Several years ago, I lost my father. His last workplace was in Aoyama, and one day I found myself there, walking near the building where he used to spend his days.
To reach the opposite side of the road, away from the building where my father once worked, I climbed up a footbridge. As I walked across, closer to the sky, I suddenly felt something unusual. For a fleeting moment, as if time had folded in on itself, it seemed possible that I might meet my father there—still working, still alive, just across that street. Yet almost at the same time, the sharp truth struck me: my father is no longer there, and I can never see him again.
After crossing the bridge, I wandered the neighborhood for a while and eventually sat at a quiet café terrace, looking out at the calm surroundings.
MATCHA LATTE at ERIC ROSE in Omotesando
Later, another memory came back to me. At my father’s wake, many flowers surrounded him, but I remember especially the light green carnations—flowers I had seldom, if ever, seen before. They were unusual, and deeply beautiful in their gentle color. And just recently, as I looked at my calendar for this month, I noticed a bouquet that included the same light green carnations among other flowers. I learned that one of their meanings is “healing.”
Now, during this summer Obon season, I cannot visit my father’s grave. But with the gentle reminder of these carnations and their message of healing, I am thinking of my father and my ancestors with gratitude in my heart.
May he continue to rest in peace. And to all my ancestors, thank you for always watching over me with your quiet presence.
