The Narrative Arc
Like a River Through Generations
Reflections on grandparenthood, family, and the passing of time
The Japanese kanji character kawa (river) is a hieroglyphic symbol representing a flowing river, composed of three vertical lines. The vertical stroke in the middle of this kanji is short, and it can be interpreted as a parent sleeping with a child in between. This arrangement might originate from the fact that traditional Japanese houses have always been relatively narrow. Nevertheless, it serves as a symbol of a happy family.
My wife and I used to sleep in this pattern when our children were small. When our second child — a daughter — was born, a short vertical line was added to the arrangement. However, by the time our third child — another daughter — reached elementary school, we were left with the arrangement of “II.” I’ve heard that in the West, children sleep alone starting from when they are babies.
I am not sure which practice is better for a child’s mental development. But when I imagine a small child waking up in the middle of the night — like in a fairy tale — seeing their parents’ sleeping faces on either side, feeling at ease, and drifting back to sleep, I think that sleeping in the shape of a river may have its own advantages.
The other night, for the first time in nearly thirty years, we slept in the shape of a river once again. This time, it wasn’t our child but our three-year-old grandson who slept between us. Our son and his wife had their second child and experienced a temporary overload. So, they turned to my wife and me for help in caring for their older son for a week.
There is a saying in Japan: “We are happy when our grandchildren come, and we are happy when they leave.” These words beautifully express the joy of having grandchildren and the challenges of caring for them.
Except when our grandson was sleeping, one of us always had to keep a close watch on him to make sure he didn’t get hurt. At times, it took both of us working together. During the day, we brought him to a park near our house. He loved the slide and had fun driving his toy car from the top of it. I stood nearby, ready to catch him if needed. He had grown to run quite fast, and if we looked away even for a moment, he would dash toward the street, where cars were passing. At times, it was difficult to keep up with him, and we often felt exhausted. We used to enjoy watching TV programs in our spare time, but since he arrived, we no longer have the luxury of doing so.
Yet, in the stillness of the night, I would occasionally wake up to check if he was properly covered. Half-asleep, I would gently adjust his blanket. At those moments, his peaceful and lovely sleeping face filled me with a profound sense of calm and love. Seeing him like that helped me drift back into a deep, peaceful sleep.
Although it may seem as though we were the ones watching over our grandson, the truth is that we were also receiving invisible gifts from him — his warmth, his presence, and the joy he brought into our lives. I recall when our daughter visited us with her infant daughter — our granddaughter. I was exhausted from taking care of her and lay down on a futon next to her, feeling her tiny movements, hearing her soft breathing, and sensing her warmth. In that moment, I thought that if I could pass away in such a state — surrounded by my grandchild’s presence — there would be no happier way to go. Such is the powerful, inexplicable gift that grandchildren bring.
My wife is part of a tennis club that meets every Tuesday for a couple of hours around noon at a large recreational park. It takes half an hour to get there by car. Since it was challenging for me to manage him alone at home for three hours, I decided to take him to the park with my wife. It’s near a river, and features an aquarium that showcases local fish. I thought he would enjoy it.
The park features tennis courts, a soccer field, a baseball field, and a promenade along the river. Sports enthusiasts, bird watchers, and photographers all gather there. Others come to stroll or cycle along the river, creating a peaceful atmosphere for recreation. However, after heavy rains from typhoons, the river sometimes swells, flooding the park and transforming it into a temporary lake. This helps protect downstream areas from flooding, as the park serves as a flood-retarding basin. The people who use it may not even be aware of this vital role.
My wife and I also relied on my parents to help care for our son for a week when our second child — our daughter — was born. At that time, I thought it must have been hard work but was also joyful for them, as I imagined they fondly recalled caring for me and my sisters during our childhood. Going back even further, I vividly remember breaking my leg and my grandfather — my father’s father — making me a pair of crutches out of bamboo. Those crutches allowed me to go to school.
It is clear that my son holds a profound love for his own son. This enduring love, passed down through four generations, now flows warmly to my grandchildren. Our grandson might carry it forward to the next generation, much like a river carrying its waters onward.
I have heard the term “love for humanity,” which feels like an abstract, learned concept. When I reflect on the current state of the world, I can’t help but wonder if such love truly exists. But I am convinced that the love shared across our five generations truly exists.
When it comes to caring for our grandchildren this time, our role resembles that of the recreational park — a flood-retarding basin — as we temporarily took on our son and his wife’s parenting responsibilities to ease their efforts in caring for their newborn. We carried out that role successfully, safely returning our grandson to his parents, who could now fully focus on raising both their children.
Perhaps this is the essence of grandparenthood: silently offering love and guidance, ensuring that future generations — like my grandson and those who will come after him — feel supported and cherished, just as a river carries its waters forward through time.
