The Distance Between Me and My Father-in-Law

The Distance Between Me and My Father-in-Law

On March 2nd last year, my mother-in-law passed away. It was an aortic dissection.

More than a year has gone by since then. Which means it's also been about that long since we began our life in Shisui, Chiba.

We officially moved in July. Until then, we went back and forth between Tokyo and Shisui countless times. We were rebuilding our living space almost from scratch.

It's a 50-year-old house with nine rooms, but these days we live quite comfortably. About three times a week, I go to a natural hot spring with free-flowing water and let my body settle.

In terms of quality of life alone, it has improved far beyond our days in Nakameguro. My wife works remotely, so where we live makes little difference to her. She's the type who, even before, often wouldn't step outside the house on a workday.

As for me, apart from going out for tango lessons or to a milonga at night, I never really lived an urban life either. And I still have my salon in Meguro.

I'm in Tokyo more than half the week, so I feel no longing for the old place.

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And over this past year, I've grown used to living with my father-in-law. A craftsman by nature — quiet, stubborn.

At 82, it's not really his personality anymore — it's just who he is.

I wish our conversations flowed a little more, but it can't be helped. For a while, I made an effort to speak to him at least once a day. But lately, I've given that up.

There was something that brought it on.

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The other day, there was news of pepper spray being released at Ginza Six. We were in the middle of dinner.

Watching it, my wife began to tell an old story.

Back when we lived in Buenos Aires, we once ran into a huge student demonstration while traveling in Santiago.

Tear gas was fired, and even from far away our eyes started to sting, and we ran off in a hurry.

It's quite a striking story, really. The kind of thing you only experience because you once lived in South America.

When my wife finished, my father-in-law gave a quiet nod.

And that was all.

In my head, I couldn't help but cut in.

"That's it?"

The kind of story today's AI might turn into a movie — full of moments to react to. And yet, just one quiet nod.

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In that moment, somehow, the tension in my shoulders eased. Ah, I thought — I don't have to keep trying to draw conversation out of him.

If even this story gets nothing out of him, then there's nothing I can do. And besides, when I speak to him, he answers while looking at my wife's face, not mine.

That's fine, in its own way. There's no need for me to keep pushing forever.

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The days pass quietly, one after another. I

f I have one wish, it's that my father-in-law lives out the rest of his years in peace, without any serious illness.

That's all.