The story is about me, my father and a little man. The little man has no relatives, like many war world II veterans escaped from China civil war to Taiwan. He does not know how to read and write. But he has a good heart, and a loyal servant.
What connected me and the little man (old Wang) was, he took care of me when I was 3 years old, during that time I was a very sick boy. My father really thanks him, he did so wonderful job that without him, I might not be here today. The little man appreciated my father for his job offering at the time he needed a place to stay.
But somehow I have no memory of him, I don't remember his face, his voice or anything. He died few years ago, it took several months for my father to locate his resting place, just an ashes urn placed somewhere in a tower for people of no relatives. A tiny wood plate caved his name.
Since then my father visits his resting place every year (a long trip for an old man). What connected him and my father is the 50 years of friendship and a servant's loyalty.
I could not help but shedding my tears what I called "Love". A gentle soul teared apart by war. What left is a gentle love of fading memory from my family.
May God keep "Old Wang's" gentle soul !