To a father-in-law

You were the first person I knew well who died. We heard you had cancer. We watched you get sick and die from it. You died in December, during the first snow of the season. I don’t know if there is life after death, but I think you still exist, that you’re still there. If I think you’re still there, then everyone, every living creature is still there, somehow. Thinking about your death has made me think that the next level of religion or spirituality has to embrace the entire world, the entire realm of all plants and all animals. But, in fact, I don’t think about your death much, as I don’t feel it. You fought for what you thought was right for your daughter, and after I married her you were a good and trusting and fun father-in-law. You were true to your word in every sense. One of these days I’ll miss you, but not yet. For me, you’re still in Irihirose, working in the garden, watching TV in your small room in the corner of the factory, presiding over the family, getting me drunk as a monkey.