Ishinomaki survivor Michiyo Oshima says all she can do is move on and try to enjoy the rest of her life.
Oshima lost her husband of 40 years, Sadao, to the tsunami. During the first year of her widowhood, she would idle away her days in sorrow, her mind frequently drifting off to nostalgic thoughts about her husband.
Nowadays she no longer appears beset by such grief, as the 74-year-old single-mindedly commits herself to her duties as president of the temporary housing complex in the city’s Minamizakai district. She handles everything from inviting volunteers to checking in on her fellow residents, fearing some may be too withdrawn.
The leadership role, Oshima says, has kept her occupied and given her opportunities to make new friends instilling in her a renewed hope for life.
“I would be lying if I said I no longer think about my husband,” she said. “But I’m happy I have all these new friends now. As a survivor, we need to enjoy what remains of our lives.”
Four years on, Oshima said many temporary housing residents are at a crossroads in their post-tsunami lives, as some, including herself, are slated to move into state-backed public housing as early as next month.
As much as they are fed up with the increasingly decrepit state of their temporary dwellings, Oshima said some of the survivors leaving her complex have grown so fond of the camaraderie they have built with their neighbors over the last four years that they are now reluctant to start new relationships from scratch in their next communities.
“Some of the residents are afraid that they might end up living in isolation once they have moved somewhere else,” Oshima said.
Still, she insists the survivors have to move on.
“It is often said the memory of the disaster should be kept alive. But personally, I don’t want any reminder of that day. I just want to forget all about it and move on.”
Ishinomaki survivor Michiyo Oshima says all she can do is move on and try to enjoy the rest of her life.Oshima lost her husband of 40 years, Sadao, to the tsunami. During the first year of her widowhood, she would idle away her days in sorrow, her mind frequently drifting off to nostalgic thoughts about her husband.Nowadays she no longer appears beset by such grief, as the 74-year-old single-mindedly commits herself to her duties as president of the temporary housing complex in the city’s Minamizakai district. She handles everything from inviting volunteers to checking in on her fellow residents, fearing some may be too withdrawn.The leadership role, Oshima says, has kept her occupied and given her opportunities to make new friends instilling in her a renewed hope for life.“I would be lying if I said I no longer think about my husband,” she said. “But I’m happy I have all these new friends now. As a survivor, we need to enjoy what remains of our lives.”Four years on, Oshima said many temporary housing residents are at a crossroads in their post-tsunami lives, as some, including herself, are slated to move into state-backed public housing as early as next month.As much as they are fed up with the increasingly decrepit state of their temporary dwellings, Oshima said some of the survivors leaving her complex have grown so fond of the camaraderie they have built with their neighbors over the last four years that they are now reluctant to start new relationships from scratch in their next communities.“Some of the residents are afraid that they might end up living in isolation once they have moved somewhere else,” Oshima said.Still, she insists the survivors have to move on.“It is often said the memory of the disaster should be kept alive. But personally, I don’t want any reminder of that day. I just want to forget all about it and move on.”
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