A Promise for Our Next Life
A True Story — Toshio and Hiromi
By Hiromi Matsuyama
One day, when I was twenty-two years old, I was walking along on my way to do some shopping when I came across a young man carrying a wooden bath bucket.
“Do you know where my house is?” he asked me.
“I just moved here yesterday, and I’ve gotten lost. Would you help me find it?”
That young man was Toshio. He was twenty-four.
That was the first time we ever met.
We looked for his home together and eventually found it. To my surprise, his apartment was right near the metalworking class I attended.
At the time, I was running a small snack bar in Daita 1-chome, Setagaya, Tokyo.
My bar was less like an ordinary drinking place and more like a university clubroom. Customers who loved baseball formed a baseball team. My older brother was the pitcher, Toshio was the catcher, and I kept score.
Those who loved tennis had their own tennis group, and I played in the back court.
There were also groups for marine sports, skiing, horse racing, Go, shogi, Othello, card games, and all sorts of other activities.
Altogether, about fifty customers—or rather, fifty friends—became part of our circle.
We had such wonderful times together.
Some friends brought their girlfriends or boyfriends to the bar. Others fell in love with someone within the group.
Then one day, we suddenly realized that almost everyone had paired off.
The only two people left were Toshio and me.
By then, I was twenty-seven and Toshio was twenty-nine.
“We’re the only two left,” I said.
Toshio replied,
“Well, since we’re the two left over, why don’t we get married?”
And so we decided to marry.
Toshio wanted to meet my parents, and of course I wanted to introduce him to them.
But when I brought him home, my father—who could be extremely rough—shouted at him,
“Who the hell are you? Where did you come from?”
My father even threw him out.
Three times, Toshio came to see him.
Three times, my father sent him away.
Finally, my father said to Toshio,
“There is one condition. Hiromi cannot walk. Are you prepared to push her wheelchair and take care of her for the rest of your life?”
Toshio answered clearly and without hesitation.
“Yes, I am. I will push her wheelchair. I can do it.”
We married.
And we were happy.
Then our son was born.
I was a fan of the baseball player Daisuke Araki, so we named our son Daisuke.
Later, we had a daughter. We named her Shoko, hoping that she would grow up to be loved by many people.
Toshio was beside himself with joy.
He ran through the corridor of the maternity hospital shouting,
“Hooray! It’s a girl! Hooray!”
until one of the nurses finally scolded him.
I was never very good at cooking.
Toshio, on the other hand, was a wonderful cook.
He often cooked for us, and his food was always delicious.
Then, one day, everything began to change.
“I’m not going to work anymore,” Toshio said.
So I began working in his place.
Toshio was suffering from mental illness.
Even through those difficult years, our two children grew up, reached adulthood, and found the strength to follow their own paths in life.
Then came another devastating moment.
“You have three months to live.”
Toshio was forty-seven years old when he received that diagnosis.
He had a form of pancreatic cancer.
But Toshio did not live for just three more months.
He lived for another three years, doing everything he could to make the most of the time he had left.
During those three years, we traveled to many places together.
We created so many more memories.
We were even able to talk together about our grave and what would happen after we were gone.
As Toshio lay in bed near the end of his life, he said to me,
“When I’m born again, I’ll come back with a stronger, healthier body. I’ll live a long life.
And then, let’s be together again.”
I made that promise to him.
When we are born again, I want to be with Toshio once more.
I want us to make many more happy memories together.
Until the day I can see my husband again, I want to live out the life I have been given.
And for as long as I am able, in whatever small way I can, I want to be of service to others.
There is one more thing.
My father and Toshio now rest in the same grave.
My father was the man who had once thrown Toshio out of our house three times.
Perhaps, wherever they are now, the two of them are sitting together, talking and laughing about the old days.
And perhaps they are waiting for the day when we will all meet again.
