Records of the Storytellers
“What It Means to Lose One’s Beloved Family”
A Dialogue between Keiko (90), Jun (84), and Masako (97)
(Excerpts from 3 participants out of a group of 6)
- Keiko (90):
- My brother… he died as a Tokko (Kamikaze) pilot. At the time, I had been evacuated to the northern part of the island and was staying in a displacement camp. One day, the news just reached me: “Your brother isn’t coming back.”
I’ll never forget how that felt. I was speechless. Everyone else in my family was wailing, but I couldn’t shed a single tear. This Chimugurisa—this heart-wrenching pain—was just stuck in my chest, and I couldn’t move. - Jun (84):
- Keiko-san, I understand… I was only seven years old then. Malaria took both my father and mother so suddenly. We were inside a camp. There was no one to help us.
When people told me, “Your father is dead,” and then, “Your mother, too,” I didn’t even understand what it meant at first. But then, everything around me just went… suddenly quiet.
I couldn’t cry, and I couldn’t be angry. My chest just felt tight, like it had turned cold. - Masako (97):
- …I lost my child. He wasn’t even two years old. He was so hungry, crying and crying… and I knew I couldn’t let him make a sound [to avoid being found]. I held him so tight in my arms… but there was nothing I could do.
That night, my child’s body went cold. I can still feel the weight of him in my arms to this day. I’ll never forget it. He still comes to me in my dreams sometimes. I hear only his voice, calling out, “Mommy.” - Keiko:
- Losing your family… it’s like having a part of your own body torn away from you. Back then, the adults would say that people dying in war was “unavoidable,” but we’ve spent decades carrying that Chimugurisa inside us.
- Jun:
- It’s true. We couldn’t tell a soul. Even as we grew up, we were constantly told, “Don’t talk about it,” and “Just forget.” But how could we ever forget?
- Masako:
- It took me a very long time before I could finally speak about it. Talking doesn’t bring my child back… but I feel like if I hadn’t spoken, the deepest part of my heart would have stayed frozen forever.
- Keiko:
- Being able to talk like this, here together… I think this is what it means to heal that Chimugurisa, little by little. Crying, being angry, and telling our stories—every bit of it was important, wasn’t it?