Wings of Courage to New York <Part 2>

Part 1 (Article by Hiromi Kishida)

My mother became a wheelchair user because of my choice.

When I was a second-year high school student, my mother collapsed from a disease called aortic dissection. She was taken to the hospital treatment room unconscious, and the doctor explained to me, "Your condition is very dangerous. If we operate on you like this, there is an 80% chance that your aorta will rupture during the operation and you will die. If we don't operate on you, you will definitely die within a few hours, but you can temporarily regain consciousness and talk to your mother."

I lost my father at an early age. My younger brother, who lived with me, has a severe intellectual disability (Down Syndrome), and my grandmother is elderly, so I was forced to make a decision.
At that time, I just wanted my mother's life to be saved, so I asked them to perform the surgery. By some miracle, she survived, but she was left with paralysis, meaning she lost feeling from her belly button down. But I was just happy that she was alive. When my mother regained consciousness, she laughed and said, "I'm worried about being in a wheelchair for the rest of my life, but I'm glad she didn't die." It wasn't until a year later that I realized she was just being stubborn.

The day I told my mother that I was okay with dying

I once went out to town with my mother, who had been repeatedly admitted to rehabilitation hospitals for a long time. As we walked while pushing her wheelchair, we encountered many problems. Two or three steps that we hadn't even noticed when we were walking blocked our way. Our favorite clothing store and a restaurant that I had always wanted to visit were right in front of us, but we couldn't enter in our wheelchair. Once we entered the department store, we wandered around the crowd, looking for an elevator. Pushing our way through the crowds, I kept apologizing to everyone around me over and over again.

We were both exhausted, and when we finally managed to go into the cafe, my mother finally cried and told me, "I've never been able to tell you this, Nami-chan, but it's painful to be alive. I can't walk on my own, so there's nothing I can do for my child as a mother. I want to die." I was shocked. Because the option of surgery that I chose because I wanted her to live had pushed my mother to the point where she wanted to die. I also cried and said, "I understand. If you want to die that badly, it's okay. I know how much pain you are in." But deep down, I was hoping that she would live, so the words that came out of my mouth were, "But please give me a little more time. I'll make sure that you're glad you're alive."

I want to travel to Okinawa like I did when I was still able to walk.

I was in a panic after saying such a bold thing. I started thinking about what I could do to make my mother smile. This would later lead to the founding story of Mirairo Co., Ltd., where my mother and I work, but in fact, before that, there was a "travel" that overturned my mother and mother's resignation. One day, my mother suddenly said, "I want to go to Okinawa." Okinawa was a place that my family often visited when my father was alive and my mother could walk.

However, the travel brochures I ordered only showed rooms that were unlikely to be wheelchair accessible, and plans that included rental cars, which I didn't need since I don't have a driver's license. Of course, they didn't mention whether we would be able to board an airplane, which I was worried about, and it just made me feel depressed. There was also a "plan for people who need care," but my mother can take care of herself, and somehow I felt uncomfortable about having a caregiver who isn't a family member accompany her or renting a large car for care.
It may be selfish of us, but rather than being reminded all over again that I am disabled, we wanted to go traveling just the two of us like we used to.

Before I knew it, I was traveling

Now a university student, I clutched the money I'd just received from part-time work and ran to the counter of a travel agency. As if bursting out of curiosity, I told the female salesperson about my mother, and she leaned forward to listen to me. The salesperson looked over several brochures and made various phone calls, offering suggestions one after another, such as, "Let's cancel the rental car and change to a chartered taxi instead," and "There's a spacious room with no steps. How about that?" She also told me how to contact the airline and how to check in my wheelchair, and, despite my anxieties, my travel preparations steadily progressed.

With the guidance of the ground staff and flight attendants, we were able to board the domestic flight without any problems, and when we arrived at Naha Airport in Okinawa, the taxi driver, who spoke Okinawan dialect, greeted us, saying, "We've been waiting for you. Let's put your wheelchair in the trunk." On the way to the hotel, he even took us on a detour to a beach that is wheelchair accessible, so we can take some photos there. Feeling the summer breeze coming in through the car window and watching the blue sea and sky flow by, my mother and I were overjoyed, realizing that our trip to Okinawa, something we never dreamed of when we were hospitalized, has come true.

The family's entertainer spirit inherited from his father

I have weaknesses in that I am careless and easily bored. I have always been bad at making consistent efforts for myself. If the trip was just for me, I would have given up on making efforts like visiting travel agencies and researching barrier-free routes. But if it's not for myself, but for someone important to me, I can do my best. The driving force behind my desire to please and surprise my mother, who had given up on life, is that I spare no effort for that purpose, and I am able to convey that feeling with enthusiasm.
And, luckily, the people around us supported our journey. Come to think of it, my late father had the same personality as me. To make my mother happy, he would get lost in places he visited for the first time and buy her his favorite souvenirs, and he would surprise her almost every month. It's something I inherited from my father, and it's my pride. With our travels as a trigger, little by little, my conversations with my mother began to have more and more of the same hopefulness that we had when she was still able to walk.

Small successes on a trip build self-confidence in parents and children

Traveling with someone special can also create anxiety. A negative thought always crosses my mind: "I planned this trip to cheer up my mother, but what if I end up disappointing her?" However, I recently realized that the only way to eliminate this anxiety is to get used to it. For example, when looking for a place to eat on a domestic trip. At first, I had a hard time finding wheelchair accessible restaurants, but now it's much smoother. I can search for the name of the restaurant I'm interested in, look at photos using the Street View function on a map, or look it up using an application that shows barrier-free information for the restaurant, and if I still can't find anything, I can just call.

My biggest worries about this trip to New York were the long flight and traveling in unfamiliar territory. However, I had experience traveling overseas to Korea and Thailand, so I had some idea of how my mother spent her time. I knew that there were multi-purpose toilets on planes, that I could borrow cushions, and that the attentiveness of the JAL flight attendants, who I often flew with, was reassuring. If I had just been discharged from the hospital and suddenly taken a 14-hour flight to New York, I would have been so anxious that I would never have been able to go. I think it was good that I had accumulated small successes little by little, such as Okinawa, Korea, Thailand, Myanmar, Hawaii, etc. These successes also gave me confidence as a parent and child.

It's fun to follow the local customs

In Japan, I feel a sense of needing to be considerate and protect people with disabilities. Of course, I'm grateful for that, but sometimes I feel sorry and think, "They don't have to go that far." When I go abroad with my mother, I notice things that overturn my common sense, which is really interesting. In New York, when we approached the entrance or hallway, many people opened the door for us and waited for us, even if they weren't near the door. I wondered if it was because they were store clerks or because we were in wheelchairs, but it wasn't the case; everyone opened the door for everyone without discrimination. I was happy that we were not treated specially, but were treated the same as everyone else.

When I asked the locals, they told me that it was good manners in America, that ladies first, and that automatic doors were rare. Speaking of which, when I visited Myanmar with my mother, more than 10 children of mendicant monks followed her in a group. I wondered if they were beggars, but the interpreter explained to me, "Wheelchairs are still rare in this country. They probably thought that anyone riding a vehicle they had never seen before was an important person, so they followed them because they were curious." I remember laughing at that way of thinking. I will never forget the moments when the people and cultures I meet on my travels change my way of thinking and the assumptions that had led me to give up.

From a parent and child's "I want to go" to someone else's "I want to go"

Another worry after the flight was getting around in an unfamiliar place. I knew that elevators in the New York subway rarely worked, so I wondered how I would get around. To tell the truth, I had no idea until I arrived at John F. Kennedy International Airport. When I arrived, I tried using an American taxi dispatch app, imitating what others around me did. I discovered that the app had a function to call a wheelchair-accessible vehicle. I was nervous about whether the vehicle would actually come, but the driver helped me get in with an experienced hand. We barely spoke English, but when we explained in broken English, he readily agreed, saying, "Okay, okay! No problem!" This app was incredibly convenient, and no matter where we were, a wheelchair-accessible vehicle arrived within five minutes. The service was polite, and above all, the drivers' unique personalities were fun.

When I came back to Japan and searched the web, I found that not many people knew that this app can easily call a wheelchair-accessible vehicle. It's such a waste. When my mother wrote about this on her Facebook, many wheelchair users left comments saying they were surprised and impressed. Until now, my mother and I had traveled to places that we wanted to go, but from now on, my mother and I decided that we should use the opportunity to go to places that someone who is anxious about going to wants to go to as a parent and child as motivation for traveling. I thought that there would be nothing more satisfying than if the records of our travels could help someone overcome their resignation and become a trigger for traveling.

The View from Rockefeller: This is Me

My favorite place I visited in New York was the Top of the Rock Observatory at Rockefeller Center. We went up to the 70th floor, and the elevator ceiling was projected with music, which was entertainment in itself. I was excited just by seeing this, because elevators are often thought of as barrier-free facilities. When I got off the elevator, the New York cityscape spread out in 360 degrees, and it was a spectacular view. I could have stared at it forever. But if you look closely, you can see many dilapidated buildings and bridges under construction. Although it is not all sophisticated high-tech buildings, each one of them makes up the city of New York. There is a different alley, a different nationality of people passing by, and homeless people. There are gorgeous fountains and puddles of sewage. Although it is not all beautiful, I even thought that it is the countless "differences" that make New York, the city of freedom, sparkle.

I watched the same musical movie as my mother on the plane. I remember us sharing how great the song "This is Me" from The Greatest Showman was. It's a powerful song that conveys the message, "I'm brave, even though I'm scarred," "There must be a place for people like me," and "This is who I am." We've had countless hardships and pains, but now I think the love I inherited from my father took us on a journey that changed our lives.