#nana56b
Lines from the story
Every spring, the scent of those flowers
tickles my nostrils—somehow bittersweet and
sweet.
My wife volunteered to care for the cherry
trees in the big park nearby. “They're my
favorite flowers, so I want to see them at
their most beautiful,” she'd say. On
holidays, she'd happily head out wearing a
big hat, carrying pruning shears and
fertilizer.
Perhaps thanks to her care, the park's
cherry blossoms bloomed more vibrantly and
proudly each year than any others.
She was gentle, always smiling, never
complaining about my meager salary, and
cooked delicious meals for us.
Our daughter, Mio, who turned five this year,
had eyes that crinkled when she smiled, just
like her mother's.
Coming home from work and seeing my wife and
daughter's smiles was my greatest joy.
That ordinary happiness was snatched away in
an instant by the unreasonable storm of
illness.
My wife left this world at the far too young
age of thirty-one.
On the day of the funeral, the portrait of my
wife showed her
smiling her brightest smile beneath the cherry
blossoms in full
bloom. My daughter, Mio, probably didn't fully
understand yet. Even
dressed in black and riding in the hearse, she
tugged at my sleeve,
asking, “Mommy, when will she wake up?” All
I could do was squeeze
her tiny hand back.
On the way to the crematorium, the hearse
passed by the park she
loved.
It was just the time when the cherry blossoms
had passed their peak
and were beginning to fall.
Then, Mio pointed out the window and cried out.
The next instant, the world outside the window
was violently dyed
cherry pink. Without any wind blowing, the
cherry trees throughout
the park all shed their blossoms at once, as
if by mutual agreement.
Accompanied by a rumbling sound that shook the
air, thousands upon
thousands of petals touched each other, like a
giant creature
wailing in grief. It was an otherworldly
beauty.
“Mama, it's beautiful...”
Mio murmured softly. Her voice dissolved and
vanished within the
cherry blossoms' wailing.
Could it be... that my wife was trying to tell
me something...?
Was it “Thank you”? Or ‘Goodbye’? Or perhaps
a plea: “Please
take care of our daughter”?
A year has passed since then. Today is the
anniversary of my wife's
death.
On my way to visit her grave, I drove past that
park she loved, with
my daughter in the passenger seat.
Then, Mio said, “I can hear Mom's voice.”
I got out of the car, looked up at the cherry
tree, lifted my
daughter into my arms, and murmured, as if
praying intensely in my
heart.
“Don't worry about our daughter. I'll raise
her well.”
In that instant, cherry blossom petals, without
any wind, all rose
together high into the blue sky.
Then, my daughter Mio murmured, “Mama...”
That beautiful sight blurred and faded before my
tear-filled eyes.
The tears pooling at the corners of my eyes, which
had been looking
up at the …
