Families who suffered bereavement in World War II renewed a vow to keep memories of the conflict from fading so Japan will never again wage military aggression during the central government’s annual ceremony in Tokyo on Aug. 15 to pay tribute to the nation's war dead.

The date marked the 76th anniversary of Japan's surrender. 

Hiroshi Kakihara, 85, lost his father Teruji in the war.

Teruji, a farmer, was drafted in April 1944. He died at a field hospital in Changsha, in China’s Hunan province, the following October. He was 35 years old. His death was recorded as due to dysentery.

Kakihara was 8 years old when his father was called up for duty. He has few memories of his dad.

But he fondly recalls when Teruji went to work as a chief sake brewer and he would meet his father at a bus stop to welcome him home. Teruji always brought home souvenirs.

After his father’s death, Kakihara had to help out with farm work while his friends played. He often lamented his misfortune.

About 20 years ago, Kakihara visited the province where his father died as a member of the group of bereaved families.

When he saw the lush forests and open fields there, he cried at the thought, “My father came to a place like this.”

Hoping to console his father's spirit, he told him that his younger brother had died at the age of 28 but his mother had managed to stay well and find a way to live.

Other believed family members wept, too. Surveying the sad scene, Kakihara thought, “There should never be a bereaved family like us.”

Kakihara, a resident of Tanba, Hyogo Prefecture, heads a prefectural group of bereaved families of the war dead.

He said some people do not immediately recognize what the group's aims are.

“It can’t be helped that we are aging,” Kakihara said. “But awareness about the war and the war dead should not dwindle. My wish is that we relay (our message) to future generations.”

Shoji Nagaya, 94, was the only attendee to come from Hokkaido, the nation's northernmost main island. He was also the oldest attendee among bereaved family members.

Nagaya said he hesitated to travel from Abashiri to Tokyo because of the novel coronavirus pandemic.

“But the only thing we who are alive can do is to commemorate the dead,” he said by way of explanation.

Prior to the pandemic, dozens of bereaved family members had attended the ceremony from Hokkaido, Nagaya said.

“It feels so lonely,” Nagaya said. “Many people wanted to attend the ceremony, so I hope they do after the pandemic is over.”

Nagaya lost his brother, Tamotsu, eight years older than him, in December 1945.

Tamotsu died of lung tuberculosis at the age of 26 at a hospital in China.

Tamotsu was a kind big brother to Nagaya. Tamotsu often told Nagaya, “When I’m demobilized and sent home, I will send you to a good school.”

Tamotsu was sent to the battlefield as a soldier transporting weapons and food. He never returned home.

Nagaya himself was conscripted into the Imperial Japanese Army and joined a young boys’ air squadron.

On Aug. 15, 1945, Nagaya was in the Korean Peninsula when he learned of Japan’s surrender.

Some members of his squadron, all fellow teenagers, had died in “kamikaze” suicide missions.

To commemorate “those who were part of the suicide attack units and died,” Nagaya remained determined to keep attending the ceremony as long as he was able to do so.

More than 80 percent of Japan's population was born after the war.

Nagaya clings to the thought that everyone, including lawmakers, keeps “thinking of how to avoid a war at any cost.”

(This article was compiled from reports by Tomoe Ishikawa and Ryuichi Hisanaga. )