Text | Yang Aiwu
The crab claw lotus in the multi-purpose hall has bloomed again, and at a speed that I am not easy to perceive, it has quickly opened up a few, a dozen, dozens. I watched it almost greedily over and over again, admiring its distinctive petals, obsessed with its glamorous but not demonic pink, and more importantly, pinning my deep sorrow for my father.
After I got married, I lived in a rented house. Once, when I came home, my father said, "Send you a pot of crab claw lotuses and decorate your new home." "I didn't like flowers very much, and even somewhat disdainfully took back the inconspicuous pot of flowers and placed them in the doorway of the house." When you are happy, pour some water on it, usually, don't bother to pay attention to it. However, it did not wither because of my sluggishness, and finally one day it was filled with flowers one after another, and its flower shape resembled the lotus flower I admired the most. The whole flowering period, I watched and watched, and I loved it.
Soon after the flowers withered, I moved. Whether consciously or unconsciously, I left the pot of flowers in the courtyard.
After my father died, in order to express my thoughts for my father, I went to the flower and bird market many times, and after several selections, I bought this pot of crab claw lotus. Looking at the blooming flowers and seeing things and thinking about people, I deeply remember my father.
Before his death, his father worked in the judicial department and the industrial and commercial department. In his work, his father was diligent and earnest, and he was credited with first-class merit by the judicial system for his outstanding work achievements.
Back at home, my father washed and cooked, was busy and never complained.
My father was also a very interesting person. After his death, I treasured two things, one was a tape of my father himself pulling erhu to sing Peking Opera, and the other was his own calligraphy that he had framed.
How eager I was to see my father go to the Peking Opera Troupe with erhu and carry a bench to learn to sing with the actors, how eager I was to inadvertently read my father's articles in the newspaper again, and how eager I was when I returned home, my father was raising flowers and serving birds with great interest as before.
I was thirty years old when my father died. For thirty years, I was at ease with my father's love, but my father did not give me a chance to repay.
At that time, because I worked in the store, I used to buy them a lot of things, and every time, my father gave me the same money and paid me enough money to run errands, and he always said, your child is still young, and when the child is older, then honor us.
During a physical examination of an old cadre, my father was found to have a myocardial infarction and lived in the hospital for half a month. At that time, every time I went to see him, he was always amiable and always had an impatient look, he said, the child is so small, don't always run to the hospital, I'll be fine.
I will always remember vividly the last night I spent with my father. On the first day of October that year, my mother called and told us to go back to eat dumplings according to the customs of our hometown. When my mother and I wrapped the dumplings, my father came back from work. He went into the kitchen, took the colander from my hand for the dumplings, and said very thoughtfully, it was a little cold outside, first eat with the children, go early.
The next night, I actually got a call from my mother saying that my father was very ill and that we were waiting at home and that there was a car to pick me up.
When I got into the car, I imagined my father lying on a hospital bed, and when I saw the car driving in the direction of my house, I immediately realized that my father was no longer there, and I let out a cry.
Kneeling beside my father, holding his already cold hand, my heart was like a knife: after only twenty-four hours of absence, my father and I had become yin and yang. I cried and tore, how I wished my father would wake up suddenly. But even though I cried and muted, and my knees were too knees to stand up, my father lay there quietly.
The father died of a myocardial infarction. On the day of his death, my father was still working his last day of work.
At only 51 years old, my father left in such a hurry, with too many unfulfilled wishes, with deep attachment and regret.
The flowers blossom and thank you, and in the blink of an eye, it has been eight years. The branches of the crab claw lotus have grown to more than half a meter high, and the flowering is becoming more and more luxuriant every year. When the flowers bloom, it is the time when I feel the saddest. How I wish my father could appreciate the flowers his daughter raised, how much I wish my father could know that his daughter is trying to be a life-loving person like him.
The title page of the mother's family's address book leaves ten words written by my father: "Confidant in the sea, the end of the world is next to each other." "I don't know my father's original intention when he wrote. Every time I see it, I turn my intestines.
Father, are we really living next to each other? Otherwise, you love us so much, why are you so cruel to leave us?
When you are here, we enjoy your care calmly, and we have not yet had time to repay you, how can you go? Why leave us with such bitter thoughts and deep regrets.
I don't understand flower language, and flowers probably understand my mood. Perhaps, the blossoming of the crab claw lotus only touched my deep thoughts about my father.
About the author: Yang Aiwu, pen name Ami. He is a member of the Peasants' and Workers' Democratic Party, a member of the Chinese Essay Literature Society, a member of the Provincial Youth Writers Association, an executive vice chairman of the Municipal Youth Writers Association, and a columnist of Zibo Evening News. The articles have been scattered in newspapers and periodicals inside and outside the province such as Zibo Financial and Economic News, Ten Years of Literary Scene, Zibo Sound Screen Newspaper, Qingdao Morning Post, Beijing Youth Daily, China Discipline Inspection and Supervision Daily, Shandong Pictorial, Rural Public, etc. Over the years, I like to wander in famous works, record my life in words, and continue to practice in writing, hoping to gradually perfect myself.
One point number Shandong financial literature