When we moved into this house thirty years ago, our next-door neighbor recommended him as a gardener. Since then, our neighbor’s house has had three different owners, but he has remained our gardener. I can’t really assess whether he’s an exceptional gardener or not—often, when I asked him to do something, his response was always “next time.” However, during that period, I was preoccupied with my aging father, my teenage daughters, and our job crisis. Finding a new gardener was simply not a priority.

As the sun set and rose again, season after season, year after year, he shared his story with us. He was an immigrant from Japan who worked tirelessly to support his family. His hard work paid off when his son graduated from college and secured a good job, and he now had a new granddaughter. His wife had been taking care of the granddaughter. He would often talk about his nagging wife, who would kick him out of the house because of his smoking habit.

My husband and I are about to celebrate our fiftieth anniversary. Over the years, we worked tirelessly, like machines, and completely forgot to nurture our relationship. It wasn’t until we retired that we realized the significant gap that had grown between us. Physically, we are worn out, and spiritually, we feel fragmented. We’ve come to understand that the person we loved so many years ago is different from who we expected them to be now.

That day, the sorrowful, tear-streaked face of the aged gardener reminded me of how precious and valuable our lives have been. At our golden age, we should reconnect with what we’ve neglected over the years and rekindle the first love and dreams we shared back on our college campus and in our small apartment home.