That woman

That woman is my mother, and I rarely lie in her arms. In her memory, her hands never stopped working, and there was no warmth to embrace her children. I have smashed one after another in her tears. Her tears came from the hardships of the family and the stepfather's snoring. Her hands are so rough as men, but I can still feel a little gentle when she is horned for me, that is, this silk is gentle, warm me, and grow up with me.

When I was seven or eight years old, she began to order me to go up the mountain to pick up the fire. At that time, I looked at her in a lifetime, tears in my eyes, and she did not see it. She only knows how to kill my childhood. On weekdays, even a sweet candy is reluctant to send. I have absolute obedience to her, and I cannot allow me to refute. I must not be her own, I often think so.

When I was fourteen, I started to go to the middle of the country and began to understand her. I was reading under the slick kerosene lamp. She gently walked into my room, yelling me to rest earlier, then gently walked away and covered the door. Between me and her, I can read each other with one eye and one movement. She didn't have a man who loved her to hurt her. Her life was only painful, and she was bleeding all day. She loves me deeply, but she has lost the capital she can love me, only to turn love into tears. Just as the moment she just closed the door, she must shed tears in her own blame, and she blames herself for not giving me a better learning environment.

In China, I graduated from the secondary school and she knew that the stepfather only said one thing. I didn't care, and then went out. She sat on a low stool and buried her head low and low, silent. The next day, she also went out. When she came back, she borrowed a bunch of colorful tickets and counted them. She said to herself that she finally got enough tuition. The remnant in the pond, I don't know if it was her life. It was not made by cold frost, but it still has a skeleton.

When I graduated from secondary school, I didn't find a good job. She just sighed and then pushed me alone to the unpredictable adult world. When I boarded the train to the south, she did not come to me. I am already an adult in her eyes, no longer need a warm embrace. Later, I realized that she cried all night after I left. She knew that I was still a child who didn’t care about the world. When I went to the south, I was in the wind and in the waves. The future was uncertain and painful. A word of comfort can't be heard.

Later, I returned to the county town, settled down, became married, and she showed a rare smile. When my child was born, she hugged the child tightly in her arms, as if to fill the hugs that owe me. When the child squirted in her arms, she smiled and I cried. That is the embrace of my longing for life.

Now, she is old, she sent her stepfather's last years, left her field of hard work for a lifetime, left the mountain of her hometown, and became a servant. I said, you should also retire, but she can see how many days can she survive?

Looking at her increasingly curved back, I burst into tears: I have traveled so much with her, and I owe her too much. She loves me, she did her best for this love, although she gave me less than the same year mother, but she paid several times more than her mother. Destiny is so meager for her, let her die her husband at a young age, dragging her daughter to the stepfather's eaves, and live a life of hunger. I have been with her mother for more than 30 years, but how much do I share for her?

That day, I said that I wrote an article about her. She shivered and wore reading glasses. She looked at it for a long time. I don’t know if she understood it because she understood it. She just said it well. Good. Then said that his son has made a living and has not forgotten his mother.

In fact, I know that my best writing can't write the feelings between us and can't write our stories. My words are so pale and powerless as her strong inner world.

In fact, the feelings of any mother and children have long surpassed the words and implanted in the marrow of their children.