She was thirty-two. Her father had passed away, the company was gone, and the house and land had been lost. The world surrounding Ms. Osawa had collapsed with a thunderous roar.
Creditors—financial institutions, former business partners, and even the local carpenters and merchants—were merciless. They scrambled to force their way into the house, scavenging for anything of value. Perhaps that is the nature of the capitalist world. But to Ms. Osawa’s eyes, those around her looked like nothing more than hyenas.
"If you want it that badly, I’ll give it to you! Take it all. It wasn't wealth I created anyway. Do as you like!"
She rented a two-story house nearby with four rooms and moved in with her mother. After some time, her mother, Asako, said softly, "I never knew a small house could be this comfortable."
Surprised by these words, Ms. Osawa looked at her mother’s face. She wasn't lying. She wasn't belittling their fallen lifestyle. Instead, a gentle expression—all the tension vanished from her mother's face—was there. "I see. The previous house, where people were constantly coming and going, leaving no room to even catch one's breath, was my mother’s battlefield."
The weight of what had been lost hit home, yet somehow, she felt a sense of relief. But even with that relief, she was penniless. What now? The answer, as always, was embroidery. With her own two hands, she would support this new life with her mother.
Scraping together the last of her money, she bought a single zigzag sewing machine in the summer of 1973. It was a Japanese-made "GOLD QUEEN"—a beloved machine that she would maintain, modify, and continue to use even to this day. Work existed. Many clients still recognized the excellence of Ms. Osawa’s embroidery skills. There were orders for sukajan jackets and uchikake wedding kimonos.
"Even though my mother was happy moving to a smaller house, she didn't know the life of a commoner. She had lived her whole life as a lady of the house, moving from being a 'young miss' to a 'married lady.'"
She was determined to provide a life of comfort for Asako. To do that, she couldn't afford to be picky. Whether she felt like it or not, she would take any work that came her way. She began to face her machine with a single-minded devotion.
She swore to herself that she would pull them both out of this double misfortune through her own strength. If she kept embroidering, even if they weren't wealthy, they could reclaim a quiet, settled life together.
However, the "third misfortune" struck. It was mid-September, just as the work had finally begun to run smoothly.
"Everything I see looks distorted somehow. I thought I had finished the work properly, but when I look at the completed embroidery, the pattern is warped."
That's strange. Is it because I worked too hard yesterday? With a light heart, she tried covering one eye at a time. She covered her left eye. The image she saw was not distorted. "That's right, it's normal."
She covered her right eye. "Wait…"
The center of her vision was pitch black. She could see blurred shapes in her periphery, but there was no image in the center. A black hole had opened up. What on earth had happened? Terrified, she rushed to a neighborhood ophthalmologist.
"Doctor, something is wrong with my left eye."
The ophthalmologist, after peering into her eye for a while, took on a stern expression. "Ms. Osawa, I am writing a referral. Go to the Gunma University Hospital immediately. Every moment counts."
Ms. Osawa possessed a rare, special sight—capable of seeing twelve colors where others could only distinguish ten. It was one of the fundamental talents supporting her work. While such ability might not be strictly necessary for standard commercial embroidery, if her vision was failing, she wouldn't even be able to do that work.
Leaving everything behind, she rushed to Gunma University Hospital in Maebashi City. Her attending physician was a young doctor who had just returned from studying in Germany. "Hmm, this is a difficult eye disease. I cannot say for certain without a thorough examination."
She was admitted to the hospital that day. For two weeks, the days were filled with nothing but tests. It took over a month for the diagnosis to arrive.
"Your left eye is suffering from a disease called retinitis. It is like a mirror where the tin backing has peeled off, so the image no longer reflects. It is a rare condition that affects only one in 80,000 people, and unfortunately, no established treatment exists. In some cases, if treated quickly, patients have avoided total blindness, but if it is delayed, blindness is unavoidable. If things go poorly, it could affect your right eye as well…"
Blindness. The words felt like a knife being driven into her heart. "Doctor, if I cannot see, I cannot work. Please, I beg you, save my sight!" That day, the treatment began.
Kiyomi Osawa Gallery
The "Plants" embroidery series by Kiyomi Osawa is also nearing its end. On a computer screen, it may be difficult to fully appreciate the expressions of the pictures as they change with the light, or the nuances of the thread and color selection. For those interested, I recommend contacting "Atelier Kiyomi."
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