What Your Grandmother Taught Me About Life
There is something I want you to understand about life.
It took me many years to realize it.
When I was a child, I didn’t really understand your grandmother.
She always kept a handwritten household ledger.
She cooked almost everything from scratch.
She made clothes.
She went to meetings of a group called Tomonokai.
To be honest, I felt embarrassed sometimes.
None of my friends’ families lived like that.
It even felt a little religious to me.
I admired store-bought snacks and ready-made things.
Back then, I thought my mother’s way of life was old-fashioned.
But I understand now.
She wasn’t simply saving money.
She was designing life.
Your grandfather was a government employee, and our family moved many times across Japan.
Hakodate.
Obihiro.
Yokohama.
Asahikawa.
Hiroshima.
Nagasaki.
Tsukuba.
Sendai.
Niigata.
Every time we moved, your grandmother rebuilt our life from zero.
A new home.
A new routine.
A new household budget.
She never complained.
As a child, I remember watching her pack for yet another move and thinking:
“What an incredible woman.”
There was also a time when our family had to live in three different places at once.
Nagasaki.
Tsukuba.
Mishima.
At that time I was in high school, and I didn’t think much about it.
But now I understand what that meant.
Three homes.
Three sets of living expenses.
Education costs.
The household finances must have been extremely difficult.
Yet she never told us.
Recently, I learned something from my aunt.
During that time, your grandmother’s underwear and pajamas were worn out and torn.
I never noticed.
Because she always dressed properly when she went outside.
She looked elegant and calm, as if everything was perfectly fine.
Only now do I understand what she was really doing.
She was protecting our lives by sacrificing her own comfort.
Your grandfather died suddenly from a brain hemorrhage at the age of 59.
That same year he had bought an apartment next to Goryokaku Tower in Hakodate.
He never had the chance to live there.
But your grandmother has lived there ever since.
Sometimes I think that apartment was your grandfather’s final gift to her.
When I was young and living alone in Nagoya, your grandfather often stayed at my small apartment during business trips.
We would go out for drinks and talk about many things.
He often talked about your grandmother.
He said he loved her.
He said he respected her.
He said those things to his daughter without embarrassment.
I remember thinking,
“What an incredible man.”
Your grandmother and grandfather built their life together quietly, step by step.
And many years later, when I had a brain hemorrhage, your grandmother had to face that fear again.
She had already lost her husband the same way.
Still, she stayed calm.
That’s who she is.
It took me a long time to understand all of this.
But now I do.
This blog I write is partly about money, life design, and structure.
But in truth, it is also something else.
It is a love letter to your grandmother.
And one day, I hope you will understand the same lesson:
Life is not just about making money.
It is about designing a life strong enough to protect the people you love.
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