Some evenings really just stay with you.
On a warm August night, I found myself among strangers, paper lanterns, and something sacred that I didn’t even know I needed: the Toro Nagashi Lantern Ceremony in Jackson Park.
The ceremony of Toro Nagashi (literally, “floating lanterns”) is a Buddhist tradition that is held each summer to mark the end of Obon season—a time when the spirits of ancestors are believed to visit the living. A Toro Nagashi ceremony can be a small, family-centered gathering or a larger communal act of mourning to honor lives lost to natural disasters, war, and other tragedies.
While not commonplace in America, this spiritual and connective ceremony took place on August 6, on the South Side of Chicago.
I discovered the Toro Nagashi event on Eventbrite, where I often look for unique and meaningful experiences to partake in. As soon as I saw the announcement for this year’s ceremony in Jackson Park, I wasted no time registering.
This year’s fourth annual Toro Nagashi Lantern Ceremony took place in the tranquil Osaka Garden—also known as the Garden of the Phoenix, located at 6300 S. Cornell Avenue.
It was hosted by the Japanese Arts Foundation in partnership with the Chicago Park District, Asian Improv Arts Midwest, the Japan America Society of Chicago (JSC), and the Japanese Culture Center. Attendance was limited to 300 people, which seemed like a lot, but ended up feeling very intentional and intimate.
Getting to the Osaka Garden was a challenge. Even with directions in hand, my companion and I frequently got lost.
Once we found the right path, monarch butterflies seemed to suddenly appear and fly alongside us. I took this as a sign. Their bright orange and yellow forms seemed to direct our way. Butterflies are believed to represent the spirit world in many cultures, and at that moment, I felt that there was meaning in their presence.
After walking for what seemed like miles, we finally arrived at the Osaka Garden. People were gathered everywhere: families lounged on blankets, friends huddled and chatted in close-knit circles, and others stood alone.
Volunteers were extremely friendly, welcoming guests as they handed out the lantern kits, markers, and stickers to decorate our lanterns.
The program began with remarks from guest speakers and event organizers, only steps away from Yoko Ono’s “Sky Landing” installation. We were treated to live shamisen music by Toyoaki Sanjuro of Asian Improv Arts Midwest—a meditative sound that matched the tone of the evening perfectly
This year marked the 80th anniversary of the atomic bombing of Hiroshima, Japan. And in an unexpected twist, one of the evening’s guest speakers was Clifton Truman Daniel—the eldest grandson of Harry S. Truman, the U.S. president who authorized the bombing of Hiroshima on August 6, 1945.
Truman-Daniel spoke with sincerity and humility about the atrocity and emphasized a commitment to continue the fight for peace—sharing that he visited Hiroshima in 2012 and would be returning this year. His presence at the ceremony felt like part of the healing process, and his words were well received.
As the final speakers concluded and daylight began to fade, the crowd seemed to shift from listening to preparing for the next phase of the evening.
I started to notice many people carefully placing the finishing touches on their lanterns as the moment approached to carry our grief and our hope to the water.
My lantern was simple but painstakingly decorated on all four sides with bright, orange hearts and the words “I will always miss you.” My lantern was for my mother. We lost her in 2018 to ovarian cancer, and the pain of her loss has never dulled.
As dusk fell, it was time to pass through the torii gates of the garden. With our lanterns in hand, we followed the candlelit path to the koi pond, where the first group of lanterns would be set adrift.
The silence along the way was tremendously loud. Not even our footsteps could be heard and no one spoke above a whisper.
Once we reached the water’s edge, it was time to set the lanterns afloat. I watched the lantern bearing my mother’s name float away slowly, as if not wanting to leave, and felt a deep sadness settle over me. I wanted to follow it. I needed to see where it would go. But just as I couldn’t accompany my mother on her final journey, I couldn’t stay to see where my lantern would end up. I, like everyone else, had to trust that it would find its way.
Volunteer staff directed everyone to follow the lighted path back out through the torii gates. As we all filed out together, I stopped and spoke with Marz Timms, who was attending the ceremony for the first time with his family. His wife, who is Japanese, had introduced him to the tradition.
“She’s been a member of the JSC since she was a child,” Timms said. “We’ve been to Japan and Hiroshima. So, it was just an amazing opportunity to come out and be part of this—to light the lanterns and set them adrift for people you lost.”
Timms shared that the ceremony “brought a tear to [his] heart,” as he dedicated his lantern to both his mother and mother-in-law, who had both passed away.
Our conversation, like the ceremony, resonated with me and lingered. His words were heartfelt, tender, and genuine.
It was an evening of quiet goodbyes, shared remembrance, and hope—all carried out under a calm sky and reflected in still water.
In every sense, Toro Nagashi was the most beautiful goodbye, a rare event that made space for grief, memory, peace, and community all at once.
If you’d like to experience Toro Nagashi for yourself, or mark your calendar for next year’s ceremony, visit japaneseartsfoundation.org or follow @japaneseartsfoundation on Instagram for updates.
You can also visit chicagoparkdistrict.com, gardenofthephoenix.org, or search “Sky Landing Yoko Ono” for background on the artwork and its message of peace.
Dierdre Robinson is a Chicago-based writer and accounting manager with a B.A. in journalism from Michigan State University. Her work explores the vibrant arts, culture, and community of the South Side. She previously reported on the fiftieth anniversary of the Woodlawn Library for the Weekly.