Character Analysis: The Mother

Quick Facts

Deceased mother of The Narrator. First appears through memories and a posthumous letter. Key relationships: her son, her quiet husband, and the son’s ex-girlfriend. Known for her cheerful domestic presence, her cats (Lettuce and Cabbage), and a core philosophy that shapes the novel’s moral frame.

Who They Are

Boldly absent yet emotionally omnipresent, The Mother is the book’s conscience—her warmth, humor, and hard-earned insight steer the narrator’s final week. She represents ordinary love practiced daily: cooking, tidying, naming a stray “Lettuce,” and insisting on small rituals that make a home. More than sentiment, she supplies a moral lens that anchors the story’s bargains and good-byes, embodying the theme of Human Connection and Relationships. Her posthumous letter converts memory into action, turning grief into guidance.

Personality & Traits

Her character shines through remembered gestures and sayings, not speeches. The Mother’s philosophy is practical and unsentimental, yet her actions brim with generosity. She believes love is shown in doing—choosing the difficult thing because it’s right, not because it’s easy.

• Wise and philosophical: Her refrain, “In order to gain something, you have to lose something,” frames the narrator’s Devil-bargains and the theme of Loss, Memory, and Value. She refuses “something for nothing,” turning trade-offs into a moral education for her son.
• Warm, cheerful, domestic: Remembered as “bright and cheerful,” she finds joy in cooking and tidying, the small daily acts that make love visible.
• Deeply empathetic: She rescues two cats—Lettuce and later Cabbage—despite a severe allergy, and tells her son’s girlfriend, “I always wanted a daughter,” welcoming her into the family without conditions.
• Resilient and devoted: When her allergy flares, she refuses to give Lettuce up—“I can’t let him go—he chose me”—and, remarkably, the allergy subsides, a quiet fable about commitment transforming hardship.
• Playful: She names a cat after a “Nagano Lettuce” box, binge-watches period dramas, and teaches her son a “magic trick” for sadness: force a smile until the feeling follows.
• Illness etched in memory: Details like her “skinny wrist” in the hospital and the weight she lost echo the decline of beloved Lettuce—pairing mother and pet to underline the narrator’s grief and his habit of translating loss into tender, concrete images.

Character Journey

Because The Mother is gone, her “development” unfolds inside the narrator: early recollections cast her as comfort and common sense; later ones reveal sacrifice and intentionality. As he edges toward death, he reinterprets her actions—the hot springs trip, the watch his father repairs, the way she made room for others—recognizing how she orchestrated reconciliations he couldn’t yet see. Her letter, cataloging ten things she loves about him, repositions her from memory to mentor, guiding him past fear and toward Regret and Acceptance. By the end, her legacy is not survival but meaning: love given, love received, and the courage to live by both.

Key Relationships

• The Narrator: She is his moral compass and emotional ballast. The letter that lists “ten wonderful things” functions as proof that his life already holds value, enabling him to reject the Devil’s final bargain. In remembering her, he learns to measure worth not by time left but by love shared.

• The Father: She reads her husband’s reserve as shyness, not indifference—“He’s really very sweet. He just has a hard time expressing himself.” By staging a last family trip and highlighting the watch he repairs for her, she reframes his silence as devotion in action, preparing father and son for reconciliation.

• The Ex-Girlfriend: The Mother builds a mother-daughter bond independent of the narrator—going out, cooking together, getting their nails done. Entrusting her with the final letter signals deep trust and ensures her love reaches her son at the right moment, even after death.

Defining Moments

Her life’s meaning arrives through small, precise acts that ripple outward—quiet choices that change other people’s choices.

• The family trip to the hot springs

  • What happens: A final outing she insists on near the end of her life.
  • Why it matters: It’s a carefully engineered chance for father and son to share space without conflict, revealing her gift for orchestrating connection even as time runs out.

• The conversation about love and the repaired watch

  • What happens: She explains that people “show love in different ways,” pointing to the watch her husband is fixing.
  • Why it matters: She translates a mute gesture into an emotional language her son can understand, teaching him how to see love where it isn’t spoken.

• The posthumous letter of “ten things”

  • What happens: The narrator receives her final message listing what she loves about him.
  • Why it matters: It’s the novel’s emotional keystone, transforming memory into courage and empowering him to accept his fate without bitterness.

• “He chose me”: refusing to give up Lettuce

  • What happens: Despite a severe allergy, she keeps the cat who “chose” her; the allergy disappears.
  • Why it matters: A parable of chosen responsibility—love as commitment that changes the lover.

• Hospital images—“skinny wrist,” visible weight loss

  • What happens: The narrator fixates on small physical details.
  • Why it matters: These images anchor abstract grief in a tactile reality, teaching him to honor what’s real rather than cling to denial.

Essential Quotes

“In order to gain something, you have to lose something,” she always said. People are always trying to get something for nothing. But that’s just theft. If you’ve gained something, it means that someone, somewhere, has lost something. Even happiness is built on someone else’s misfortune.

This is her ethics in miniature: every gain is a trade. By insisting on costs, she inoculates her son against cheap bargains and primes him to scrutinize the Devil’s offers. The line reframes loss not as failure but as the price of meaning.

“You only realize what the really important things are once you’ve lost them.”

She names the book’s paradox: loss clarifies value. For the narrator, her absence becomes a lens that brings everyday acts—meals, errands, even cat names—into sharp focus, teaching him to recognize significance before it vanishes again.

As you go on with your life, always remember the things that are good in you. They are your gifts. As long as you have these things, you’ll find happiness, and you’ll make the people around you happy. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. And good-bye.

The letter converts affirmation into instruction. She doesn’t ask him to become someone else; she asks him to keep what’s already good. That gentle confidence steadies him at the brink, turning fear of death into gratitude for life.

"Whenever you feel sad and lonely, just smile and close your eyes. Do it as many times as you have to to feel happy."

Her “magic trick” is simple and slightly silly—precisely why it works. It models resilience as practice, not epiphany: a small, repeatable act that nudges feeling through behavior, and a mother’s way of staying with him when she no longer can.