father’s love
Question Note
mobile phone alarm clock rings on time at 7:30 in the morning. In addition to "time is up", the screen today also has four other words: the day of my father's death.
Last year, I set up the document in my mobile phone memo. In fact, even without this setting, I don’t think I will forget this day. But I was worried that my busy work prompted me to ignore it, and I had to use electronic memorandum to turn my worries into peace of mind. From, my concern.
Every year today, my thoughts are overflowing. Filling with this overflowing work can finally be no longer a job that coexists with tediousness and stress, but my memories of my father.
My war with my father
About my father, and that stubborn little girl. The most profound picture is that the sweat in the eyes will only flow when the majestic back walks away.
Mother helped me up from the place with loving gratitude. I refused silently and told them with my eyes that I would wait for him to ask me to get up before I could end his punishment.
Finally, the girl compromised with her numb legs and stood up weakly. Although it is not your fault to persist.
persists until now.
Father's "Sorry"
The mountain road riding alone, the trees on both sides stand for me to be brave.
On the car without cargo, it is more difficult to move forward than before. It took nearly 40 minutes to get home from school, but it took me more than an hour to get home that day.
I don’t know how I walked into the ancestral house father’s ward (I was quarantined after being discharged from the hospital). The darkroom of this ancestral house is full of the smell of medicine. I handed my father the book of dropping out of school, and the dialogue was only a few words: "The school said that parents would sign it." He got up with difficulty and stood at the table full of painkillers and Chinese herbal medicines, without looking at me.
Looking at his skinny hands, he wrote down his name tremblingly. The vigorous and powerful handwriting that I was once proud of has lost its soul. I felt sore again and walked out of the door.
He called my nickname. The girl was never used to letting him see her tears. She didn't turn her head or stop. What I heard behind her was him muttering helplessly, "I'm sorry"...
When I decided to set off to school to pack my bags, I went to his ward again and said to him freely:
"Dad, I'm going to the school bus to get my luggage." The book of dropping out was covered with tears, and the smell of my father.
is another road riding alone. My father's handwriting, taste, and those three words have replaced the trees standing on both sides.
This is what my father said, "I'm sorry", and it is the only time.
The father in the disease and the last moment of life
When the mother brought her father back to her hometown, she was diagnosed with advanced cancer . My father became thinner and thinner, and it became a certain fact that he was terminally ill.
He often sits against the wall and sighs constantly. We couldn't find words of comfort, as if all comfort was weak...
When I was eight years old, my parents went south to work and went home once a year. After a long time of separation, I rarely communicated with them since I was a child, and such silence has evolved into a kind of nature. My father, who was already serious, became even more taciturn under the torture of the disease. It’s just that sometimes his anxiety makes us feel sad.
I watched my father leave. When in a state of dying state, the chest cavity rises and falls, making a thick and powerful breath, as if the tide of advance and retreat is surging.
The father was using all his strength to support this breath. Tide breathing, the last breath before death. Then the tide began to retreat, slowly, weaken, and slowly calmed down...
His body began to cool down, his mother cried while the sky was dark, and his younger brother and sister shouted in panic.
Two lines of tears fell from the corner of my father's eyes, and I knew his reluctance and worries. I brought my mother over and let my brother and sister kneel down in an orderly manner, hugged my father's body, and comforted him: We will listen to our mother's words in the future and grow up healthily.
The tide began to recede, his tense body stopped tense, and his heart stopped beating. At that moment, I reached out and caught Jingying...
My father died the day after I turned 16th birthday. That year, my eldest brother was 15 years old, my younger brother was 11 years old, and my younger brother was 10 years old.
I started growing up at the age of 16. And, I began to believe in fate...
The heavy rain in my eyes
On the day of the funeral, light rain . My mother always reminds me to say more to my father when I am buried. I agreed. The flames of paper money made my face uncomfortable. I had nothing to say, but tears fell silently. My younger brothers and sisters were crying, and I believe my father would forgive my silence, just like before.
The day after my father was buried, my mother went south again. The rest of the funeral will be handled by my uncle and I (grandma also left when I was 12 years old).
When my mother packed her bags and was about to go out, she calmly said to me: Starting from the day of my mother's birthday, my father could no longer eat and had a premonition that he had left. But in the early morning, my mother told her father to persevere and at least let her daughter have a safe birthday (my mother and I are only 2 days apart). Daughter, do you know? He kept insisting...
At that moment, I burst into tears. It was more intense than the moment he closed his eyes. Finally, I forgave my father's preference for boys over girls, forgave his stinginess, and forgave his stubbornness...
This is the first heavy rain in my eyes.
After remembering the upcoming Qingming Festival in
, I saw some friends’ mood about "the son wants to be filial but the father is not here". I felt deeply sad that I couldn't get out of my father's grave to cultivate a handful of new soil. It's my regret.
My father has left us for 8 years.
I don’t believe in heaven, but I believe that my father is peaceful in a silent world.
There flowers are up along the fence of the courtyard. A group of ducklings I raised when I was a child are strolling in the garden, and the vegetables they planted are green and healthy and pure. There is no hustle and bustle of this world in the air, and only his children's endless longing for him. Think, think...
——In a moment, I put my work aside, express my thoughts and remember my thoughts.
On the morning of February 19, 2010, the lunar calendar,
in Shenzhen ( Author: Xiaoliang Picture; from the Internet)
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