Just this morning I read a quote from Frances Wilson’ How to Survive the Titanic, or The Sinking of J. Bruce Ismay (2011):

J. Bruce Ismay died on the night of 14–15 April 1912, and died again in his bedroom twenty-five years later. He was mired in the moment of his jump; his life was defined by a decision he made in an instant. Other survivors of the Titanic were able, in varying degrees, to pick themselves up and move on, but Ismay was not. His was now a posthumous existence.

I can’t even begin to understand the monumental, overwhelming amount of guilt a tragedy like that would cause somebody - anybody. Add shame to the equation, and a culture that values honor and duty above almost anything else, and I really can’t imagine the weight of mortification Mr Hosono had to carry on his shoulders. That’s, in a way, a tragedy into the tragedy: even the ones who survived could never escape what happened that night. Their whole existence, from that moment on, would be forever tainted.