"My beloved son, my only son, for whom there is no replacement in heaven or earth, him I lost in the war. just three days after graduating as a reservist from Tokyo Imperial University, he left for the front in high spirits. In a corner of a northern island his life came to an end; this young sapling of just twenty-six years died.

Our son had cultivated his parents' fields- his father's as a man of religion, mine as an educator.... from the time of his childhood, idealizing his good but ordinary father and mother, he had cherished the hope of inheriting the child-care center which I ran and becoming a religious educator. His smaller motives were to give joy to the children and to express his filial piety toward his mother; his greater concern was, as a true man of religion, with the people of the world and by extension, with the religious path. Thus he revered all buddhas and patriarchs.

As a consequence, his personality was easy-going and generous. I, on the other hand, who was raising and guiding children, was always being taught and purified by him. I never stopped reflecting, "Can this child have developed in my womb? Can he have been born and raised by a mother with such deep sins as I? There must have been some mistake for me to come to be his mother."


After his preschool days, and throughout his school days, many people- teachers, classmates, all who knew him-loved him for his personality. From the bottom of their hearts, they grieved over his death in battle. A wounded soldier who had miraculously returned alive and who had served under my son from beginning to end called on me after the war was over. Kneeling before the Buddha altar, he spoke to me for thirty minutes, hands palm-to-palm and tears flowing:

"He was truly a kind commander. He loved his subordinates. No matter what, he never reprimanded us. In other squads, the commander always ate first, but our commander always gave food to his subordinates first. Consequently, all his subordinates adored him and had confidence in him. In the end, when we knew there was no hope, no one spoke of giving up. There wasn't a single person who didn't want to share the fate of the commander. I myself was wounded in the chest, but when I told the commander that I absolutely must die with him, I upset him. Uncharacteristically angry, he admonished me, 'Dying is not the only way of serving your country and your parents. You're young; your wound will certainly heal. Take responsibility for the seriously wounded; take them to the rear for me.' Then he put in good order all the mementos, charms, and photographs he had from you. He threw away his saber, saying, 'This kind of thing is why we've lost,' and calmly walked, unarmed, toward the enemy camp. This is what I have to say to you, his mother."


As a foreign missionary, my husband lived [away from the family] for a long time in a temple in Hawaii. During his absence, in addition to running the child-care center, I had put my whole heart into raising my son; his growing up had filled me with delight. This great objective of my beloved son's adulthood had been the one and only shining light in my life; whatever pain, whatever sorrow I experienced were nothing. My life had been full to bursting, like an always full moon.

The day I can never forget arrived. May 7, 1945: while I still held in my hands the news of my son's death in battle, his remains were ceremoniously delivered. The agony and grief I felt as I held in my arms the small box of plain wood cannot be expressed with such phrases as "I felt like vomiting blood," or "my heart was broken." Only another mother who has experienced it can know.

I was pushed from a world of light into a world of gloom. I lost all desire to live; every bit of happiness was taken away in grief and hopelessness. A soulless puppet, I mourned day in and day out, wretched with the loss of my son. How many times did I decide to follow my beloved son in death? In my need, I could clearly hear the longed-for voice of my son come back to me: "Mother, you must not die! Please, be happy! Please, live in happiness!"

So my son would not permit me to die, suffer, or sorrow. But I... would cry until I was emptied. People criticized me as a foolish mother, a prisoner of my emotions. I fell to a very low place. I felt it would be best if my life would end. I cried on and on for over three years. Day and night I consoled myself at the family altar, offering scripture readings, flowers, and incense before his spirit. Thus passed the dreary days and nights. I realized that I had been a teacher to over two thousand pupils and young mothers, but now my life took on a pitiful appearance.






Click the Lotus to Continue


*