My aunt on my mother’s side recently passed away, and I attended her funeral with my elderly mother. The two sisters—my mother and my aunt—grew up in the countryside of Kyushu. While my mother left for Tokyo and got married there, my aunt chose to stay local, going straight into the workforce in their hometown, getting married, and having her husband live together with her and her family. She lived for a long time in the home where she was born and raised, sharing it later with her children. So, when I was a child, my mother would take me back home for traditional Japanese holidays, like Obon or New Year’s, and my aunt was always there at the house, along with her family. For a boy accustomed to life in the city, the occasional visit to the countryside was exciting. I remember the enjoyment of venturing into the mountains to catch rare beetles and fish in the river. My aunt, who was six years my mother’s junior, took great care of me, bringing me to amusement parks and the beach, and during New Year’s, she’d take me around to visit family and neighbors, who would give me New Year’s gift money, thanks to her.

Our flight to Fukuoka Airport took just under two hours, and then we drove for a little over an hour, visiting my mother’s ancestral family grave before proceeding to the ceremony site where my aunt’s funeral was to be held. Even today, it’s an area with a sense of community, and perhaps because my aunt was still young and had a wide social circle, many people were in attendance.

I believe that there is significant meaning in attending a funeral and meeting the person who has passed. While I may not fully grasp the religious significance as a layperson, I see funerals as a valuable opportunity to reflect on our own lives through the experience of another’s death. Not a single person in the long history of humanity has escaped death. It’s an inevitable truth that each of us will have our turn—that’s just a fact of life. Once we realize this inevitability, we can begin to reflect on the life we have left. This is the significance of funerals for us, as a place focused on the departed where those who had a connection with them can reflect on their life and learn. In other words, the person who has passed is a teacher, and those who are bereaved are their students. I regard those who have departed as public assets and educators.

I hear a message from the body of my aunt, who has moved on from this world: “It’s your turn, now. How will you live out your time until then? Make it meaningful!” In the afterlife, earthly values like our notions of wealth are profoundly transformed. A funeral, a place where we meet the departed, makes us question what we value and what meaning we want to give to the rest of our lives. My response to my aunt’s message would be that I will serve the next generation by fulfilling my mission to build our country’s infrastructure for end-of-life services. As we move into an era of an aging population and changing family structures, these are still undeveloped areas. Building end-of-life infrastructure is an important issue for Japanese society. It will not only create peace of mind for individuals and stability for society but also spur active consumption, benefiting the economy as well. I’m convinced of this, and it’s a great cause to dedicate the limited time I have left in my life. I never dreamed that the goal of the business I have been painstakingly developing since taking over my father’s failing company would end up being related to end-of-life services, but I guess this, too, must be some fate or divine guidance. Lastly, I am fully determined to see this goal achieved, and I ask for your support and guidance.

Hirotaka Shimizu
Chairman and CEO
Kamakura Shinsho, Ltd.