二零二四年十月二十六日，我的姑父离开了这个世界。他走后不久，院子里下了一场“银杏黄金雨”。金黄的叶子从天而降，他的不舍，飘落在院子里的每一个角落。那是一场他留给家人的无声的、浪漫的、金色的告别。

那个喜欢叫我“乖乖”的老头食言了，他没有等到他最小的女儿，亲手将那本承载了无数回忆的《金色童年》递在他手中。那些我年少时和他共同度过的美好时光，在他走后，不断地像放电影一样，一帧帧地从我眼前闪过。

As this theme song “There’s No Warm Home Without You” rang through the cinema during one particularly touching scene between the mother and daughter leads, little me sat in the corner sobbing even more desperately than the girl in the film. It was my third year of primary school, and I was there with all the teachers and students from my school, watching a film based on true events called “A Single Child’s Story.” The boys in my class who sat beside me laughed at me for getting too into the story, but as I wiped away my tears, I told them that they didn’t understand a damn thing. The girl from the film was desperate for a loving home – and I was no different.