ house in Tokyo around 10 p.m. last night. My mother was still awake and greeted me with a loud “Welcome home!” I replied softly with just a quiet “Yeah.”
When I entered the room, my father’s guitar and the electric fan welcomed me. There were signs the futon had been aired out, and the air conditioner was on. My wife was already asleep, and I was sure she had taken care of all that.

I was tired and fell asleep almost immediately.
In the morning, I brushed my teeth, had some toast and coffee, and took a hot bath to wash away the fatigue.

I had planned to pick up my medication from the mental health clinic today, but only realized it was a holiday this morning.
Well, I still have enough medicine to last another week, so it’s not a big deal.
The sky is clear outside, and I’ve returned to this town of steel towers and sloping hills.

I began preparing documents related to inheritance and name changes. I already knew how many copies I needed, but there were new forms like the inheritance division agreement that required more work than expected.
When something like the property registration number or the official family registry address wasn’t clear, it became a bottleneck, halting progress.
My younger sister had also come to Naruse, and we worked together to move things along.

Before we knew it, it was lunchtime, so I made soba noodles. There was some pork and cabbage left in the fridge, so I made our usual soba with them. I topped it off with white leek I had brought back from Osaka.

My wife had mentioned she was going for a medical checkup today. Apparently, she was having both an upper and lower endoscopy.
She seemed a bit unwell. I suspect the stress of taking care of my mother while I was away may have taken a toll on her.
She responded cheerfully whenever I spoke to her, but I still felt a little concerned.
My sister and I worked together to complete as much as we could and then took a break.
She had another engagement in the evening, so she left a bit hurriedly around 3 p.m.
I went back upstairs, leaned against the wall on the bed, stretched my legs out, and relaxed.

I took a deep breath.
The sound of cool air blowing from the air conditioner filled the room.
With my earphones in, I listened to Aoi Teshima’s song “Tsuki no Nukumori” (The Warmth of the Moon). I closed my eyes and focused on the music. It’s a calming, beautiful song.
Back when Canon, our beloved dog, was still with us, the four of us would often go to the park together or dine out as a family.
Those were peaceful days.
But my wife often voiced her frustrations about my mother to me.
After Canon passed away, her sorrow found an outlet in increasingly harsh words about my mother.
It even led to arguments between my wife and me.
Amid all that, my father was diagnosed with cancer.

My mother, deeply concerned, devoted herself to caring for him.
Maybe it’s because I saw that side of her, that now—after my father’s passing—my wife has been trying to maintain a healthy distance while also making sure my mother doesn’t feel too lonely.
Since my wife has her own room upstairs, I believe it’s easier for her to process her feelings that way.

My mother had always depended on my father for everything.
So I was deeply worried about how she would cope after he was gone.
But contrary to my concerns, she hasn’t seemed to dwell on her grief for long.
She keeps herself busy—gardening, taking care of the medaka fish, cleaning, doing laundry, and cooking.
Apparently, she also watches TV and streaming videos on her smartphone.
My sister and I try to message her frequently on LINE.

Now that my life in Osaka has begun, I’ve often found myself overwhelmed by the new environment and responsibilities.
I feel a certain distance growing between us as a family.

I believe that distance began in February of last year, when Canon passed away.
With her gone, my wife and I started to drift apart.
Then my father began his treatment, and over the course of his illness and eventual passing, I now clearly recognize that each of us went through emotional changes in our own way.
Death spares no one.
Though my father is no longer with us, we are all doing our best to accept the changes and adjust to this new life.

Bringing it back to the present, I joined a tennis lesson tonight at 7 p.m.
The surface of the court here is different from the one in Osaka, so I struggled a bit to adjust, but I could still feel that all the training over there wasn’t wasted.
I still have plenty of lesson tickets left, so I plan to practice intensively over the next week.
It was nice to reconnect with the coaches after a while, and we chatted happily about my new life.

Tonight’s dinner was made using whatever was left in the fridge—frozen beef bowl topped with green onion and egg, with a side of lettuce and cherry tomatoes.
The three of us ended up eating separately this time, but I’m thinking of making something for everyone tomorrow.