Dear Miura-Sensei.

Dear Miura-Sensei.

It’s been one year since you left this Earth, and somehow it continued to turn. I was surprised too, in the days after you left us, that darkness didn’t swallow the sun. There was no eclipse; there was no ending, no sacrifices. There was only waking up and remembering that a story ended the day before. We went to work, to school, we carried the loss and we kept going. Grief is funny like that. Even though it feels like the world should have ended, it doesn’t. Even though it feels like nothing matters anymore, the rain still falls, the grass still grows, and someone else is still writing their story. Even if yours is over. Even if it doesn’t leave a clean ending.

There are no clean endings. There are only muddled beginnings, inglorious finales, and the knowledge that nothing ever leaves us, not really.

I still haven’t read the final chapter. I don’t know if I ever will.

Yours,

E. S.

*

Dear Miura-Sensei,

Since you left us; the virus rages, though the fiery furnace of the beginning of the pandemic has cooled to glowing charcoal, a war began and the world waits for the glowing charcoal to ignite, and millions tattooed your symbol on their skin. A reminder that after the sacrifice, after the pain and after it seems like there is nothing left, there is something. The unbreakable will to survive, to spit in the face of our oppressors and abusers, to take up our swords and fight until there is no breath left to power our anguished screams.

I wonder what your friend did that inspired the work that inspired us so. I hope that you found justice. I hope that you found closure. I hope that you fought too, all the way to the end.

Since you left us, the world continued turning. Things changed. Things stayed the same.

I still haven’t read the final chapter. One day, I might. But I still have oppressors and abusers to take up the sword against. I can’t let the final chapter be the end. One day, I might be able to read it.

Yours,

E. S.

*

Dear Miura-Sensei,

I really thought it would hurt less by now.

It doesn’t.

I know I never met you. I wish I could have. I think we all did. But you were part of my life, and you still are. But now you’re a stagnant part. You’ll never change. You’ll be 51 forever. Your publishing house might not continue the story. Berserk will still be there, but Guts’ story might not continue. I like to think that you wanted the story to end happily—you said as much yourself.

In a way, Guts’s story is mine too. I too was hurt. I too was left angry and broken, with scars I have to carry that seem to attract demons. Trauma begets more trauma. Once the pattern starts, it repeats. And the person who hurt me, who sacrificed my well-being for a sick sense of power, continues to thrive while I languish.

And like Guts, it’s okay for me to be angry about that. Like him, I keep fighting. And like him…I found a family again.

I know you never got married, Miura-Sensei. But I know you had a family and people who loved you. You had fans who were devoted to you and your work.

I wonder if they wonder if it’ll hurt less. I wonder if it ever will.

I still haven’t read the final chapter. I might not. I might never be strong enough.

Yours,

E.S.

*

Dear Miura-Sensei,

I don’t know if you believed in life after death, but I do. I like to think that if there’s a heaven, you’re there. I don’t know much about your life, other than your dedication to your craft and love of obscure sci-fi and Disney movies, but I think that someone who ultimately put this much light and hope into the world has earned their place there. Even if your work was dark…the world is dark. That’s why those who create light are so valuable. That’s why your loss is felt so strongly. Not because darkness shouldn’t exist, but that it shouldn’t exist without light to balance it out.

I like to think art is immortality. I like to think that you’ll live forever, even if your light fades. Art is what gives life meaning, it’s what gives us strength to move forward, it’s what shows us the way forward. It lets mere mortals live forever, through a legacy of beauty and power.

Even if there is no heaven, you’ll live forever. Your symbol is on the skin of millions. Your work is cherished with slavish devotion. Your legacy is more than the pain that inspired it, more than the pain it helps conquer.

I hope that you live forever. I hope you outlive the pain that your work helps your fans push through. I hope that all that’s left at the end of it all, when all else is ashes, is a leather-bound hardcover of Berserk.

I still haven’t read the final chapter. It doesn’t matter, you’re immortal anyways.

Yours,

E. S.

*

Dear Miura-Sensei,

It’s been one year since you left us. The world kept turning. It kept burning, really. Things changed, and yet nothing changed. You’re still gone. We’re still here. It doesn’t seem fair. It isn’t, not really. But grief is funny like that.

We keep moving forward, those left behind. It’s what you taught us to do, it is as much your legacy as your art is, to keep going no matter how hard it is.

This past year has been hard. I still haven’t read the final chapter. I don’t want to. That would mean admitting that it’s over, that there’s no more after this. That you’re gone, and you’re not coming back.

Even if you’ll live forever through art…it’s not enough. It might never be.

And I’ll keep fighting. I’ll keep going forward. It’s been one year. Next year it’ll be two. You’ll still be gone, and we’ll still be here, on a world that keeps turning, even if you’re not on it anymore in any way but through your legacy of art.

I might never read the final chapter. It might never feel right. But I’ll try. I’ll keep fighting for the strength to be able to. I have to. You’re gone, but the fight isn’t over. There are still battles, still oppressors and abusers who need a sword taken up against them. I have a family to fight for, one I earned, one I’ve built. You’re gone. There’s no changing that.

But the world will change.

Maybe one day, all that your legacy will be is art. Maybe one day, there won’t the same kind of pain anymore. Maybe one day, your light won’t be needed.

Until then, you’ll be remembered. I can promise you that.

Yours, always;

E. S.

Rest in paradise Miura Kentaro. July 11th, 1966 – May 6th, 2021.