Tomoko / Nao’s Mother Character Analysis

But since these are my last days on earth, I want to write something important. […] I want to leave something real behind.

But what can I write about that’s real? Sure, I can write about all the bad shit that’s happened to me, and my feelings about my dad and my mom and my so-called friends, but I don’t particularly want to.

I already thought my father was insane, because this was at a time when I still believed that only insane people try to kill themselves, but at the back of my mind, I guess I was hoping that my mom was normal and okay again […]. But at that moment I knew she was as crazy and unreliable as my father, […] which meant there was nobody left in my life I could count on to keep me safe. I don't think I’ve ever felt as naked or alone. My knees went all soft as I sank, crouching there, cradling my fish. It thrashed one last time, rising up almost into my throat, and then it flopped back down and just lay there, gasping for air. I held it. It was dying in my arms.

It wasn’t that I wasn’t grateful to her. I really was. She was my only friend, and if I couldn’t hang out at Fifi’s Lonely Apron, where could I go? My home
life was a disaster. Mom [...] was killing herself working overtime. Dad [...] was depressed like I’ve never seen him before, like he’d finally and truly lost all interest in being alive. He avoided any contact with me and Mom, which is a trick in a small two-room apartment. [...] [S]ometimes, if I happened to pass him in the narrow hallway and catch his eye, his face would twitch and start to crumple with the weight of his shame, and I had to turn my head away because I couldn’t bear to see it.

But since these are my last days on earth, I want to write something important. […] I want to leave something real behind.

But what can I write about that’s real? Sure, I can write about all the bad shit that’s happened to me, and my feelings about my dad and my mom and my so-called friends, but I don’t particularly want to.

I already thought my father was insane, because this was at a time when I still believed that only insane people try to kill themselves, but at the back of my mind, I guess I was hoping that my mom was normal and okay again […]. But at that moment I knew she was as crazy and unreliable as my father, […] which meant there was nobody left in my life I could count on to keep me safe. I don't think I’ve ever felt as naked or alone. My knees went all soft as I sank, crouching there, cradling my fish. It thrashed one last time, rising up almost into my throat, and then it flopped back down and just lay there, gasping for air. I held it. It was dying in my arms.

It wasn’t that I wasn’t grateful to her. I really was. She was my only friend, and if I couldn’t hang out at Fifi’s Lonely Apron, where could I go? My home
life was a disaster. Mom [...] was killing herself working overtime. Dad [...] was depressed like I’ve never seen him before, like he’d finally and truly lost all interest in being alive. He avoided any contact with me and Mom, which is a trick in a small two-room apartment. [...] [S]ometimes, if I happened to pass him in the narrow hallway and catch his eye, his face would twitch and start to crumple with the weight of his shame, and I had to turn my head away because I couldn’t bear to see it.