Death
31 3 2
X
Reading Options
Font Size
A- 15px A+
Width
Reset
X
Table of Contents
Loading... please wait.

When I awoke, I found myself staring at a pristine white ceiling. Scanning the unfamiliar room, all I saw were plain, undecorated white walls. 

It seemed like I was lying down, but my body refused to move, and my ears were unresponsive.

Upon awakening, a old woman rose from her chair, attempting to communicate with me, but her words remained inaudible. After a while, six adults in their 30s , along with three small children, entered the room. 

Their expressions conveyed sadness, and they moved their mouths animatedly, yet I couldn't hear their words—only fixating on the movement of their lips.

Questions flooded my mind as I struggled to recall my identity—unsure of my age, gender, or any personal details. In the room's corner, a man in a white coat with gray hair and a chiseled face, likely in his 60s, caught my attention, triggering a sudden recollection of myself.

I had lost consciousness, but the timeframe eluded me. It felt like yesterday, yet it was already two weeks ago. In my usual routine, my morning walk alarm jolted me awake, but attempting to rise, an unfamiliar sensation coursed through my body.

 Limbs trembling, I couldn't move as desired, and before I could seek help, darkness overcame me.

Now aware, the elderly woman in the chair revealed herself as my wife, Shizuka. The six adults and three children were our sons, daughters-in-law, and grandchildren. The gray-haired man in the white coat was our family doctor of 20 years, Mr. Dekisukgi. Realization struck, and I understood the finite nature of my life.

If true, I might have passed away without regaining consciousness. Still, it seemed as if fate granted me time to bid farewell to loved ones. I, now known as Minamoto Hiro, aged 81, reflected on my life—average student, little interest in judo, work at a publishing company, marriage at 22 to Shizuka from the same workplace, three sons, and a content retirement surrounded by grandchildren.

Possibly a cerebral infraction had struck, and as I extended my thin, wrinkled arm, Shizuka, even more wrinkled than before, tenderly held it with warmth. 

Her smile, though aged, echoed the charm of her youth. Repeatedly, she uttered, "I was happy," shedding tears that I couldn't feel but sensed running down my cheeks.

As if on cue, drowsiness engulfed me, and my eyelids grew heavy. Despite attempting to resist, I succumbed. Was it indulgent to desire more? If meeting God were possible, gratitude for this considerate farewell would be expressed.

And so, I Minamoto Hiro peacefully passed away.

2