CHAPTER 161

2026-06-12

It has been a full two years since my wife passed away. This is how I spend my days.

No matter where I am, whether something in my life is related to her or not, it makes no difference. She is always present in my thoughts. Every day is the same. Not a single day passes without her shadow accompanying me.

That is when I am awake. After I fall asleep, there are times when I am with her again.

We knew and shared life with each other for forty-seven years. Not long after we met, we became close friends. We were married for nearly forty-one years. Our interactions were constant, our experiences profound, and our lives together full of twists and turns. It was no ordinary life. Two lamp wicks were twisted together and burned brightly for more than half a lifetime.

Before going to bed, I first switch off the table lamp. Beside it is a keepsake box containing her remains, and on top of the box sit four dolls. They are about eight feet away from where I sleep.

The four dolls represent our family. One is a silly-smiling little tiger, representing Lun. Another is a little male monkey, representing our younger son. One is an egg-yellow figure shaped somewhat like an ostrich egg, wearing black glasses and sporting a small moustache—this is “Uncle,” representing me. The leading character is a pink piggy lady, the largest of the four.

Miss Piggy entered our home in 2007, the Year of the Pig. She was a commemorative souvenir from a fundraising campaign organized by my workplace. I bought it because it  was irresistibly cute. It reminded me of the little stuffed pig pillow I hand-sewed to amuse my wife when we were first in love. It was made from a towel stuffed with cotton. My rudimentary sewing skills came from imitating my mother when I was young.

She rests eight feet away from me. Turning off the light is like telling her that I am going to sleep.

The room is not completely dark, because a small emergency lamp beside the bed has been switched on. Its purpose is to guide me safely as I climb into bed, so that, with age making my movements slower and less agile, I do not accidentally fall. After pulling the blanket over myself, I switch off that light as well.

She always preferred to sleep on the inner side of the bed because it felt safer. I slept on the outer side.

One morning, not long after she left us, I turned over in my sleep and fell out of bed. My left side landed on a small floor fan that had been switched off and placed beside the bed. The pain made me cry out, but I was so exhausted that I simply climbed back into bed and continued sleeping. As for our younger son in the next room, when he is sleeping soundly, even thunder and lightning cannot wake him.

Fortunately, I did not suffer any fractures, though the injury hurt for two months. Since then, I have slept on the inner side of the bed.

Once I am asleep, every week or two she appears in my dreams. Most often, we are travelling together, setting out from one place and heading to another. The scenes are often like a television programme already in progress. We ride buses, trams, ferries, or cruise ships. More often than not, the journeys are pleasant and cheerful.

Sometimes we argue. It does not happen often, but those dreams leave a lasting impression. We always seem to have plenty to say to one another.

Shortly after she passed away, I once asked her in a dream, “Weren’t you gone?”

She did not answer.

So I said, “Then let’s go and have a meal together.”

Looking back, that dream reflected reality. During our growing-up years, family arguments were common and rarely solved anything. Yet no matter what happened, we still sat down and ate together.

While she was alive, I often dreamed that I was lost, usually somewhere in West Kowloon or west of Sai Wan on Hong Kong Island. In those dreams, two things could always reassure me:

First, finding my car again. The model of the car changed with real life, though it usually lagged three or four years behind reality.

Second, finding my wife.

But she has already completed her life's journey, and I have accepted that. I do not dwell on “what if.” I focus only on “how.” It is much the same as when we learned that Lun Lun had autism all those years ago.

What remains for the one left behind is to face three challenges:

1. Living without a spouse by one's side.

2. Living alone with oneself.

3. Beginning a new chapter of life.

These are subjects for another article.