Memories

Sunday Morning

Mayu awoke to the soft weight of Luma nestled at her feet, her electric pink eyes glowing as she stretched. Sunday was always her day for catching up on paperwork, and after a quick breakfast, Mayu sat at her laptop, ready to dive into her notes.

Her checkups with clients over the past week had gone well. She jotted down progress reports for each, smiling as she remembered the small but significant victories: a young boy bonding with his fox familiar, a couple finally understanding how to work as a team with their similar parrot familiars.

Next, she turned her attention to her upcoming session with Renji Ishida. She reviewed her notes: Renji was grieving the loss of his wife, Misaki, and had been struggling to reconnect with his owl familiar, Kuro. Misaki’s snow leopard familiar, Shiro, had passed soon after her, leaving Renji in even deeper sorrow.

Mayu sighed, her thoughts wandering to her grandmother, Himawari. Despite raising Mayu alone after losing her partner, Himawari had always found joy and purpose in life. Her wisdom often echoed in Mayu’s mind, like the time she had said, “Happiness isn’t about who’s with you—it’s about carrying their love forward in your heart.”

Mayu considered how different people processed grief. While her grandmother found fulfillment in solitude, Renji’s journey required reconnecting with Kuro and honoring Misaki’s memory in his own way.

That night, Mayu brushed her teeth as Luma trailed behind her, the familiar’s soft purring a constant companion. Crawling into bed, she let her grandmother’s words guide her thoughts: Cherish the love you’ve had, but don’t let it keep you from living.

Monday Morning

The train ride to Renji’s home was soothing with Luma by her side as always. When Mayu arrived, Renji greeted her with a faint but genuine smile. Kuro perched on his shoulder, alert and watchful.

“How have you been, Mr. Ishida?” Mayu asked, settling into the armchair opposite him.

Renji sighed, his hands resting on the scrapbook on the table. “Still difficult,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I’ve been trying to open up more, especially with Kuro.”

Mayu nodded encouragingly. “That’s a big step. How has Kuro been helping?”

Renji glanced at the owl, who hooted softly. “He’s been my anchor. When I start to drift into darker thoughts, he’s there. I feel like Misaki is guiding me through him.”

Mayu smiled. “That’s beautiful. Would you like to share more about Misaki today?”

Renji hesitated, then opened the scrapbook. “I’ve been working on this,” he said, his voice tinged with both pain and pride.

The pages were filled with photos, delicate drawings, and snippets of poetry. One page had a pressed flower, another a short note in Misaki’s elegant handwriting.

“This is incredible,” Mayu said softly, tracing a drawing of Shiro curled up beside Misaki. “You’re keeping her memory alive in such a heartfelt way.”

Renji nodded, his eyes glistening. “It helps me feel connected to her. I’ve even included some songs she used to sing in the car.”

He reached for his phone and played a song—a gentle, soulful melody. “This was the song we danced to at our wedding,” Renji said, his voice breaking slightly.

The music filled the room, and Mayu felt her chest tighten. A tear escaped from her eye, trailing down her cheek. Luma jumped onto her lap, her warmth grounding Mayu.

Renji’s voice grew steadier as he spoke. “For so long, I felt like moving forward would mean forgetting her. But now, I realize she’d want me to carry her love, not be trapped by it.”

“That’s a profound realization,” Mayu said gently. “Honoring her through these memories allows her to remain a part of your life in a healthy way.”

Renji looked at Kuro, who nuzzled his cheek. “I can feel her presence through Kuro. It’s like she’s telling me it’s okay to find joy again.”

They sat in silence for a moment, letting the weight of the conversation settle.

“You’ve been brave, Mr. Ishida,” Mayu said. “Grief is a journey, and you’ve made significant progress. Have you found it helpful to revisit these memories?”

Renji nodded. “At first, it was painful. But now, it feels… comforting. It’s like I’m building a bridge between the past and the present.”

“That’s a beautiful way to put it,” Mayu said. “Grief changes over time, but keeping the positive memories alive can bring healing.”

Renji leaned back, a small, peaceful smile on his wrinkled face. “Thank you, Mayu. I couldn’t have done this without your guidance.”

Mayu returned his smile, feeling a sense of fulfillment. “You’ve done the hard work, Mr. Ishida. I’m just here to support you.”

Reflection

As Mayu boarded the train home, her mind replayed the session. Renji’s growth, his ability to honor Misaki’s memory, and his bond with Kuro left her feeling like the session was a success.

Later that evening, she curled up with Luma, her grandmother’s wisdom once again resonating in her thoughts. To live on is to carry love with you, not to leave it behind.

Mayu smiled, whispering softly to Luma, “It’s all about keeping the memories alive, isn’t it?”

The familiar purred, and Mayu felt a comforting warmth spread through her.

A Message of Gratitude

Mayu sat cross-legged on her couch, her fingers lightly brushing Luma’s fur as the familiar purred softly beside her. The session with Mr. Ishida lingered in her mind, the scrapbook of memories, the song, and his gentle willingness to trust Mayu with guiding his healing. It had left Mayu introspective, her thoughts wandering to the foundation of wisdom she’d received from her grandmother, Himawari.

Pulling out her phone, Mayu opened her messaging app. The screen lit up with her grandmother’s contact: Grandma Himawari – 🌻. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before she began to type.

Mayu:

Hi, Grandma! I’ve been thinking a lot about you today. 💙

She hit send and watched as the three little dots popped up, signaling a reply.

Himawari:

Oh? What’s on your mind, sweetheart? Everything okay?

Mayu smiled, warmth blooming in her chest.

Mayu:

Everything’s fine. Actually, more than fine. I just wanted to say thank you. For everything.

Himawari:

What brought this on, my dear? You’re making an old woman curious. 😊

Mayu chuckled softly, then continued typing.

Mayu:

I’ve been thinking about all the things you’ve taught me. How you always told me to find light even in the darkest times. How you showed me that love doesn’t end when someone’s gone—it just changes form.

She paused, glancing at Luma, who blinked up at her with curious, bright eyes.

Mayu:

You’ve been my guiding star, Grandma. Your strength, your kindness… I wouldn’t be who I am without you.

A few moments passed before her grandmother’s reply appeared.

Himawari:

Oh, Mayu… you’re going to make me cry! You’ve always been such a thoughtful girl, and I’m so proud of the woman you’ve become.

Mayu felt her throat tighten, her eyes growing misty. She quickly wiped at them, laughing softly at herself.

Mayu:

I mean it, Grandma. I’ve been working with someone who’s dealing with a lot of grief, and it reminded me how much your lessons have shaped me. You taught me to carry love forward, to honor memories without being weighed down by them.

Himawari:

That’s because love is like a garden, Mayu. You nurture the seeds planted in your heart, and they’ll grow into something beautiful.

Mayu’s smile widened, her heart swelling with affection.

Mayu:

You’re the best, Grandma. I hope I can make you proud every day.

Himawari:

You already do, my sunshine. Now, don’t forget to rest and take care of yourself too. 😊

Mayu stared at the screen for a moment, feeling a deep sense of connection and gratitude.

Mayu:

I will. Love you, Grandma. 🌻

Himawari:

Love you too, sweetheart. Always. 💕

Placing her phone down, Mayu leaned back, her hand resting on Luma’s soft fur. The purring of her familiar blended with the steady beat of her heart, and for a moment, all felt right in the world.