【Memorial】Flight 123 and the Weight of Memory: A Brother’s Silent Regret

Hello, this is Frank.

It must have been 14 or 15 years ago when I stumbled upon a heartbreaking article published one summer on Yahoo! News. Today, that memory came back to me. I’d like to share the full article here.

“I’ve been running from it by trying to forget, but maybe it’s time I stood up.”

These are the words of Makoto Mitajima, 38, who lost his younger brother in the 1985 crash of Japan Airlines Flight 123.

His mother, Kuniko, 63, founded the “8.12 Association,” a support group for bereaved families, just four months after the crash, and has served as its secretary general. Makoto, however, remained silent and avoided the media. He carried a memory too painful to open.

On August 12, the day of the crash, 13-year-old Makoto had been playing a card game with his 9-year-old brother Ken, who was about to leave alone for Osaka to watch a high school baseball game.

Over a minor argument, Makoto shouted, “I hope you never come back.” Ken never did.

That night, when news of the crash broke, Makoto clung to hope. “Ken’s lucky. He’ll make it back.” He and his younger sister cried all night. Neither could sleep.

Even though he knew it wasn’t his fault, every time he thought of Ken, guilt would return—“It’s because I said those awful words.”

To cope, he tried to forget.

25 years later, he read the book his mother published: Living with Osutaka: 25 Years After the Crash of Flight 123. It described her relentless fight for airline safety. That same year, Makoto turned 38—the same age his parents were when they formed the association. He felt it was time to act.

“To prevent the world from forgetting this tragedy, I want to contribute.”

This summer, he began helping launch the association’s official website. For the first time, his mother—who had never pressured him—said, “Would you help in whatever way you can?”

I also fought with my older brother a lot when I was little. Over TV channels, over food. He even hit me sometimes. I remember wishing he’d just disappear.

Once we entered middle and high school, we barely spoke. But the night before my college entrance exam, my brother quietly came to my room and said:

“Big test tomorrow, huh? Stay calm.”

I could only nod, but it meant the world to me.

Thank you, big brother. That’s what I whispered in my heart.

Brothers fight—but somehow, they’re always connected in silence. I deeply understand Makoto’s regret. He was so young. It must’ve been unbearable.

I know someone who held a ticket for Flight 123 but couldn’t board due to overbooking. That twist of fate saved his life.

While we’re thankful for the lives spared, we must also remember those burdened with loss to this day.

Makoto Mitajima-san… please, stop blaming yourself.

I want to say that out loud—but even writing this, my chest aches. It’s unbearably sad.

With airlines today locked in fierce price competition, safety remains a constant concern. We must never allow a tragedy like this to happen again—perhaps it’s no coincidence that the ID of this post ends in ‘123,’ the flight number itself.