My father named me Midori because I was born in August, the month of green leaves.
My mother didn't like the name because it reminded her of her older sister who had died young. My mother saw Enola Gay on that fateful day in Hiroshima, a half century ago. Her younger sister was on her back. They were taking a walk. They happened to be standing in the shadow of a tree when the bomb was dropped. The tree sheltered them from direct exposure to the light, heat, and radiation of the explosion. The tree saved their lives and spared them from serious illness.
Their older sister, Midori, wasn't that lucky. She was 13 years old and working like many other children in Japan and other countries occupied by Japan during the war. On her death bed her hair fell off like a wig. She died two weeks after Japan surrendered.
Now I am a mother. I can feel the pain of my grandmother and other women's. Peace on earth.
back to Midori Kitagawa's home page