Written to my mother

I am always afraid that my pale words cannot describe such a group, this kind of people: they are extremely ordinary, they have never been stirred up by words, let alone earth-shattering stories; they are - mothers, mothers, gods in the hearts of their children!

Speaking of my mother, I have to start with my grandfather. A veteran of the War to Resist US Aggression and Aid Korea, a soldier who really crossed the 38th Line, a combat hero who experienced four deaths and wrote a blood book and finally was seriously injured and had to be transferred from a hospital in the northeast to a hospital in Wuhan and transferred to another profession. Grandpa's career as a horseman named his six children: For the National Pavilion Township Tour. My mother was the third oldest among the sisters, so people of the same age called her: third sister. Her mother has a strong and stubborn personality, lost her mother at the age of six, is frank and frank, and does things straight and straight.

After my grandmother's death, my grandfather did not reunite for the rest of his life until I passed away in 2003, when I happened to take the college entrance examination. His children are particularly fond of cleanliness, and they like to clean up their rooms and clean them. At present, it can be seen from the bits and pieces of these elders. This old man, who was praised by the villagers of the ten miles and eight townships, may not have left a deposit building and antiques, but he left behind the wealth that his children used for a lifetime: hard work!

Mom didn't go to school, but she seemed to know the importance of reading better than many people. After graduating from elementary school, although I was the second grade in the township, I did not get into the town's key junior high school as I wished, and after a lawsuit between the two schools, I was divided into a high school that was converted into a junior high school - it was also my alma mater, Lighthouse High School, where I had spent six years in my life. Although my mother did not read a book, she was very much looking forward to my entry into the key junior high school. In my lifetime, I will always remember the scene where my mother and I, as well as my deceased aunt, begged the leader in a unit called the education station at that time: the leader knocked on Erlang's leg, and cigarettes and tea were indispensable, looking domineering and invincible in the world. Of course, a rural parent who has driven dozens of miles of mountain roads, a thirteen-year-old boy, and a teacher who has no real power will not have a little pressure in his eyes, let alone change any of his decisions. The tears left by my mother did not change the decision of the leader, but they changed me and changed my life!

My mother and I went to another junior high school and accepted the arrangement. I secretly swore in my heart that I would not let my parents pray for anything for me again, and I hoped that I would go on my own. That's why later I would drop out of school to work, would work half-time and study, would be far away from home as soon as I interned, and I wouldn't tell them about any suffering outside. I've done it before, I've done it now, and I hope I'll do it again.

It was the spring of 2000, and I returned to my hometown from Jingzhou in a sleeper car for more than forty hours with the thousands of yuan earned from a part-time job. Push the car door, and there is no surprise happiness that was originally envisaged. Found that the mother is very thin, the hair is white, wrinkles are more, the years, you ruthlessly let a mother carve the wind and frost in advance, but also made a teenager's heart stronger. I can't imagine how my mother spent more than five hundred days when my son went out to work, and my mother was worried, yes. I can't imagine my brother reading my mother the family letter I wrote every time, I can't imagine eating a scene of one less me on the reunion dinner table, I can't imagine how many eggs and a bowl of noodles my mother boiled for me every year on my birthday... Too many pictures, do not dare to think, the more you think about it, the more painful it is.

From 98 to now, I have not lived in the house for a week, every reunion with my mother is in a hurry, and I have never had a good chat with my mother, take my mother to check my body, and I have never cooked you a meal or poured a ridge of vegetables...

I know the truth that "parents are not far away", and I know even more the truth that "the tree wants to be quiet and the wind is not stopping, and the son wants to raise and not to wait". Going out, settling in, can't help but be. Thanks to my mother, I have never asked for anything, even if sometimes a little heart is a refusal, I understand that there are many grandchildren, and it is not easy to work outside. I am a lucky person, and my parents who are more important than words have given me spiritual wealth than buildings and deposits; I am lucky that every Spring Festival, when I return home, there are dear parents waiting; I am lucky to have younger brothers, sisters, nephews and nieces accompanying the old people.

The sun was setting, in the fields, in the laughter of my mother and my aunt and uncle, in the comings and goings of my uncles and aunts. The mother can take care of the housework as much as she can, accompany the children and grandchildren, and go on to be happy like this...