==JAPAN: KM== [Death]

It was March of 2000. My grandfather died. I had heard before from my father that he had broken down from cerebral infarction and been carried to the hospital while losing his consciousness, so the sad news didn't surprise me. The next day I went to my grandfather's house with my family. In the living room, there were many relatives. They appeared to be talking with each other without sadness, but I felt the atmosphere was not usual. The sliding door of the living room was open, so I could see the grandfather's remains laid in state in the next room. One of my aunts said to me, "Go there and look at your grandfather's face." Because I didn't think I would be told so, when I heard that, I hesitated a moment. But the next moment, the atmosphere made me go into the next room and sit beside my grandfather.
His face was covered with a white cloth. My aunt removed it and I realized his face had completely changed. Honestly speaking, I didn't clearly remember his face in his lifetime, but I thought his face hardly had a shadow of what it had been. Then the aunt said to me, "Please wipe his body," and passed me a wet towel. Because I didn't know how to do it, sitting beside my grandfather, I motionlessly stared at him with the towel. Then she added, "You have only to touch his body with it." I understood it was just a religious ritual.
Touching his body, I felt the house was filled with silence, and my consciousness was concentrated on the sense of my hand. When I touched his head, I felt the weight of it. It was very heavy. Then I felt the coldness of it. His body was quite cold. I couldn't believe a human body could be so cold. Without a word, I returned the towel, stood up, walked into the next room, and sat down. A lot of relatives talked to me, but I didn't feel like talking a lot.
That night, when taking a bath, I tried to recollect about my grandfather, but I could recall only a few things. He had been a Japanese calligraphy teacher. He had always worn a knit cap. His voice had been a little gruff. That's all I was able to recollect. I didn't remember his handwriting, why he had always worn the knit cap, or what we had talked about. I came into realize I hadn't known so much about my grandfather. I had hardly talked with him before he died.
The day after the next, the funeral ceremony was held and I attended it. To my surprise, there was a large attendance. But I had seen almost none of these people before. I thought that what I had known about my grandfather was just a little. I sat down on my seat and waited for the beginning of the ceremony. After about ten minutes, it began. At the beginning, a woman who worked at the ceremonial hall read aloud about my grandfather's life. He had gone to the World War II and fought in the forefront of the battle. At that time he had his head wounded from a bullet. The bullet didn't strike his brain or hurt his skull; it just grazed his head so he could be saved from a serious wound. After the war, thanks to being skillful with his fingers he became a shoe repairer and managed to make a living. All of what the woman read about my grandfather was also something I didn't know. After her reading, three bonzes came into the hall and began to recite a sutra. Hearing it, I vacantly thought why I had not talked a lot with him. However, I could not find the reason. If I had talked a lot with him, I could have known and felt a lot of things.
The chance was lost. A sense of regret sprang up in my heart and I was gradually filled with it. The ceremony finished before sunset, but when we left for our home, night had completely fallen. The night was very silent and slightly chilly. I got into the car. I looked back at my grandfather's house through the window, and sighed unconsciously. The car quietly started to run forward.


"Getting It Together"

In my recent experiences my grandfather's death was the most impressive thing to me. It taught me a lot and made me think about death and life, so I wanted to write an essay about his death. Besides I wanted to write it based on reality. I think that the feelings I have now are not the same as those I had then. If I wrote the feelings I have now, the essay would not be about the real death of him and I wouldn't be able to inform you of the realities. Though it was difficult and trouble to write things without the feelings I have now, by writing this essay I could reconsider about his death and I learned a great deal again.