From the Depths of Despair to the Shallows of Hope

I am a newly widowed person.

I was weeding while listening to music on my smartphone and Bluetooth earphones when "Despacito" came on. My hands kept moving with the weeding, but along with Luis Fonsi's voice, various memories came flooding back, and tears started streaming down my face, unable to stop.

Since there was no one around, I just focused on weeding while crying.

I don't know if "Despacito" was popular in Japan, but in the U.S. in 2017, it stayed at the top spot for many weeks, even though it was a Spanish song. It was such a hot topic that it even broke the all-time record for views on YouTube.

For me, who rarely watches TV or listens to the radio, that doesn't really matter, but it is one of the songs that holds many personal memories for me.

It was a song my husband and I often danced to while traveling.

"Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could dance like this?"

"More than anything, those hips are so sexy, aren't they?"

We would spend time watching the video together, saying things like that.

The time we spent at a Caribbean resort, drinking mojitos under the blazing sun while listening to this song.

Because it was a song tied to a time and space that had been a matter of course until just recently, a jumble of emotions—nostalgia, the loneliness of knowing it won't happen again, gratitude for the precious memories, and thankfulness that I can weed with a peaceful heart right now—all welled up, and it just overflowed as tears.

Around this time last year, I brought my husband, who had become so weak that even walking was difficult, here with our sons to watch the progress of the construction work.

It was the final chapter of my husband's life, where he faced his own weakening self while looking forward to living in this house soon, without a single doubt.

"I hope it gets finished soon."

For some reason, "Despacito" even brings back the image of my husband squinting his eyes as he looked at the half-finished house while saying that.

My husband is gone, and now I am weeding silently by myself.

I think it is truly fortunate that I, who once sank to the depths of despair, have recently finally reached the shallows of hope. That is thanks to my children and the friends who care about me, but when I think about it carefully, perhaps it was my husband who left that for me in the end.

I suddenly remembered a conversation I had with my husband while he was battling his illness.

"You know, you never imagined a life where I would be left alone, so please don't abandon me so soon. I'm begging you."

Every day, as my husband was diagnosed with terminal cancer and I was terrified of the fear of losing him, I kept saying things like that.

My husband replied.

“It’ll be fine. Unlike me, you’re the type of person people are drawn to. If you ever have trouble, someone will surely help you. It’s a kind of talent you have that you aren’t even aware of. I was aware of it. Though, I don’t think you’ll ever really be in trouble.”

At the time, I felt a surge of anger at his irresponsible way of speaking.

I was terrified of losing him and felt nothing but anxiety about the future. Even though I was in the depths of despair, I was dumbfounded by his “it’ll be fine,” which was so reliant on others and completely baseless.

However, looking back now on the nine months since my husband passed away, I think his words weren’t entirely wrong.

Since losing my one and only guardian deity, one thing after another has happened that shows I am being protected by even more guardian deities. At this rate, I even have a hunch that my life might become more “worry-free” than it was when my husband was alive.

I am a little surprised that I had the strength to crawl out of despair myself.

To all the widows and widowers across the country.

I’m sure each of you has complex feelings, but our time alive is limited, so let’s live by stacking up moments of happiness.