Send a hundred-day sacrifice to the loving mother in the distance.

Send a hundred-day sacrifice to the loving mother in the distance.

Li gang

165438+202010.2, September 17th of the lunar calendar. Yongsheng, a small town in Tun, northwest Yunnan, is surrounded by gloomy, wet and cold weather and overcast clouds. God surrounded me with a heavy and sad heart. The sadness and pain in my heart are repeatedly superimposed, and the mountains are pressing me. It's been a hundred days, and it's been a hundred days since mom left our brothers and sisters. Cold rain, such as needles, stung my hazy eyes; Tears poured down our eyes. How can we forget the day when God took back all the love our mother gave us? It was the most helpless and darkest time in my life. On the seventh day of June, that miserable summer was also a rainy day.

Mom, although you have been gone for a hundred days, I don't think you have ever left. That deep and warm love is not far away. During the National Day holiday, I went back to my hometown to see you with Yongsheng specialty soft-seeded pomegranate and water crisp cake. I didn't know until I saw the empty yard that you really left, leaving us unwilling. I put two gifts in front of your photo frame, and you still looked at me kindly. I suddenly burst into tears and cried. I don't know if you can see such a meager sacrifice in another world.

In the flower bed in the middle of the yard, the peony flowers are withered, and only the swaying branches are still lush. And the bunch of chrysanthemums you planted in the shabby enamel washbasin has countless swollen buds, and there are already three or five petals that are bright yellow and slender. I think today, chrysanthemums should be in full bloom, and clusters of golden flowers illuminate the bleak courtyard. At this time, thousands of miles away, I seem to travel through time and space and hear your hearty and clean laughter. That pot of fruits of the four seasons, among the green branches and leaves, is full of fruits, which makes beauty and elegance shine. You know, when I went back, I saw three or five nests of cucumber seedlings you planted climbing onto nectarine branches, which were covered with more than twenty cucumbers, big and small, long and short. The pepper seedlings you planted are covered with red and green peppers. The leek you helped, the white flowers on your head, swayed in the wind and rain. The small vegetable garden surrounded by apple branches is full of all kinds of home-cooked dishes, and every plot that occupies the size of a palm is as refreshing as ever. Purple eggplant is round, green parsley celery is tall and beautiful, oily cabbage and spinach are green and lovely, and leek and garlic seedlings are refreshing. The day lily on the edge of the vegetable garden has declined, and the thin branches are covered with flexible leaves and flourish. Which of these is not your love!

We have lived in a small courtyard for more than ten years. It seems that it has not changed, but it has actually changed a lot. Without your busy figure, your stumbling steps in and out, your smiling voice, your standing in the yard looking up at the night sky and thinking about your children, especially your great-grandson McDull, who is far away in Shanghai. However, up to now, all the farm tools and brooms you have used are leaning against the corner, and your pile of firewood is still neat. The bags of soybeans, corn, wheat and buckwheat you have harvested are piled on the bed board in the wing. In the backyard, the faint fragrance of yellow fruit on the papaya tree swayed with the finely chopped alfalfa leaves under the walnut tree. Bare pear, peach and apricot trees with bright branches. The persimmon tree covered with red fruits in the corner exudes a yellow halo, just like your gentle and loving eyes, staring at this farm yard alone until the children and grandchildren come back for the New Year.

Thousands of miles away, I naturally repeat the boring and monotonous scene day after day. In almost every dream after you left, I met by chance. Your smiling face, your calling and your busy figure are all so vague. In every dream of meeting in a foreign land, I will return to the scene many years ago and repeat the past events: in the spring sunshine, you have to drag your bags to steal alfalfa at night and spend every miserable day; In the wheat field in summer, you sweat like rain to cut the wheat and load the car, threshing the floor to spread the fields, and the sweat on your face covered with grass dust is crystal clear; In the autumn moon, my mother and I are holding the grey donkey on the winding mountain road of Bai Zi ditch coal mine on the south slope of the village. In the early morning of the cold dew season, you have to plow and shake the ground to plant wheat. In the cold winter, braved the fluttering snowflakes, I followed you up the ditch and secretly climbed over the mountains to dig winter flowers. Busy all winter, because the Chinese medicine company didn't buy it, it made fertilizer. Mom, in those difficult years, you grew up with us day by day. I can't forget your heartbreaking cry when you got lost as a child, the water cellar I haven't used for many years, the cry of my sore body, and the helpless and sad expression on your face that you can't afford pen, ink and paper. In fact, you are eager to separate yourself in exchange for all our needs. I will always remember that I went out to study, walked past the old pool in the village and saw you looking under the locust tree on the hillside. I'm getting more and more sad and choked. You went to Shanghai at the age of seventy to see McDull's happiness and satisfaction. I know how much you want to hug him, kiss him, listen to his milk and call you grandma. Why did you leave so regretfully after a hundred days? This will never make up for the regret! I don't know if I can see you affectionately in his sweet dream wearing your tiger-headed shoes and a McDull doll with a red Chinese-style chest covering!

I live in the autumn wind, and you are in another world, mom! Yin and yang are separated, and you can't forgive yourself for paying homage for a hundred days. Without me, your only beloved son can't burn incense and pray for you, burn paper and send cold clothes. I know you won't complain because I want to teach other people's dolls well. Today, however, your red son can't come back to accompany you, so he can only tell you his guilt and accompany you with pale words! I wanted to write a lot of words to you, but at the beginning, there were only tears, so it was difficult to write a sentence.

In the sparsely populated streets and lanes, I often stay for a long time, watching the old man who looks like your back go far, I will follow him far away, just looking back at your face; On the ridge of the harvested field, I wandered around with my little black skin, always thinking of meeting you with half a bag of corn cob at a certain moment. I took the bag, and you touched the little black skin's head and said, go home; During the holiday, your cat in camouflage has got three cute and naughty kittens. They come to me for food and drink on time every day. I'll give them to my sister, so don't worry. Living in a foreign country, I won't drink indiscriminately anymore, because no one is waiting for me at home. Don't worry about this son who almost broke your heart.

Mother, my loving mother forever! A few wisps of incense, a basket of paper money and three glasses of light wine can't bear your great kindness and love! How can I dispel my biting sadness and pain! A short essay, comforting my soul, remembering your hard life, but not enjoying the happiness of a day, so suddenly and unwilling when you left! Mom, I miss you, or the sentence that sent you away from home: I believe there is an afterlife, and we are still a family in the next life, and I am still your son Honger!