Since the bombing, Mr. Moriuchi has suffered Hepatitis C, colon cancer, cataracts, and progressive stomach cancer. Eight years ago, he suddenly lost mobility in his hands, and he can no longer write.

“On the morning of August 9, 1945, I was perched atop a giant persimmon tree in our backyard catching cicadas. Suddenly, the sun exploded.

One by one, relatives appeared at our doorstep. Most were heavily injured. I will always remember when my aunt arrived carrying two children, one on her arm and one on her back. Both were burnt so badly that I could hardly differentiate between their face and the rest of their head. The one on her back was dead upon arrival.

I was delighted when my older brother arrived some days later, without a single scratch – he was my favorite brother. However, within two weeks, he started vomiting repeatedly. We laid him down in the main room along with a few other injured relatives, and slept outside to make room for the ill. He vomited for days and grew rail thin. One day, my brother requested that he be moved to the basement. “But you are sick,” my mother begged. “We can’t put you down there. It’s dark and cramped.”

“Put me down in the basement, please,” my brother insisted.

Alas, we laid a small futon down in the basement and placed him there. Shortly after, my brother passed away.”