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I have decided to move into Matsuyama Eden-no-Sono, and I have started preparing little by little.

I recently had an important exam in the acupuncture studies I am learning. It was just finished, and both my mind and body are still tired. Even though I like writing, it is not easy to organize my thoughts. Still, I want to move forward, even a little, and keep a record of this time.

I decided to start with my clothes.

By "clothes," I mean not only everyday clothes, but also underwear and kimono. Last December, when I visited my new room at Matsuyama Eden-no-Sono for an air conditioner installation, I already brought two or three sets of clothes for each season—the ones I thought I would wear most.

Now, I must decide what to do with the rest.

Although it is called a "home for the elderly," it is more like an apartment, and storage space is limited. This is not only a practical problem, but also an emotional one. I ask myself, "Is this still clothing for me, or is it already unnecessary waste?" I understand the answer in my head, but it is still hard to put clothes that once supported my life into a garbage bag and take them out with kitchen waste on garbage day.

In the past, after my children became independent, I also had to throw away their belongings. At that time, I wrapped them carefully before putting them in garbage bags, and tried to change my feelings. I think this time is similar.

Some clothes are unused, so I thought about selling them on Mercari. However, clothes are more difficult than I expected. Size, body shape, and personal conditions matter. Not everyone can wear my clothes. Selling them together is also not easy. I realized again that clothes are very personal items.

So gradually, I felt that it might be better to let them go by myself, instead of forcing myself to find someone to take them.

I feel that my parents' way of life, and my husband's parents' way of life, have influenced me greatly. My mother is still alive, but she has dementia and lives in a care facility. My parents' house is now empty, but it is filled with a large amount of my parents' clothes. My mother was someone who could not throw things away. In the future, my sister and I will have to decide what to do with them.

On the other hand, after my husband's parents passed away, my husband hired a company to clear everything out. Their house was renovated and is now used by other people.

Things that are important to us can become a burden to those who are left behind. I feel we need to be more aware of this.

I decided to move into Matsuyama Eden-no-Sono at the age of 67 because I wanted to decide my own future while I still could. I could have continued my small acupuncture and English conversation salon, Canon Acupuncture & English Salon, for a longer time. But everyone must leave this world someday. No one can die alone. In Japan, especially, the burden on those who remain is often heavy. My children live far away and have their own lives. I do not want to trouble them. I do not want to leave them a burden.

I have written a will. I have chosen body donation, and after that, scattering of ashes. I chose not to leave things behind.

Organizing my clothes is only one small step toward that goal. But even this "small step " is taking more time than I expected. It would be easier to throw everything away at once. Still, I want to move forward while carefully organizing my feelings.

That is why I am writing this as a blog.

At the age of 49, I entered a night school for acupuncture and moxibustion while working as a teacher.
I studied there for three years.

My reason was personal.
When I was nine months pregnant, I developed facial paralysis.
I wanted to understand why this happened to my body.

I wanted to study Eastern medicine, but I was surprised by the thick textbooks on anatomy and physiology.
Learning about muscles and bones was very difficult for me, and I was not good at thinking in 3D.
Still, at the age of 51, I passed the national exam.

More than 15 years have passed since then.
Even now, after listening carefully to my patients, I study on my own using books and the internet and think about treatment.

The other day, I opened an anatomy book to help my husband, who has pain in his right leg.
While explaining it to him, many memories came back.

I thought, "I really worked hard to learn this."
It felt nostalgic and comforting.

Anatomy was once very difficult for me, but it has always stayed close to me.
Now I feel that anatomy may be my lifelong friend.

I will play the taishogoto at a Christmas party for a welfare group.
Many people there are blind or have weak eyesight.
I joined as a volunteer, but I feel I learn more from them.

I practiced at home for the first time in a while.
When I looked ahead, I saw a paper cup.
Inside were pencil shavings.

They were from a pencil my 6-year-old grandson sharpened when he went to a Japanese school.
It has been exactly two weeks since we said goodbye.
They stayed in Japan for one month and lived in another apartment.

People often say,
"Grandchildren come and you are happy.
Grandchildren go home and you are happy."
I did feel tired.
I had a bad cold, and I looked after two grandchildren.
One is 6 years old.
One is 4 years old and goes to kindergarten.
The third is only 4 months old.

But those pencil shavings brought back many memories.
Scenes and conversations came back to me, one after another.

The 6-year-old boy was allowed to join a first-grade class.
On the last day, he gave a thank-you speech.
He did not know he would give the speech in class.
His father, my son, wrote the words and made slides for him.
They practiced together.

With help from his teacher, he showed paper slides to the class and spoke in Japanese.

"Thank you for letting me be part of the class for one month.
The horizontal bar and mats were very interesting.
We do not have them in New Zealand.
Please come to New Zealand someday.
Thank you very much."
(He bowed.)

Many children were surprised by his good Japanese.
They asked him to say it again.

His indoor shoes were size 21 cm.
Both his parents are tall.
How tall will he become, I wonder.

In New Zealand, children do not use pencils or pencil sharpeners at school.
Is he enjoying math now, his favorite subject?
Is he getting along well with his friends?

I hope I can live a long life and quietly watch these children grow.

Tomorrow is the last day of our grandchildren's one-month experience at a Japanese elementary school and daycare. We were invited to dinner to celebrate their final day. Next week they will spend a week in Okinawa and then go back home to New Zealand.

I would be lying if I said I won't feel lonely. Of course, I love them very much. But it is not the kind of loneliness that makes me cry or hurts sharply in my heart. Maybe I have become used to saying goodbye over my lifetime.

People are born, meet many others, and say goodbye many times. I don't really remember how I felt saying goodbye to friends and teachers when I was a child. It's too far in the past. As a teacher, I felt sad when students graduated, especially when they gave me thank-you messages. But as the years went by, I became too busy preparing for the next group of students, and my emotions slowly faded.

After I got married, I often wondered if my husband and I were truly a good match because we were so different. With raising two children and working as a teacher, life passed very quickly. As an English teacher, I wanted both children to grow up bilingual, so we sent them to an immersion program even though it was far away. When I hesitated, my husband encouraged me by helping our 5-year-old son practice his commute.

Later, when our son entered junior high school, he had to choose either the Japanese school path or the International Baccalaureate path. He was tired from the long commute and didn't have enough time for sports. His grades were not improving, and he was entering a rebellious age. Around that time, through my school trips to Australia and Canada, I became close with people who supported study abroad. They told me that a boys' school in New Zealand wanted Japanese students. I had tried sending some of my students, but their English level wasn't high enough. As a last option, I suggested it to my son. He decided to go. It was December of his second year of junior high school. We didn't even go to the airport; we just said goodbye at the Shinkansen entrance. I think that was the hardest goodbye of my life. I was the one who suggested it, so I couldn't show sadness or cry. But inside, my heart hurt deeply. It was one of the hardest goodbyes of my life.

In the end, he never came back to live in Japan. He finished university in New Zealand, became a dentist, got permanent residency, married a New Zealander, and became a father of three.

When my daughter moved out, it also hurt, but in a different way. Still, because she stayed in Japan, I didn't cry.

Now, it is another goodbye to my son, his wife, and the grandchildren. Because we have visited New Zealand many times and always say goodbye after each visit, I think we have grown used to it.

Are some goodbyes heavier than others?
Are some kinds of heartache sharper than others?

These days, I am preparing myself for the final goodbye I will one day have to say to this world. I want to avoid causing trouble for my family, though I know things don't always go as planned.

Sometimes I wonder: If my husband leaves this world before me, will my heart hurt intensely again?
Or if I leave first, will he feel sad? I don't think he will be very sad he is that kind of person. He will simply take care of everything in his calm, practical way.

And that is fine. In the end, each person dies alone.
As we grow older, I think learning to be comfortable with solitude is an important part of life.