I was introduced into this world on the eve of my mother’s death. Through the many stories of my father, I learned what I could about the woman I loved but would never know. She was called Sakura after the season of the cherry blossoms. She was a petite, delicate woman of pale skin. In her joy and happiness, she would turn the gentle pink of the flowers of the season. My father was named Homura after the blaze one would see during his anger if it ever showed.

They fell in love when they met during the labor of the wheat fields. My father says the male and females worked the opposite sides of the field. When he saw her for the first time, he says he knew from a fire in his belly that this woman would someday be his bride. According to him my mother did not feel the same immediately but through his gifts she was warmed to his proposal.

As they worked in those fields of wheat not a word could be said but many of the workers sang songs upon the breeze as a way to pass the time. Materials used were left in the field at the end of each day’s work. So, my father would arrive to the fields early each day to leave a gift with her tools, whether it be a treat, a book, or a gem. With every gift that he left he would leave a sweet cherry blossom from the season with it. The first day he watched her as she picked up the parchment wrapped object that said her name. She looked around the fields to see who had left such a gift and when she met his eyes he waved. When she opened his gift, it brought a beautiful pink glow to the skin on her cheeks. It was a simple parchment that contained a short story of love in their native tongue. When she finished reading it, she raised her head and returned his wave. Then they continued working. He watched her each day as she received her gifts with a wave and eventually her blushes transformed to smiles.

As a young man of twenty he did not have much patience. He begins with the parchment and the first flower on the first eve of Hanami when the cherry blossoms graced the world with their blooming presence. On the final when the season was at its end and the blossoms no longer kiss the sky but now kissed the dirt. He left her a gift like none other he had given before and with it he left a question. After weeks of leaving different parchments and desserts that he watched her enjoy. He decided he wanted her to have no one other than himself. This was always his favorite part of the story to tell. He watched her standing there and waited for the smile that would usually grace her face as she opened the present. Instead, he saw that pale pink glow fade from her face and saw her hands move out of sight. He bowed his head at what he thought of as her rejection and as he began to turn away, he heard the most beautiful sound. His head snapped up at the sound of twinkling bells ringing in joyous harmony upon the breeze. As he looked at the woman, he wanted for his bride she raised her hand in the air to show she now wore his ring. From across the field through the breeze that brought the sweet smell of the fleeting nature of life she spoke the first words ever said between them.

“Shi de” (Yes)

That day my parents gathered their payments from working in the fields of wheat and began to make the long journey to what would be my birthplace in Kyoto, Japan. After the journey of days and nights they fell in love with the temple Kiyomizu-Dera that was surrounded by the trees that birthed the blossoms which had come to mean so much. It was at the site of that three-story Buddhist temple that my father Homura learned of the blossom in the womb of Sakura.

They found work in the paddy fields that lay in the distance of the temple as they awaited the birth of me. They were married in those fields by a priest who often visited. During their work they talked and shared the stories of old from when they were young. It was here in those patty fields they bonded between being two lost souls in the world with no other living family. The two became their own family as they waited for their new addition.

The day of my birth was the eve before Hanami of the next year. The bulbs of the cherry blossoms again graced the trees but had yet to greet the world. My mother lay in a cave that opened to a view of the paddy fields in which they often worked. When she discovered that I would soon greet the day she made it to the cave calling for my father to follow. He braced her against a boulder that adorned the wall of the cave and held her hand as he spoke of her strength and his love. He held her as she pushed and gave her great comfort from the pain.

As part of a distraction during a beat in time she told my father that should it be a boy they would name him Kaito after the ocean where they once lived. If it were a girl, her name would be Io after the Indian Ocean. After a few more pushes I met my parents for the first time in a screaming fury of a cry. My father says I was as red as a flame with hair as dark as night like my mother. They felt extreme joy in the moment and kissed as thanks to each other for the family they thought they would not have again. My father decided they should return to their hut, so he left my mother for a few moments to get help to get her home.

He had no idea that when he returned, he would never see that beautiful pink glow of a cherry blossom grace my mother’s face again. He did not know that he would not again hear the tinkling laughter of bells. He did not know that he was coming back to the cave to get his wife, but it would be for burial. His sorrow was so great that he could never tell the story of what he discovered when he got back to the cave or the journey of leaving it. The only memory he shared was that upon walking to the hut as he carried me, he saw the blooms of Hanami begin to open as a final goodbye from Sakura. And so, with the end of the love of his life he was given a token to show how that love would never end. It was a love that he hopes someday I will experience for myself.