"When I woke up, I couldn't even recognize my mother's face," he said. "It was completely burned. It swelled up immediately. She couldn't see."
Still, she carried him to a nearby bomb shelter where she collapsed. The images Kido saw on the way, still haunt him.
"I saw charred, dead bodies everywhere," he said. "People kept yelling 'give me water, give me water."
Despite the horrors he witnessed, Kido says it took him 7 years to realize he had survived an atomic bomb. News was censored in the immediate aftermath of the attack. His family and friends never talked about it. He connected the dots, only after he saw a photo-book documenting victims.
"To say that I'm a hibakusha, to say that I experienced the atomic bomb took a huge amount of courage," Kido said, using the Japanese term given to atomic bomb survivors. "Even in college, I tried to change the subject when people talked about the war. My friends never dared ask about my experience."
Yet, over the last 20 years Kido has become an active member of the Nihon Hidankyo, the Japan Confederation of Atomic Sufferers Organizations, in part because he knows the number of living atomic bomb survivors is dwindling fast. Just 180,000 remain.