NARRATIVE ESSAY BY: Taro J. Suzuki
ARTIST STATEMENT: I created this piece as my final assignment for my first year writing course, ENG1101: English Composition I. For a long time, I felt like I wasn’t ready to fully face my past, but through this project, I realized I was finally ready to begin that journey. I wanted to express the quiet strength it takes to confront your own story. It is a story about acceptance and the courage to take the first step.
ABOUT THIS ESSAY
By Prof. Virginia Marshall
When I gave my students the prompt to write a letter to someone important in their lives, Taro took the assignment to the next level. Instead of addressing his mother directly, Taro made the ambitious decision to create a series of diary entries tracking his experience of care-taking and grief.
The result is an intelligent and heartfelt piece of writing, one that acts as a letter from the narrator to himself — but also as a memorial to the narrator's mother, and a roadmap for how to continue living after the tragedy of losing a parent. As a writer, Taro shows incredible strength and emotional awareness in the way he uses details and tracks his own growth over time.
August 2018
I could hear her slicing something on a cutting board in the kitchen.
This was my chance. I reached for her bag and took out the folder.
I was afraid, but I could not look away from the truth.
My mom was suffering from back pain. She had difficulty getting up in the morning and was stressed about her back pain during a long car ride. She had gone to see a doctor. She had not told me anything when she came back.
I read the document in front of me.
Suspicious shadow detected on spine; further diagnostic evaluation required.
Sweat started to pour from my body.
My mom was a cancer survivor. She had been diagnosed with stage three breast cancer years ago. The cancer had spread to her lymph nodes, which could have led to metastasis in other parts of her body. However, because of her strong mentality, she overcame chemotherapy and had one side of her breast removed.
Having a shadow on her bone could mean many things, but it was not hard for me to understand what this meant.
I went down the stairs on shaky legs. My vocal cords were trembling.
“Mom, we can still play golf together, right?”
Golf holds my family together. Since my mom used to win amateur tournaments when she was young, it was natural for my sister and I to play golf. We would wake up at four o’clock in the morning to drive three hours to play on weekends. After that, we would go to a Japanese-style hotel, enjoy the hot springs, and eat fresh seafood.
My mom opened her eyes. I could see them fill with determination. She approached me, held me softly, and said, “We will. I promise.”
October 2018
My mother is a strong person. She hates making people worry about her.
My uncles live relatively close and sometimes came to check on her, but she never let them into the house because she did not want to show her condition.
I was called to one of my third uncle’s houses. He knew something was off.
Like my mom, I am not good at asking for favors. I had been keeping everything inside. I started letting out all my emotions. They were surprised to learn that she had even had cancer.
I felt a heavy weight lift off my shoulders. I had always struggled with the conflict in my mind. Was it right to let my mom fight alone? What if something worse happened and no one had the chance to cherish their memories with her?
That night, I headed home with my uncles. They talked in their first language, Thai, so I did not understand what they were saying. But I do not regret what I did.
March 2019
“Can you do the opposite side?”
A minty, cooling scent passed through my nose and stung my eyes. I applied pain-relief lotion to my hands and continued massaging her leg. My arms were getting heavy.
Legs play an important role in circulating blood and other substances. They act as a natural pump in the body. Without the massage, her legs would swell because water and waste would keep accumulating.
Since my mom could not move by herself, massaging her had become a daily routine for me. My uncles helped her while I was in school, and when I came back, we worked together, doing our best and hoping for her recovery.
My mom wished my sister would take care of her during showers, but she refused. So on her birthday, I carried my mom to the bathtub and gently washed her back and shoulders where she could not reach.
When I saw her missing left breast, sadness and rage built inside me.
July 2019
Within the past few days, her condition suddenly worsened. She did not respond to me much, and most of the time, she lay peacefully with her eyes closed.
I woke up and headed to her room. I emptied her urine bag. I did some cleaning.
Her doctor visited for his routine check-up. He made me and my uncle sit down.
“She has a week to live. You and your family should spend time together and make memories.”
I was dazed for a moment, but my emotions did not waver. I kept telling myself that as her son, I needed to do what had to be done. I needed to make this week full of memories and happiness. I needed to make her last moments free of regret.
I could cry later, once everything was over.
July 2019
“Taro.” My grandfather opened the door.
Tears were streaming down his face. I had never seen him cry before.
I rushed into her bedroom.
I could hear her breathing, thin and more inconsistent than ever.
My instincts took over. I grabbed her hand and started spilling out everything I wanted to tell her:
Thank you for taking care of me.
I love you.
I promise I will take care of my sister.
Please do not worry.
I just could not send my mom to Heaven with worry.
That final moment is burned into my memory. Someone once told me that hearing is the last sense. I could not stop expressing my appreciation until the police and ambulance arrived.
After that, everything happened quickly. She was taken away, and we went to the funeral home to arrange her service.
July 2019
My hands were sweating on the steering wheel. This day had finally come. I was going to turn my mom into something without a form, with my own hands.
The funeral hall stood quietly on top of a hill.
It was the first time I had seen her since she was taken away by ambulance.
She looked peaceful. There was no sign of pain.
I touched her.
The warmth she had when she was alive was already gone. Her hand felt hard and cold like wax. That was when the reality of it hit me.
People started to arrive. My dad and I greeted them as the hosts of the ceremony. I bowed with everything I had, trying to stand tall as her son.
I know that you’re supposed to share memories at these kinds of things, but I just didn’t have the strength. The ceremony ended quietly.
And then it happened.
A flood of emotions came rushing in, but I couldn’t let anyone else do it. I had to be the one. I took care of her more than anyone else. I loved her more than anyone else.
The urn they handed me fit in my hands, but it felt heavy. Really heavy. She used to be warm, but when she came back to me, she was cold.
2020
The world changed. COVID spread. Everything became quiet. People stayed inside, and life slowed down.
It matched how I felt.
I spent most of my time at home. Some days felt empty, and other days everything came back at once. Small things would remind me of her. Sometimes it was a smell, sometimes it was a place. Sometimes it was nothing at all.
2024
Viewing the room from a lower angle gives it a completely different feeling. I rolled off the mattress, stood up, and looked around the empty room.
This was the house I used to live in with my mom and sister, while my dad was already living in Japan. After my mom passed, my sister went back to Japan with him.
The first time I came to this place, I didn’t like it. But I grew attached to it, and before I knew it, it had become home. Everywhere I looked, there were memories.
But I knew that I had to step into a new environment to keep moving forward.
I heard a truck stop outside. I packed my last belongings and memories. It was time to start again.
2025
Happiness is always close by. Unfortunately, most people only realize the value of what is truly important after they have lost it.
It has been six years since she passed away. Some moments have been sweet, while others have been bitter, but I have come to appreciate both.
I learned the hard way that tomorrow isn’t something you can count on. No one knows what will happen. That is why I strongly believe in living every day to the fullest. I don’t wait for the “right time.” I say things when I mean them. I show up.
My days feel meaningful because I am learning things I care about, spending time with good people, and working toward goals that feel right to me, especially the moments when I get to apply what I learn to real problems. I have started taking every opportunity I can, getting involved in research, helping run a club, and pushing myself into things I might have hesitated to do before.
If she could see me now, I think she would be proud of how far I have come. I think she would smile and tell me to keep going.
