Lines from the story
I once worked for a major trading company and
lived a flashy life.
I bragged to my mother, Mitsuko, on the phone
almost every night.
“Mom, I'll make your life comfortable. I'll
take care of you in your old age, so don't
worry,” I boasted.
But the gears of the times began to go haywire
a few years ago.
A sudden global recession struck, stock prices
plummeted, and companies went bankrupt one after
another.
Japan was swallowed up in the vortex,
unemployment hitting record highs.
The streets grew deserted, people walking with
eyes that had lost their future.
I lost my job. I couldn't find another one, my
savings ran dry, and I got kicked out of my
apartment.
Enduring hunger and cold, I finally resolved to
return to my parents' home.
Clutching a single tattered bag, I headed for
home as if fleeing.
“...I'm home,” I announced in a barely audible
voice.
My mother emerged from the old house. Her hair
seemed grayer, and she looked a little smaller
somehow.
The room was unchanged from before. The worn low
table, the sun-faded family photo, and that
somehow nostalgic smell.
But my heart was filled not with peace, but with
guilt.
I expected to be scolded. I braced myself for
cold words like, “What nerve you have to show
your face back here now.”
In this recession, an unemployed son moving back
in could only be a nuisance.
Yet, my mother asked nothing about my failures,
my setbacks, or the gap in my life.
She just looked at my filthy shoes, said simply,
“Welcome home,” and smiled quietly.
That evening's dinner. On the old wooden table
sat steaming miso soup and slightly charred
grilled fish.
And in front of me lay a pair of unfamiliar
“new chopsticks.”
She must have gone out of her way to buy them...
Looking at those chopsticks... I could barely hold
back my tears...
I couldn't even say “Let's eat” or “Thank you
for the meal.”
I ate, savoring each and every bit of my mother's
kindness.
It felt like she was saying, “You can stay here
forever”...
And the moment my mother went into the kitchen to
clean up,
the tears I'd been holding back until just then
poured out like a waterfall.
