Ms. IWATA Kiyoe
When my son comes back home, saying, “I’m home,” I cannot help but saying, “Hi, welcome home, my daughter!” As they were elder sister and younger brother, their voices sounded quite similar, still confusing me.
On March 20,1995, the day of the Sarin Attacks, as soon as I came back home from a beauty salon, I had a phone call from my husband who scolded me, saying, “What in the world are you doing?” and he said that “Takako was dead.” at the Tsukiji Police Station.
The trains did not operate as scheduled, but I managed to arrive at Tsukiji Station and then took taxi from there. The taxi then arrived at Tsukishima Police Station, instead of Tsukiji Police Station. I thought I had told the taxi driver to take me to the Tsukiji Police Station, but I was so panicked that I probably told the taxi driver a different name of the police station. Police officers took me to a basement room and opened the door of a refrigerator-like storage with a clanging noise. A cold wind blew from the storage where my daughter Takako lay in a coffin.
Takako’s hobby was scuba-diving. When she was back home, she and I together used to wash her sandy wet suit. She bought equipment for scuba-diving one by one with her low wages. She informed me that she made purchase of underwater camera as well, saying, “Mom, all equipment is now ready.” But, soon after that, she was dead.
When my husband passed away twelve years ago, I was also panicked. At that time, I thought that “I wish Takako were alive now.” My anger toward Aum Shinrikyo has never been settled. (January 6, 2020)
On March 20,1995, the day of the Sarin Attacks, as soon as I came back home from a beauty salon, I had a phone call from my husband who scolded me, saying, “What in the world are you doing?” and he said that “Takako was dead.” at the Tsukiji Police Station.
The trains did not operate as scheduled, but I managed to arrive at Tsukiji Station and then took taxi from there. The taxi then arrived at Tsukishima Police Station, instead of Tsukiji Police Station. I thought I had told the taxi driver to take me to the Tsukiji Police Station, but I was so panicked that I probably told the taxi driver a different name of the police station. Police officers took me to a basement room and opened the door of a refrigerator-like storage with a clanging noise. A cold wind blew from the storage where my daughter Takako lay in a coffin.
Takako’s hobby was scuba-diving. When she was back home, she and I together used to wash her sandy wet suit. She bought equipment for scuba-diving one by one with her low wages. She informed me that she made purchase of underwater camera as well, saying, “Mom, all equipment is now ready.” But, soon after that, she was dead.
When my husband passed away twelve years ago, I was also panicked. At that time, I thought that “I wish Takako were alive now.” My anger toward Aum Shinrikyo has never been settled. (January 6, 2020)
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