I grew up eating oysters. It is said that oysters are rare and precious. In my childhood, I ate oysters. Freshly cooked, fried, made into oyster soup, dried and eaten, occasionally wrapped in oyster powder and fried, and sometimes eaten raw. I grew up eating oysters. Oysters were brought back by my mother when she went to sea. There is a saying in my hometown: "Maihuang eats crabs, and the winter solstice eats oysters." The colder the weather, the fatter the oysters. Every winter, the northwest wind blows for a few days and nights, exhausted, and then sneaks to the other side of the island. The waves are far away, like flying. As a result, the villagers rushed to the seaside, stepping on the grandeur and secrets that were not easily exposed, stepping on the ice crumbs, and walking for two or three miles, unimpeded, enjoying the richness and magic of the sea.
Hometown people call this strange activity "rushing for exams". Yes, the sea is sentimental, so it often rewards the kindness of those hardworking people and my mother who is still struggling. However, the sea is merciless, and even if it is rewarded, it will undergo all kinds of hardships to show its majesty in King's Landing.
Mother bowed deeply and moved slowly like a dark blue wave against the background of the distant sky. The rough and sad cry of seagulls hit her bent back hard. Although she shivers from time to time and her hair covers half of her face in disorder, her silver breath repeatedly shows her stubborn existence. Oyster hooks fall into her hands together, pulling the winter sunshine, fast and powerful, just like an eagle's beak pecking out oysters attached to or hidden in a reef and putting them in a basket. The basket is gradually full, and a hill rises above it. So, she finally straightened up, patted off the frozen chill on her cuffs, picked up two baskets of gifts from the sea and walked to the shore. Along the way, the pole hummed an old fishing song on her shoulder. ...
At night, kerosene lamps are like a little painter, smearing the house with yellow light, but they are so clumsy that they will never draw evenly. Mother always sits in the light and pries oysters. At this time, her strong body, thick hands and feet honed by seawater, showed a clear outline under the blue light. Although the corners of my eyes and forehead are wrinkled prematurely, and the heavy shadows cast by bitter life accumulate in the wrinkles, my mother's eyes are always bright, as bright as two stars, flashing with youth and eternal hope. It's cold, oyster seeds are full of fat, and oyster brains are white and tender. It's in a reddish-brown pottery bowl, just like freshly condensed milk. Oyster shells break like glass from time to time. Mother's fingers are often cut by oyster shells and soaked with blood, so oyster's brain is often troubled by blood circles. Sometimes, the pry hook suddenly gets stuck in her hand, and the blood can't stop, so I have to take a handful of ash from the stove to apply it. ...
Mother pried out the oyster meat and took it to the market, except for some at home. People are full of praise when they see oyster meat. Many foreigners come here, buy some to take away and take them everywhere.
My mother came to see me from my hometown Penglai during the Spring Festival that year. Knowing that I am a cat, my mother likes to eat fishy smell and oysters best, so she chose some big, empty and dehydrated oysters, packed them in Rao Rao food bags and shook a pot of oyster soup with her own hands. Oyster soup is served on the table, and the umami flavor permeates people's hearts. Looking at oyster soup, I remembered that when I was a child, I often complained that my mother was too careless, got her hair into oyster soup, and even made her lose her temper. But mom always picks up her hair and throws it away without saying a word. At this moment, I suddenly felt that the oysters in the bowl were so holy, as if they were condensed from a few strands of white hair on my mother's head. Mother, you are old, but you are still struggling on the rugged road of life, and you are still devoting yourself to your son. Although I am over 30 years old, I haven't repaid your kindness as deep as the sea. My heart is twitching violently and crying silently. How I wish I could find a trace of black hair on your head in this bowl of oyster soup on the dining table, mom!
Oysters are very delicious. I grew up eating oysters.
Jenny, today is your centenary birthday. It's been a whole hundred days since you left your mother. These 100 days and nights are so long and hard! Looking back on the thirteen 365 days when our mother and daughter were together, it seems that it just happened. From a beautiful baby who was born dumb to an excellent middle school student who is growing up every day, every step you have taken is unforgettable. From your birth in the hospital to your death in the hospital, you were hospitalized again and again, and you recovered again and again until the last moment. All these processes are unforgettable for my mother and will never be forgotten!
I remember that on the day when you were just three years old, on your father's way to take you to kindergarten, your left ankle was unfortunately pinched by the front wheel of your bicycle, resulting in a fracture and serious trauma. At that time, the wound on your ankle was very long, and the skin was turned out. The blood stained your pants and shoes and spilled on the road, leaving a long blood trail. But you held back the pain and said nothing. We're all scared. We'll send you to the hospital for treatment. Up to now, I can clearly remember that you couldn't help crying when the doctor sewed up the wound for you. Sewing that needle is like sewing it on your mother's heart. During your illness, your mother took a personal leave to accompany you for the first time. She sent you to the hospital to change your medicine every day, taught you to sing children's songs and told you stories. Under such pain, you never blame your father or lose your temper with your mother. On the contrary, you apologize for my hard work. In this month, mom and you get along day and night, and deeply feel that you are so kind, sensible, smart and lovely.
I remember when you were seven years old and in the first grade of primary school, you suddenly got viral herpes, and there were many blisters on your body, which made you itch unbearable. I'll send you to the hospital for an injection right away. In order not to let you scratch the blisters, I will hold you while you sleep, hold your little hand and call you all the time, afraid to sleep all night. So I stayed in the hospital for a week. Your illness has eased, but I'm too tired to get sick. You understand my hard work, touch my hand and say again and again, mom, I'm sorry! Looking at your innocent little face, I feel extremely gratified. Afterwards, you also wrote an essay "The Most Unforgettable Thing" to express your love and praise for your mother.
In the summer vacation when I was twelve years old, in order to completely treat your tonsillar enlargement, the doctor asked for an operation to remove your tonsils, and I sent you to the hospital again. You behaved so strongly in the operation that even the surgeon praised you. I am both distressed and proud. You really deserve to be my mother's good boy! During your hospitalization, your mother went to work almost every day, and she didn't accompany you in the ward for a day after the operation. The patients in the same ward blame me, the nurses blame me, even the nurses blame me, but you don't blame mom! Because you know that mom is the leader of the unit and is very busy at work, only you understand mom best. Whenever I go to the ward at night and see your satisfied smiling face, you don't know how much love, apology and self-blame your mother has in her heart!
The last time you were hospitalized was the day you died. You were miserable from the morning, but at the most painful moment, you didn't spoil your mother, and you didn't say how miserable you were. Instead, you advised your mother to go to work. Regret! Mom is so careless! When mom came home in the afternoon, the small hospital stopped taking it. When I took you to the big hospital, it was already time to get off work in the afternoon. After several hours of rescue, you wake up, coma, wake up, coma again, until your heart stops beating, forever! I clearly remember the last sentence you said to me: "Mom, I want to brush my teeth ... Mom, why are we here?" ? It's not that serious ... Mom, I want to drink water ... "When I gave your life to the doctor, I didn't think that the doctor didn't save your life; When the doctor announced your death to me, I didn't expect you to really walk in front of me; When I said goodbye to your body in the emergency room, I didn't expect you to really leave this world. Touch your pale forehead, there is still heat on it; Look at your beautiful eyes, as if you just woke up; Listen to your heart, it used to jump so strongly, but now it has no sound, but it still carries the infinite maternal love from its mother. Can you really stay awake for a long time?
Jenny, the history of sending you to the hospital is gone forever, but so far I can't accept the reality that you will never come back. I never imagined that at the last minute, my mother sent you to a modern hospital in the 2 1 century, but she sent you to the point of no return. If there is an opportunity, I am willing to trade my life for yours! But it's too late. Ruthless illness ruined my beloved daughter, ruined the continuation of my life and took away my only hope! I often call your name again and again, touch your photos again and again, expecting a miracle, but I am so pessimistic, disappointed, lonely and sad! Only in this eternal memory can mother follow your figure, look for your voice and smile, and let her melt silently in this eternal memory. ...
A letter to my daughter.
Wang (Jenny,)
Born in 1990 1.30, picked up the plane on July 30, 2003, and was thirteen years old.
Jenny:
My dear daughter, your sudden death in a short day is really unacceptable to your mother. Mom thinks about sending you to the hospital every day, imagining the pain you endure. I can't forget your pale forehead with residual heat under the white cloth on the hospital bed, and I can't forget your beautiful eyes looking at my mother!
Jenny, your mother knows you best. You have just entered the middle school campus for one year, and our life has just settled down. You never want to leave your dear mother, Xi No.4 Middle School/Kloc-Class 0/5, this beautiful flower season, this colorful world. You have promised your mother many times, "We will never be apart!" Mom and you are the closest friends, the closest teachers and students, and the closest mother and daughter. Mom is proud of you and has pinned her life's hopes on you. You are proud of your mother and always follow her example. When we are so dependent on each other, you leave in a hurry, too late to say goodbye to your mother, too late to say goodbye to the world you miss, too late to finish your studies, and too late to show your talents to the society!
Kid! You should not be so strong! You shouldn't always think about my work! How do you know your life is so fragile? How do you know that mom's spirit can withstand such a blow? If God gives me another chance, I will take good care of you and love you a thousand times. I will never let you be so wronged or say goodbye to your mother like this!
My daughter! Although your life is short, it shines brightly. At school, you are an excellent student that teachers and classmates like, and also an excellent class cadre and Communist Youth League member. At home, she is a good daughter loved by her mother, and also a smart, strong, kind, sensible, quiet and well-behaved boy. Over the years, you have followed your mother to the sea, tasted the ups and downs of life, shared joys and sorrows with her, shared destiny, was optimistic and cheerful, never complained, and was brilliant. Your excellent quality, your intelligence, your lovely image and your sweet voice will remain in your mother's heart forever.
Your departure is my mother's eternal sorrow and regret! Has your soul ever heard your mother cry? Have you ever been attached to our inseparable mother and daughter? Do you feel any memories about you? Do you know how sorry teachers and classmates are to you? Mom hopes you won't be sad and afraid. Mom and all relatives who love you, your teachers and classmates will miss you forever. You will not be lonely, and you will not be lonely. We will love you forever!
Come back, my lovely daughter, my mother will always be with you!
Until maternal love
[www.xiaogushi.com time: 22: 65438 +2: 65438 +4: 00 in 2007]
At the age of twelve, my father died of illness. At that time, my grandmother was over 60 years old, my sister went to junior high school, my brother went to primary school, and my youngest sister was only three years old.
In those days, my mother almost cried. Grandma endured great grief. The last thing she wants is to see her daughter fall into this situation at the age of seventy. She promised her mother that she would do her best to feed us as long as she was still alive in this world.
Since my mother stepped out of town, everything at home has been lost to my grandmother. They discussed that all children should be allowed to read, and only reading can change their fate. In this respect, grandma and mom are strikingly similar. However, providing education for four children was not a small expense at that time.
To this end, grandma picked up the old stone mill, soaked in glutinous rice, and began to grind glutinous rice balls by hand. There is an old osmanthus tree in front of my hometown. When osmanthus blossoms, grandma puts a mat in the shade, waiting for osmanthus to fall, then cleans it up, adds sugar and marinates it in a glass jar. Spoon the cooked dumplings into homemade rice wine sprinkled with osmanthus, and the fragrance can float far and far with the wind.
But in those years, I never saw my grandmother eat a bowl of glutinous rice balls. My mouth is the most greedy, but at last my grandmother scraped out the layer of wet dumplings at the bottom of the bucket and cooked some paste for us.
In those years, before dawn, I heard the creaking sound in the dim light. Grandma has a dim oil lamp on her head, and her hair gradually turns from gray to white. The light reflected the gullied face of her old man, as firm as a knife.
One day after school, I heard firecrackers in the village, and it was scratching. At that time, the rape blossoms were in full bloom, and it was already dusk. The villagers passing by told me that your grandmother passed away. I was shocked. I don't believe it at all. This is a joke. I ran to the door out of breath and saw grandma lying quietly on the bench, her face still so serene, as if she were tired and asleep. There is a half-ground glutinous rice ball next to her, and the two pages of the stone mill bite tightly there. The rice paste is still flowing bit by bit, just like tears.
Grandma died of a sudden cerebral hemorrhage. Mom didn't cry this time, but tears swirled in her eyes and her lips kept shaking. She has too much to say to her mother. I clearly remember that my grandmother once told my mother that no matter what happened, remember not to cry, or she would be unhappy.
Before grandma left, she left a small bundle of neatly arranged bills. At a certain time, my mother took out some of them and told us that my grandmother bought them all her life, so you should cherish them.
Thanks to these gifts, our study road is much smoother, and our mother's burden is much less.
A few years later, we were all admitted and entered the city. After giving birth to the baby, my mother became a grandmother as she wished. When the child was three years old, my husband and I divorced and I insisted on giving my daughter to me. That night, I wanted to cry, sighing that my fate was so similar to my mother's. I said to my mother, mom, my life is so bitter. Mother's hair turned white several times a night, but she smiled. What's the big deal? Haven't we been through so much?
Mother wants to rent a pavilion outside to sell newspapers, so that she can earn some money to subsidize her expenses. But I think, once I go out, I can't handle things at home, and I have to pick up my daughter and send her to kindergarten. Unexpectedly, my mother started the work of cloth shoes at home, which was only done when she was a daughter. She said that city people like to wear clothes and lift their feet. I won't say anything. Every time I come back, I always see a touch of sunset glow shining through the window. My mother stood there motionless, bowing her head and thinking about her shoes, like a silhouette. Because being a female worker is a distant thing for her, her hand is always scarred by needles.
That summer, the fetal poison my daughter brought out of my body recurred and grew a big pustule. Every time I go to the hospital, the doctor takes a needle and a cotton ball to scrub, but the sore after infection is getting bigger and bigger. My heart ached badly when my daughter was in great pain. This time, my mother showed rare courage in front of doctors and me. She lowered her head, put the sore in her mouth and sucked out a mouthful of pus. When the doctor saw this move, his eyes widened and several young nurses ran away in fear. A few days later, my daughter's wound healed and she was discharged.
I finally found my true love and became a family. My husband is very kind to my daughter and my mother is very happy. I feel that my mother is more lonely than before, and I suddenly realize that my mother must have a sense of collapsed loneliness because she has a lot of burdens off her shoulders. She asked to go back to her old house several times, but I turned her down.
On August 15 this year, my mother insisted on going back to her hometown, and she was very unwilling. My mother asked me to come down for a while when the bus arrived at the mountain pass. It's a little cloudy, and the green bristlegrass is swaying in the wind. I'm worried about my mother catching a cold. In recent years, mother has been in poor health. She went straight to the cemetery and went to grandma's grave. She took out a box of glutinous rice balls and put them in a bowl. She suddenly knelt in front of her grandmother's grave and bowed her back and cried. She has a lot of things that she couldn't say many years ago, and now she can't finish. As for her father's grave, she behaved like an old friend who was familiar with her heart many years ago and finally reluctantly left. At this time, my mother was 75 years old.
Mom left that night. The moon was so round that night, and the country and the city were in a crystal palace. That night, my mother ate a few more jiaozi than usual. The next morning, when the sun shone into the dusty room, my mother didn't get up early for the first time in her life.
Is grandma really gone? My daughter is a mother now, she asked tearfully. I sighed and held her tightly in my arms, as if I saw the long-haired teenager in the depths of the years, crying out for grandma and running all the way to go home in the fragrance of yellow flowers everywhere.
Chen Rong's painful sacrifice
Tears August 2003 1