The Color of the Floor

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 There is a stage when an Alzheimer’s disease patient needs 24-7 care. At this stage, the patient can go out by themselves, but they can’t come home by themselves. Someone has to keep watching the patient 24-7. But the stage would end in a few years.

 In the next stage, the caregiver will be released from watching duty. The patient will lose energy to go out by themselves. In my mother’s case, those were easy days. But they were short.

 In the next stage, we had to face another difficult problem. We needed help in my mother’s toileting. She couldn’t recognize a toilet. She started using inappropriate places as her toilet. Cleaning up my mother’s toilet’s fault was one of the most disgusting jobs I’ve done in my life.

 To avoid this, we had to lead her to a toilet very often. But it was better than 24-7 care. At least, we could rest for a while during non-toilet time.

My mother’s disease became worse. Leading her to the toilet became more difficult day by day.

One day, I noticed that she always stops at the same place in our house on the way to the toilet. The place was the borderline between the living room and the corridor. She always stops at the borderline and climbs over it as if there was a difference in level.

The colors of the floor were different on the living room and on the corridor. Alzheimer’s disease patients find it difficult to distinguish the differences between a color change and a difference in level. Doctors call this depth perception disorder.

We can remember the colors of the floors and the differences in level in our house, but a patient with Alzheimer’s can’t memorize them. My mother found a color change on the floor. She worried it could be a difference in level, so she needed to be careful.

That made this job difficult. But we couldn’t renovate our house. Every time she stops at the borderline, I tell her, “It is safe. It is safe. There is no difference in level. It’s flat. Just walk through.”

If I knew it would happen, I would’ve made the floor in the house the same color.

My friends, when buying your final house, please choose one that has floors of the same color.

Picture by Vladfree

Something That Has Eyes

 

 When my family moved into our new home, the moving company said, “If you have something you want to throw away, we can dispose the articles, except for those that have eyes, particularly dolls and pictures.” They said they couldn’t dispose even stuffed toys and posters of singing idols.

 Let us think like we are workers in a moving company. If we dispose articles like dolls and pictures, they could be precious dolls and memorable pictures of someone whom we had never met. It could be spooky.

 My grandaunt didn’t have a child. After her passing, I cleared up her house. I commuted to her house once a week. It took about two years. Of course, I recycled those I could recycle. I separated her waste.

 Her husband, my granduncle, was a photo processing shopkeeper. His hobby was photography. There were many photos in her house. I put off disposing the photos because I assumed it was an easy job. I never had a spooky feeling about the photos. My granduncle was my good friend. He would never curse me. Unfortunately, when I was almost finished clearing up the house, I became sick. I stayed in a hospital for a long time.

 We should not leave a house empty for a long time. From the hospital, I asked my wife to employ a clearing up company. I didn’t think about the photos.

 The clearing company invited a Buddhist monk. The monk chanted a sutra for the photos. Of course, we needed to pay him extra. I am not stingy, but if I discarded the photos at first, we didn’t need any religious ceremony.

Dear friends, if you move or clear up things left by deceased people, you should discard those that have eyes first. These things should be handled by close people.

Picture by Masayuki Wada

Way of Using Chopsticks

 

 We, Japanese, basically use chopsticks. There is a right way to use chopsticks, but some of us don’t know how.

 Once I read an interview article. In the article, a Japanese CEO said, “I will never hire a person who uses chopsticks the wrong way. Their parents had tried to educate them on how to use chopsticks correctly, but they refused to accept the education. Educating this kind of people is a waste of time.”

 When I read this article, I thought the CEO was stupid. I know many excellent people who use chopsticks in a unique way. There are many examples in different fields. Some had done a great achievement differently from the traditional way. We should not evaluate people just because of how they use chopsticks.

 I talked to one of my friends about this idea. His response was an unexpected one:

“What? The company gives opportunity to have a meal with the CEO before the job offer?”

 He was a jobseeker during the financial crisis in 2008.

 The CEO may be stupid, but at least the company is careful about employment.

Picture by Omori Yamori

Punishment

 

 We have a huge Multiplex in my town. I watched the newest Star Wars movie there. I am a big fun of the Star Wars series.

 In front of the entrance of the theater, Kylo Ren was standing. He was a costumed actor. He must be from a promoting company. I used to work as a costumed actor. One of the good things about this work is feeling like a star. When I wore a costume popular among children, they treated me like their close friend. I was a superstar.

 But I felt pity for the actor playing Kylo Ren. Most people didn’t pay attention to him. When I aimed my camera at him, he struck a pose. If I asked him to take pictures with me, he might say OK. But no one asked him to take a picture at that time. If he was C-3PO, R2-D2, or Chewbacca, he could mingle with people nicely. But why Kylo Ren?

 Kylo Ren is not popular among children. Even I don’t know how to react to him. He killed his father! Is he good or evil? Is he Jedi or Sith? If he was an attractive character like his father or grandfather, the whole new story could be more attractive.

 The old Japanese education system implemented a standing punishment. Teachers forced students to stand up for a long time as a punishment.

 It is possible to imagine that he was not standing there just for promotion. Some mysterious power forced him to stand as a punishment.

 

My Grandfather’s Gun

 

 In 2000, we decided to give up the house where my grandparents lived. In those days, I lived far away from them but visited the house sometimes to help them clear up. Before starting to clear up the house, my grandmother said to me, “There is a gun somewhere in this house. Please find it. Then bring it to a police station.”

 I was surprised. In Japan, having a gun is strictly forbidden. Actually, I had never touched any gun at that time.

 My grandfather passed away during World War 2 when my mother was only at the first grade of elementary school. I never met him. That was my grandfather’s gun. I started to look for it. I just imagined, if I were my grandfather, where would I hide the gun in this house? Somehow, I found the gun easily. I also found some paper beside it. I read it and was surprised. The letter was the key which changed our family history.

 The letter was my grandmother’s answer to the marriage proposal from my grandfather. In the letter, my grandmother set one condition to accept the proposal. “My younger sister wants to be a medical doctor. But our parents are opposed to it. If you support her financially, I will marry you.”

 Her sister, my grandaunt, was a medical doctor. My grandfather must have kept his word.

 But I wondered why the letter and the gun were side by side. First of all, why did he have a gun?

 This is my guess. During the war, Japanese society was so confused. My grandfather was seriously ill, and he knew he would die in the near future. My father thought about committing a forced family suicide. It is no wonder that he thought it was cruel to leave his wife and small child in that chaos. They were a family of three. I found three bullets in the house.

 He might have repeatedly watched the gun and the letter. Finally, he might have given up the idea of suicide and chose to die because of the illness.

 My grandfather! You did the right thing! My grandmother! You wrote a great letter! If my grandfather committed family suicide when my mother was an elementary student, I wouldn’t be alive.

 Clearing up an old house sometimes gives us a surprising gift!

Picture by Happypictures

 

Sightseeing Bus

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yakudoshi is a traditional Japanese idea that 42-year-old men should be careful because many bad things happen at that age. Some places have special festivals to avoid these bad things. It depends on the area, but most festivals are organized by people who are 42 years old.

 My town has a festival of this kind. I took part in it a few years ago. I met many old friends I had not met since junior high school. All of us have become terrible middle-aged men.

 On New Year’s Day, we went to a local shrine. The priest said a prayer for us, and we had a party after. It seemed like a class reunion just for males with religious excuse.

 All junior high school class reunions are like that. In the beginning, we behave politely because we were already adults. But we started to become childish when we got drunk. We started calling each other with old nicknames.

 By the way, like the hop-on, hop-off bus in New York and the Original Tour in London, Nagoya has the Shachi Bus. My classmate T was a driver for the Shachi Bus. He also went to the party. Unfortunately, he had to work after. He couldn’t drink any alcohol during the party, so he just drank tea.

 Everyone knew about it, and some started making jokes.

“Hey, waitress! My friend T loves lemon sour. Please bring it for him.”

“Oh, no! We need lemon sour for T. Please bring it immediately!”

Bus drivers are strictly not allowed to drink alcohol before driving. The bus companies check their exhaled breath alcohol concentration. But in front of T was a daze of lemon sour glasses.

 T just gave them a bitter smile. He didn’t drink any of them at all.

 Dear friends! If you visit Nagoya, please take the Shachi Bus for sightseeing. The drivers have an iron will. They are sober. One of them is my classmate.

 I hope T enjoyed his lemon sour after his working hours.

Picture by Shintako

 

My Father Believed It

 

It is so hard to accept when a family member has Alzheimer’s disease. Other family members may think that it is a misdiagnosis, like I did. But it is even harder to accept that Alzheimer’s is an incurable disease. The family members start to look for some famous hospitals and great doctors, like I did. But no cure has been found for this disease yet.

After a while, the family members tend to accept the situation. Most of them give up seeking a way to recover, like I did. I just accepted the fact that there is no cure for the disease. My mother is in front of me, but I will never see my intelligent mother anymore. I understood.

It was about six years ago when my mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. My father and I talked about the renovation of our house; we lived together. I suggested for him to use my mother’s deposit for the expense. It was legal because the renovation was for the care of my mother.

But my father refused, saying, “If we do that, if she recovers from the disease in the future, she will be mad at me!”

I was surprised. He still believed her disease would be cured in the future.

He passed away shortly after that incident. I think he believed till the final moment of his life that she would recover.

My mother is in a nursing home now. There is a possibility a new remedy will be invented. Then she will be cured completely. If that happens, I have many things to say to her. Most of them are complaints.

I hope some medical geniuses would invent a great remedy as soon as possible.

Picture by Graphs