My Grandmother's Writing About the Atomic Bomb
（英語版も作りました。もし興味のありそうな方をご存知でしたら、どうぞ教えてあげてください）On April 28th, 2018, my grandmother passed away.She was 96 years old. My grandma was like a mom to me. I was born with a hole in my heart,and the doctor ordered my mom not to let me cry- a nearly impossible task given that I had a sister who was barely two years old at that time.My grandma had had a baby girl with heart problems, too.That baby, Kunie, died when she was two.When the doctor found out I had issues with my heart,my grandma left Hiroshima where she had lived her entire life,to live with my family and to take care of me. To my grandma, I was Kunie. My grandmother and I were always very close.Even after I grew up, we often spent time together,meeting for a lunch, going shopping, having tea, and talking. But she had never spoke of her experience of atomic bomb. “It is too painful for your Grandma to talk about it,” my mother once told me.My mom passed away one year before my grandmother died.My grandma lost her mom on the day of the bomb,and her husband and siblings in later years. When my own children became old enough to understand the horrible history,we made a trip to Hiroshima with my grandmother, and visited Peace Memorial Park.It was a hot summer day,just like the day when the atomic bomb was dropped,with the sun glaring down on us and the endless sound of cicadas overwhelmed us.For the first time, she told us about what she had witnessed.Looking back, I feel sick to my stomach,thinking how unbearable it must have been for my grandmato go to the Peace Memorial Museum and to be reminded of the horrific day.I was only thinking about how important it was for my children,the future generation of the world, especially, as the great-grandchildren of a witness, to learn about the Atomic Bomb and what it did to people in Hiroshima on August 6th, 1945. How selfish of me. After my grandma passed, I was going through her belongings- old photos, letters, knickknacks - all neatly organized and labeled.Then, in a tin-can of rice crackers, I discovered some paper with writings. Her familiar, calligraphy-like letters,written on scratch papers from a hospital. There were three writings, mostly identical in their contents,about her experience of atomic bomb. I told my cousin about my discovery. He was also close to my grandma.He told me that one time, he was visiting my grandma, and she showed him a draft of her writing.She was preparing to have it published.My younger sister told me that when my grandma was hospitalized for cancer treatment,my mom insisted my grandma to write about her experience of the atomic bomb. There are always some good things that come out of a funeral.Each of us brings a piece of memory of the deceased.Patch worked together, we create a clearer image of her.As we talk, and as we get a little bit closer to the true image of her, we get closer to each other.I am certain that my grandma’s writing was never published.If it had been, I would have heard about it from my mom, who was a social activist by nature,and from my grandma, who would have saved the article had it been published.She left this world, peacefully, at the age of 96. And she left me a task to complete - to put together her writings and publish her story,so the world will know what she wanted to say.Below is her writing, put together and translated by me. Please read. And let others know about my grandma’s experienceso that no one will ever experience what she had to go through.********************************************************************************************By Toshie Fujii My husband, Iwao Shimamoto, had been working at Kure Marine Base(Kure is about 12 km/7.5 miles southeast of Hiroshima City) for two years. On August 4th, 1945, two days before the bomb was dropped,he received a transfer order to work in Hiroshima City,to be stationed at Gion Elementary School (4.5 km/2.8 miles from where Atomic Bomb was dropped). On the morning of August 6th, after breakfast, my daughter went out to play,while I prepared a bento-box lunch to take to my husband.Suddenly, with a tremendous bang, things fell off the shelves.Cabinets fell down.Front door broke.Windows shattered. Even the tatami mats were up-heaved, raised from the floor. We were surprised because the explosion happened just after the air-raid siren had stopped. After a while, I received a message from my husband,telling me to be careful because he heard that a large, new type of bomb was dropped in Hiroshima.I took my daughter and my mother-in-law to a riverand had them hide under a willow tree.They stayed there until the evening. There were people teeming from Hiroshima, all hurt.I saw a naked person, with their clothes all burned off. I saw a person dragging his own skin, terribly burned skin. Someone kept crying out, “It hurts! It hurts!”Someone who was carrying a dead child, dragging her feet, barely walking.Someone who was so burned that I could not tell the front part of the body from the back.There was nothing I could do for them.It was a living hell.It is impossible to describe it in writing. I thought it was strange that my mother did not come to our house.Neither did my brothers or other relatives.The next day, August 7th, I was still waiting to hear from them.No wonder.My mother died instantly. She had been working at the city’s water company in Hachoboriand the building collapsed (460m / 0.29 miles from where the bomb was dropped). Her body was burnt beyond recognition.We were only able to identify herby removing a brick that had fallen on top of her stomach to reveal the pattern of the Kimono my mother was wearing that day; that was the only way to identify my mother.My oldest brother, Shozo Mizuno, was on a train of Hakushima-line when the bomb exploded.He was burned on the left side of his face. He died on May 13th, 1951. My second oldest brother, Shiro Mizuno, was waiting for a train in front of Hiroshima station(2.1 km / 1.3 miles from where the bomb was dropped). The wind from the explosion blew him off the ground.His face, his chest, and his hand were burned,on every part of his right side that was exposed to the light of the explosion. He didn’t looked like a human anymore.The keloid scars from the bomb remained all his life. He had a health check up, twice a year, at Atomic Bomb Casualty Commission (ABCC). He died of leukemia on August 15th, 1969. The ABCC came as soon as he died, and took his body away.My husband worked everyday in Hiroshima disposing dead bodies,everyday from August 6th to the end of the war on August 15th.After being sick for many years, he died on February 12th, 1952. On the day of the bomb, my younger brother didn’t go to school.Instead, he was playing in an air-raid shelter, and survived(His school was most likely to have been Hakushima elementary school,located 1.2km / 0.74 mile away from the explosion site).He died of pancreas cancer on September 7th, 1988.He was in his 50s. My older sister was living far from Hiroshima when the explosion happened.I later joined her to help take care of those who had escaped.I walked for hours with my daughter on my back to get to my older sister’s home.We helped the victims who came to my older sister's house,putting oil on the victim’s burns. My older sister also died of pancreas cancer on August 9th, 1992.Everyone in my family died - because of the atomic bomb, my husband, my mom, and my siblings died, leaving me behind, alone.Now, at the age of 84, I am fighting cancer. I am 84 years old. How long do I have to suffer?I don’t want my children and my grandchildren to go through the unbearable experience I had.I hate wars.The ones suffer the most are the weakest.Especially, I never want to see the living hell of the Atomic Bomb.This is not the act of a human being.I will never forgive or forget what America did. No more war! No more war! No more Atomic Bomb!(written around the year 2006)********************************************************************************************Author’s note: While going through her belongings, I found many paper with a list - the list of all the family members and when they died. It was on scratch papers, on her notebook, on her address book, everywhere. My grandma wrote this list over, and over. Though she hardly talked about it, the death of her family was always there, hanging heavily in her heart.
