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Cottontail (コットンテール), a newly released Japanese film, tells the touching and relatable story of Kenzaburo (Ken), a man in his late middle age grieving the loss of his wife, Akiko, after a long illness. To honour her dying wish, he embarks on a journey to take her ashes to the Lake District in northern England – a place deeply meaningful to her.
It was not just the beauty of the landscape that drew her, but also its connection to Peter Rabbit, a character she had loved since childhood and where she had made cherished memories with her parents.
What begins as a cross-continental trip with his son and family soon unfolds into a deeply personal and solitary quest for Ken. As a husband and father, he struggles to connect with his son, confronting the unspoken emotional walls that make expressing grief so profoundly challenging. Through this journey, Ken seeks not just peace for his loss but also a way to reconcile the past with the present.
I found Cottontail a beautifully delicate film with a thought-provoking narrative. As an expert in ageing, death and dying, particularly in Japan, I also found its depiction of grief realistic.
Like Ken, many of us may feel disbelief or denial when facing loss. Memories of our loved ones can wash over us in overwhelming waves, catching us off guard in the most unexpected moments. Whether it’s a familiar scene that evokes a flood of emotions, a conversation with a friend, or even a fleeting dream, the smallest reminders – both joyful and painful – can surface at any time.
The root of these challenges lies in navigating a world that no longer includes our loved one. Psychiatrist Colin Parkes described bereavement as a psychosocial transition, a profound shift requiring adaptation to a new reality.
Grief, he suggested, emerges from the breakdown of the world we take for granted, the beliefs and expectations we hold about the future and our plans. When loss occurs, this framework collapses, forcing us to relearn how to live in a world forever changed.
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Yet, grief is not simply about building a new life without the person we’ve lost.
Over a century ago, the founder of psychoanalysis Sigmund Freud emphasised the importance of gradually detaching from the pain of loss and redirecting our emotional energy toward new relationships and pursuits. Today, in a society that often prioritises efficiency and productivity, there’s an unspoken expectation to “complete” the process of grief and quickly return to “normal”.
But grief resists such timelines. As I’ve argued elsewhere, healing is not about moving on but learning to carry loss forward.
This is poignantly illustrated in Cottontail: for Ken, scattering Akiko’s ashes in England is not about leaving her or the life they shared behind, but about learning to live with loss, weaving memories of her into his ongoing life.
Rewriting the book of life
To grieve is like rewriting the book of our lives – a painstaking process of revisiting, revising, and reimagining a narrative that once felt complete. The concept of “narrative identity” captures this: not erasing the past but weaving it into a new story that continues to unfold, where love and loss coexist, shaping who we are now and who we will become.
Rewriting life after loss is never a solitary journey – it’s shared with others. Ken’s grief is intertwined with his strained bond with his son, Toshi.
Preoccupied with work, Ken had neglected their relationship, leaving Toshi yearning for deeper connection. Now, drowning in grief, Ken faces the challenge of reconciling his own pain while rebuilding their bond – a dilemma familiar to many experiencing loss.
A key theme in Ken’s grief journey is the “stiff upper lip” mentality – an emotional restraint that stops him from expressing feelings or accepting support from his son. This stoic attitude, common among older men but seen across genders, ages and cultures, often comes at the cost of hidden stress.
My research with bereaved older adults shows that suppressing emotions isolates individuals and blocks external support, making healing and connection harder.
On his journey, Ken meets a grieving father and daughter who openly acknowledge their emotions and support each other. Their willingness to express their feelings shows the power of emotional literacy – the ability to recognise and communicate emotions.
This highlights the importance of grief literacy not just for individuals, but for wider social networks. When people can understand and support one another’s grief, finding peace with loss becomes more attainable, and the process of rewriting life after loss becomes a collective endeavour.
The film concludes with Ken chasing a rabbit by Lake Windermere for his granddaughter, joined by Toshi’s family. For Ken, the rabbit is not just Cottontail or a memory of Akiko – it’s a symbol of hope, a reminder that moving forward is possible, with renewed bonds and an enduring love.
Chao Fang does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
