I don’t know how others motivate themselves when they encounter difficulties, but every time I encounter difficulties, I will think of the bloody footprints left by my mother. I would ask myself in my heart, if I can’t bear this pain, if I can’t endure this pain, how did my mother get here? !
I feel that every time I think of this, I am no longer afraid of pain or suffering.
Although when I was a child, I often went to the mountains with my mother to chop firewood, but that was the only time that made me tremble. I remember it was very hot in the summer, and I was about five or six years old. My mother took me up the mountain to chop firewood and then go home to light a fire for cooking. When we organized the firewood and tied it to the firewood stand, my mother was about to put on a pole and carry it home. I found that half of my mother's left shoe was off. Only the upper and sole on the inside of the foot are still connected. I said it was hard to walk like this, and I wanted to go down the mountain and get some shoes for my mother to change, but my mother stopped me. She found a thin cane and tied the soles and sides of the shoes, and we were ready to pick up firewood and go home.
After walking a few steps, I saw my mother who was walking in front paused. I asked my mother what was wrong and she said it was nothing and asked me to walk faster. After walking only a few steps, I saw blood oozing from my mother's shoes. I was frightened. I ran in front of my mother and saw a piece of grass stalk inserted into the toe of my mother's shoe from the crack in the shoe. I I don't know how deep it was inserted, but I could only see bright red blood oozing out. The blood overflowed over the broken soles and flowed onto the mountainous ground full of weeds, leaving complete bloody footprints. My mother kept walking down the mountain with a pale face. I saw her lips were trembling, it must be very painful. I was still young at the time and was so frightened that I cried. While crying, I shouted to my mother to stop and not to leave. Her feet were bleeding all the time. Mom said she didn't feel any pain and asked me to follow her home quickly. When we were going down the mountain, in order to prove that she was not in pain, my mother asked me not to cry. She also put down her burden and picked a bunch of wild raspberries for me to eat.
I was not in the mood to eat raspberries, so I sobbed all the way back to the village at the foot of the mountain with my mother. As soon as I entered the village, my mother saw a neighbor and called her for help. It was estimated that my mother's strength had reached its limit at that time, and before the neighbors could hold her up, she slowly lost strength and fell down. At this time, the neighbor called people to help deliver my mother and the firewood she carried to my house. After a while the barefoot doctor was called. She gently lifted her mother's injured foot, held the shoe with one hand, and cut the upper with scissors with the other. Revealing mother’s bloody feet inside. I saw a straw stalk inserted diagonally from the bottom of my mother's big toe into the middle of the sole of her foot, penetrating two-thirds of the entire foot. The barefoot doctor helped my mother wipe off the blood on her feet and then checked the injury and said the injury was serious and almost hit her hamstring. The doctor brought a towel and asked my mother to bite it, then forcefully pulled out the thatch stalk from the sole of my mother's foot. As soon as I pulled it out, my mother's foot was bleeding profusely again. Her face was as white as paper, and big beads of sweat flowed from her forehead to her chin, dripping down her neck. Mother's whole body was soaked with sweat, and Like it was just fished out of the river. I was scared to tears again. I was taken out of the room by my neighbor's sister. When I saw my mother again, her feet had been bandaged with medicine and she was lying on the bed. Because I was injured in the summer, I was already susceptible to infection. In addition, my mother started walking and working in the fields within two days, and the wound became suppurative, causing me to suffer a lot.
Later, every time I was rejected by my adoptive father and grandma, who asked me to do work that no other child of the same age would do, I told myself that the depression and pain I feel now cannot be compared with that of my mother at that time, so don’t be angry and hold back. , now my arms can't twist my thighs, and when I'm strong enough, I can refuse their requests and ignore them.
Later, I developed frostbite on the outside of my little finger, which was worn and pus-filled. I asked my adoptive father if he could take me to the hospital for treatment, because writing would rub off on the notebook and it would be very painful. My adoptive father said that a child from the mountains was lucky enough to live in Shanghai. How could he be pretentious? So he didn't take me to the hospital. I felt really uncomfortable, thinking that long-term pain was better than short-term pain. The rotten flesh had to be dealt with, otherwise it would not be easy to recover. So on Friday night, I cut off the rotten flesh on my hands with scissors, then poured some white wine that my adoptive father drank to disinfect it, and then wrapped it in a strip of cloth I cut from old clothes.I was shivering in pain the whole time. I thought that when my mother pulled out the Mao Chai Gang from the sole of her foot, it hurt as much as me, right? I told myself that things will get better gradually in the future, so don’t be afraid that everything will be fine. Sure enough, after a weekend, I had a thin layer of scabs on my hands on Monday. I used a cloth bandage to write and it no longer hurts.
After I gave birth to the child, I suffered from my husband’s family. Looking at the child, I told myself: My mother once endured this for us, and now I am a mother too...
