CHAPTER 167

2026-07-23

Adapting to widowhood is like creating an ink-wash painting. The first year is about leaving blank spaces in the painting of life; the second year is about revisiting the work and deciding whether to continue painting.

In Chapter 166, “Life with One Less Person”, I wrote about adapting to life during the first year after my wife’s sudden passing. I do not live alone, as my younger son lives with me.

If life is compared to a stage play, my wife and I spent more than forty years jointly producing our story. She was suddenly called away and forced to withdraw from the production. Since I have decided that I will not take my final bow yet, I can only continue as an independent producer, transitioning from a duet performance to the state of finding joy in a one-man show.

The main reason is that three actors still remain on stage, and there are also three audience members below the stage. In reality, the actors and audience are one and the same; their identities overlap. There are only three people - myself and my two sons. God is the ultimate shareholder and steadfast supporter. I still have responsibilities and hopes, and there are still wonderful chapters ahead for my sons. Therefore, I neither can nor will leave the stage.

Since the play must go on, what kind of drama shall I perform? What songs shall I sing? I must have an answer for myself. Only then can I remain committed and persevere.

The process is also like painting with ink. We always painted together, side by side. Along the way, my painting companion departed, leaving unfinished blank spaces on the canvas. I chose to pause the painting and allow both my emotions and the canvas to remain blank, letting them reveal their own shapes so that I could learn from them.

During the first year, I gradually grew accustomed to the loneliness my wife left behind. In the silence, I came to appreciate the small details of daily life and discern what truly defines life without a lifelong partner, distinguishing what is essential from what is merely incidental. The setting and scale of a one-person performance are naturally different. The goal is simply not to collapse - to stand firmly on one’s feet.

By the second year, my state of mind had become calmer. I could finally decide the direction of the unfinished painting. Before looking forward, I first looked back.

An ordinary person has lived more than half a lifetime on an extraordinary and uneven road. After reaching adulthood, the path became rugged; after starting a family, there were many ups and downs. The plot was fast-paced and never short of crises. Everyone in the story gave their best, and there were many highlights. It could be called a remarkable production. If joy and sorrow were kept in separate accounts, the ratio would be six to four. I would say we fulfilled our responsibilities well.

For the sequel, I hope to reverse the score and make it four to six - or at the very least, achieve an even five-five draw.

I often remind myself: cherish love without losing resolve; treasure the past, but do not become trapped in it.

Since I remain attached to this earthly life and still hope it can be wonderful, then the painting must continue. Its style should be guided by the direction of my life and by the actions into which I invest myself. Simply put, I must live days that truly belong to me.

Live contentedly, follow nature’s course, and act within my abilities - putting forth effort without forcing myself, yet also without belittling or undervaluing myself for no reason.

I once jokingly called my wife a “play-loving angel,” someone who delighted in enjoyment and adventure. After a year of quiet living, I have sifted through my thoughts and retained what truly matters. Looking honestly at myself, I realize that she and I shared many paths. When it came to seeking happiness, she looked far away and traveled to Japan; I look nearby, and now I visit the beach every week to watch the waves. She loved soup and wanted it every day; I prefer to eat slowly and savor my food. If something is appealing enough to enjoy, that is sufficient for me and requires less effort.

If she walked one hundred steps and I only sixty, how else could we have journeyed together for so many years?

The blank space my wife left behind has already become a style of its own. I accept it, and I let it become part of me. From now on, as I add new colors to the painting, may everything return naturally to its proper flow.