Back to the Place Where I Was Born — New York Stay, Day 3

 I had long carried a quiet wish: to see the place where I was born, just once in my lifetime.
As the years passed and the sense of time remaining grew shorter, I began to wonder if that wish would remain unfulfilled.
This journey, however, finally made it possible.

 

For as long as I can remember, I had hoped to see my birthplace at least once.
As my remaining years gradually began to feel more limited, the thought crossed my mind that I might never make it there.

Then, earlier this year, my daughter was assigned to work in New York, and with that, an opportunity to visit the East Coast emerged.
Of course, I could have come even if she had not been there, but “going to see my daughter” served as a perfectly reasonable excuse for taking a long vacation.
And to be honest, there was nothing untrue about a parent’s desire to see a daughter doing her best alone in a foreign country.
In that way, my long-held wish—to see my birthplace at least once before I die—was finally fulfilled.

 

I had originally planned to come in the summer.
However, my younger brother, who had been hospitalized, took a sudden turn for the worse, and I used the airline’s one-time ticket change option to postpone the trip until winter.
In the end, he passed away shortly after December began.
After completing his funeral, I came here at last.

Sixty years ago, my father was working at a hospital in the suburbs of Boston, and during that time, my brother and I were born.
I was born first, and my brother followed two years later.
He was born prematurely and had Down syndrome, so our return to Japan was delayed by six months, and our family went back together.
For both of us, of course, Japan itself was an entirely new country.

Heavy snow had fallen through the night, delaying the Amtrak train from New York to Boston, and I worried whether we would even be able to move around after arriving.
But by the time we reached Boston, the snow had stopped, and the city lay quietly beneath a beautiful white blanket.

The hospital where we were born had long since closed and been demolished, and a new university hospital now stands on the site.
Still, the address remains.
Standing on that hill, I allowed myself a moment of reflection, and I reported quietly to the sky, to my brother who had left for heaven a little earlier.

 

My wife and daughter shared that quiet sense of joy.
One of the major purposes of my life has now been fulfilled.
Even so, this is not the end.
My life, it seems, will continue for a little while longer.