A Quiet Life of Care, Hope, and Pensions

 Dear readers,

I hope this message finds you well.  Today, I would like to share something personal—about elderly care and financial hardship in Japan, especially among people in difficult life situations.

Before I begin, let me say this: what you’re about to read is a long story about Japan’s pension system.  It may sound boring, and it might not be useful at all to someone without Japanese citizenship.  So if you want to skip it, I won’t blame you.  But if you’re curious about what daily life is like for some people in Japan, especially those facing financial and emotional struggles, please read on.

In Japan, the amount of pension people receive varies greatly depending on their work history.  For example:

Self-employed people, like small business owners, receive only the National Pension.  The average amount is about ¥130,000–¥140,000 for two months (about $840–$900 USD).

Company workers receive the National Pension plus Employees’ Pension (Kōsei Nenkin).  They might get about ¥290,000–¥320,000 every two months (around $1,900–$2,100 USD).

Public servants, such as teachers or government employees, usually receive a higher amount—around ¥330,000–¥370,000 for two months (about $2,200–$2,500 USD).

I have two friends whose life stories reflect the reality behind these numbers.

First is my penpal Kazu, a 65-year-old man in Hiroshima who used to run a private tutoring school.  He has two children.  He is now fighting terminal cancer and spends his days either in bed or receiving chemotherapy at the hospital.  As a self-employed person, he receives only the National Pension, which is not enough to support his family.  His wife, who had been working hard to support the household, eventually left him after starting a new relationship with someone at her workplace.  I don’t blame her.  I think she just couldn't see a future living under such economic and emotional pressure.

Another friend of mine, Emi from Shizuoka, is now 62.  She had three children—two from her first marriage and one from her second.  Her second husband was kind and even treated her first two children as his own.  However, they lived with her husband's 85-year-old mother, and Emi had to work full time while also taking care of her mother-in-law and doing housework.  Eventually, she left home.  If her husband had arranged for his mother to move into a care facility, perhaps they could still be together.

Generally, Japanese women—even when exhausted—find it difficult to ask their husbands to place the husband's parents in a nursing home.  That’s why I understand why Emi couldn’t bring herself to say it, even though it would have changed everything.

Emi now lives in a small, 50-year-old apartment, but she seems cheerful.  Every weekend, she flies off to watch sumo matches, which she really loves.  We went to school together more than 40 years ago.  I’m truly happy that she has found her own way to enjoy life.

As for myself, I’m now 59 and have been married for over 20 years to a 72-year-old man who was a public school science teacher for 40 years.  He has both an intellectual disability and dementia and needs daily care.  He has had two life-threatening illnesses since turning 70.  Until then, I had been working part-time, but I had to quit to take care of him.  We now live on his public servant pension.  With that, we cover his medical expenses, caregiving services, our meals, and basic living needs.  So far, we manage to get by.

Some of my foreign friends say my devotion to my husband is beautiful.  But honestly, love alone does not pay the bills.  If we didn’t have his pension, I don’t know how I could continue supporting both of us.

Still, I dream of returning to Nebraska, even if just for a month.  I haven’t been back to my hometown in Tokyo in over 20 years, either.  There’s no money for travel, but my heart longs to go.

I sometimes read the “13 Moon Calendar” created by José Argüelles.  My solar seal is the Blue Night, and we Blue Nights are said to live through dreams.  That really resonates with me.  I feel I can’t live without having a dream.  I need to keep reaching for something—something that brings meaning to my life.

Thank you for listening.

Warm regards,