When my grandfather passed away, it was less than a week after he fell ill and was hospitalized. “No, wait!” That must have been how everyone in my family, including myself, thought at the time. On my grandfather’s last day, we happened to be so busy that we could not answer family phone calls, which we usually would have noticed straight away, and by the time we arrived at the hospital, he was already barely conscious; he left his family unprepared for what was to come. I was grateful for the small mercies because, due to scheduling conflicts, the rituals that should have been over sooner ー the coffining, wake, cremation, and funeral ー proceeded one by one each day. The day after he passed away, my grandfather’s body returned home and lay quietly surrounded by the good old things he had collected as an antique dealer. Despite his serenity, his young great-grandchildren smiled and laughed around the coffin as they tinkled their bells, making the relatives joke. “It’s so noisy that Grandpa will come out as a ghost!” It was a very lively day. With each performance of each service, our family was getting ready to accept the death of the family member. Looking back at the techo, I find many things written in it, such as the casual comments of relatives, memories of my grandfather, and the stories told by the temple’s chief priest. It helped me keep my mind clear, writing about the feelings that I could only write about at that time. Sometimes, I would look back on a single sentence that I had written without much thought at the time and discover something new. It is a sad memory, but I am glad I recorded it.

(Ma-chan)