Stories about people.

Stories about life.

Hometown Stories.

It's a strange place.

Like a link between
this world and the next.

There's an unusual mailbox in the woods of Rikuzentakata City, Iwate Prefecture, northeastern Japan.

It's called "the drifting mailbox."

It receives letters from people giving voice to feelings for their departed loved ones.

"Dad, please come see me, if only in my dreams."

Akagawa Yuji manages the mailbox.

He set it up three years after a massive earthquake and tsunami devastated the region in 2011.

Since then, he's read and taken care of all the letters that arrive.

But...

Not so many letters these days.
Maybe the time has come.

In September 2022, Yuji said he wanted to close the mailbox.

But his words have prompted mixed feelings among the family members of the disaster victims.

I want to keep writing letters.

But I think that's selfish.

12 years after the disaster, the mailbox custodian and bereaved relatives share their thoughts for the first time.

Yuji, who's now 73, lives in the inland city of Oshu.

For the past nine years, he's been making the three-hour round trip between the mailbox and his home.

It gets harder as I get older.

It's not so bad in summer.
But in winter, I need to be careful.

Two letters.

This person sends a letter
every week or so.

A very regular writer.

Watch your step.

There's a cabin right by the mailbox.

I've filed all the letters.

There are more than a thousand letters stored here.

Visitors can look through many of them.

"Hello T. I went to see the fireworks
in Ofunato City the other day."

"I saw your face in the large fireworks."

"It looked like you were smiling at me."

We started covering this story after Yuji shared his true feelings for the first time, in 2022.

The letters are heavy.
They really weigh on me.

I don't do anything with them.
But they're constantly on my mind.

The number of letters has tailed off.
It might be time to close the mailbox.

It was the Great East Japan Earthquake that led to the creation of the drifting mailbox.

At that time, in a split second,
heaven and hell switched places.

With my own eyes, I witnessed
the reality of that very moment.

Survivors who had lost their homes and loved ones had to endure the hardships of life in evacuation centers.

They wanted to let out their feelings,
but couldn't, even with family.

Back then, Yuji was running a café.

It emerged unscathed from the tsunami, so he opened it up to survivors.

People would come over,
asking me to listen to their stories.

They'd leave, saying
they'd found some relief.

I could lend an ear to those
who were able to come here.

But I started to wonder how others
could find an outlet for their feelings.

After a lot of thought,
I hit upon the idea of letters.

People quickly learned about the drifting mailbox.

But when letters started arriving, Yuji realized the implications of what he'd started.

In this letter, a mother expressed her sorrow at not being able to save her child.

This letter contains the desperate words of a man who lost his parents, his daughter and his house.

Every day,
I dreaded getting letters.

I was scared to open them.

Not a single letter
was happy or joyful.

I opened and read them anyway.

But they reminded me of the piles
of debris in the disaster-hit areas.

Sometimes, I didn't want to
deal with it anymore.

But I felt it important to be here
for those who had lost their loved ones...

and try to understand their grief.

Yuji let letters keep coming.

Ever since the drifting mailbox was set up, one woman has been sending letters addressed to her son.

"Happy birthday!"

"You're 32 now."

"Time flies, doesn't it?"

"When you come home, I'll make you some curry."

There used to be so many houses.
But they're all gone.

Takano Keiko lives in Minamisanriku Town in Miyagi Prefecture.

This place served as a morgue.

Victims' names and descriptions were posted
at the entrance. I came here every day.

Tomonori, the elder of her two sons, was 22 when the earthquake hit.

He'd loved cars since he was small and was working as an auto mechanic.

Tomo came home at noon,
and we all ate lunch together.

Then a little before 1 p.m.,
he said he was off back to work.

So, I said, "Have a good one.
I'm working the night shift tonight."

That was the last time she spoke with Tomonori in person.

It was like the end of the world.
I wished it were all a dream.

I kept asking,
"Why aren't you here, Tomo?"

"I want to hear your voice.
When are you coming home?"

Keiko couldn't tell others how she felt.

Many people had lost sons,
parents or siblings.

I didn't want to sound like
I was the only one feeling sad.

3 years after the disaster...

she learned about the drifting mailbox,
and started writing letters to Tomonori.

It's everyday conversation with Tomo.

It's just like brushing my teeth
or washing my face.

He may be elsewhere,
but I can feel his presence.

"How's it going?
Are you smiling?"

"Enjoying some restful days?"

"I want to know what you're doing."

"I'll write again.
Don't catch cold."

"To my beloved Tomo.
From Mom."

As she continued to write letters,

Keiko visited the drifting mailbox with her husband, and met Yuji for the first time.

I felt he always delivered the letters.

Because Yuji set up the mailbox,
others can also write letters.

People in heaven can also read
the letters. I'm really grateful to him.

Yuji said that managing the mailbox was becoming a burden.

In 2022, he experienced a major change in his life.

His 96-year-old mother, Sueko, started showing signs of dementia.

Hi, it's me.

Do you know me? Good.

- It's been a while!
- Thank you.

We're moving today. OK?

Yuji's mother was moving to a long-term care facility.

I was shocked when she didn't
recognize me, her own child.

I wished I'd spent more time with her.

I wonder how much longer she has to live.
But I want to take good care of her.

To do that, I need more time.

Early January 2023...

Yuji contacted Keiko and another bereaved family member he knew and asked them to come over.

I plan to tell them honestly that I want
to step back from managing the mailbox.

He hadn't told the families that he wanted to close the drifting mailbox.

He decided to tell them because of something that struck him as he reread the letters.

Back when I first started the mailbox,
the letters were truly heartbreaking.

But lately, it's more like people are
keeping in touch with their loved ones.

The writers seem to feel more at ease.
I'd like to think so, anyway.

It was the morning of the day Yuji had arranged to see Keiko and the other bereaved family member.

- Hello. How've you been?
- Long time no see!

- Here's an express letter.
- Thank you.

- Have a good day.
- Thank you again.

The sender's name is Takano Tomonori.

The letter was written by his mother, Keiko.

When she wanted to share her thoughts with Yuji, she sent him letters that seemed to have been written by her son.

"Dear Mr. Akagawa."

"Without the mailbox, those on Earth and those of us in heaven would have had no way to express our feelings."

"Thank you so much."

My mother said, "I'll always want to see you, Tomo, and wonder why you're not here."

"I'll always feel that way, no matter how many years pass by."

"Likewise, I'll always want to see my family, too, no matter how many years go by."

It's bad timing getting this letter today.

It won't be easy talking to Keiko
when I see her.

- "Will you be OK?"
- I have to talk to her, though.

That afternoon...

- Thank you for coming.
- Hello.

- I've been expecting you.
- Here we are.

Keiko and another bereaved family member came to visit the drifting mailbox.

When I went to pick up my mother at
the hospital, she said, "Who are you?"

I was really shocked.
But she just kept smiling.

I realized at the time
that there was nothing to be done.

But I didn't want to feel regret.
I wanted to do whatever I could for her.

Then, Yuji made a suggestion.

I'd like to gradually spend less time
managing the drifting mailbox.

Instead, I want to set up get-togethers,
so you all can share your thoughts candidly.

I've decided that I need to arrange
these as soon as possible.

We write letters and put them in the post.
That's all.

But it's been more than 10 years.
Perhaps it's time for a change.

I'm glad to hear that.

You've made me feel so relieved.

How about 70% for your mother,
and 30% for the mailbox?

To me, you're both outstanding examples
of people who have sent letters here.

Sorry?

You're 1 or 2 steps ahead of the others.

I'd never imagined that he'd suggest
a gradual closing of the mailbox.

So, when I heard it,
I was like, "What?"

But Yuji has his own life.

I really regret I haven't been able to
appreciate the burden on him.

So, I didn't know what to say.

I wonder when I can start looking ahead.

When it comes to my child,
I'll probably keep looking back.

Two days after the talk, Keiko invited Yuji to her home.

As long as I can,
I'd like to keep writing letters.

I personally want a place where
my letters will always be delivered.

But if the mailbox eventually goes,
I'm not sure I'll be OK.

I often think, "I shouldn't say this.
It'll be a burden on Yuji."

Or, "I'd be selfish to say that."

I'm so glad you think about me that way.

When you do reach your limit and
can no longer manage the mailbox...

I'd like us all to talk and figure out
what to do about it.

Three days later...

I figured I could close the mailbox.
I thought people were ready for that.

I assumed that I understood
people's feelings better than anyone.

It's been that way these several years.

The words in the letters did show
that people's feelings were changing.

But I guess they wrote those letters
to cheer themselves up.

Not because they already felt better,
but to make themselves feel better.

That must've been what they wanted,
as they wrote each word.

It's taken me this long to realize that.

Keiko told Tomonori about
her talks with Yuji.

Yuji didn't make a decision this winter
on what to do about the mailbox.