Winter is a season that is not very friendly to the elderly.
When I was a child, if a neighbor died at the end of the year, the adults would always sigh with compassion: "I didn't survive this year, it's a pity." "For life, it is obvious that every season should be survived, just like the Southern Song Dynasty monk Hui Kai said: there are hundreds of flowers in spring, there is a moon in autumn, there is a cool breeze in summer, and there is snow in winter.
Although it is not always a good time in the world, being alive is always the biggest win. Disappearing in the cold winter of slaughter will only aggravate the footnote of the suffering of all sentient beings.
My grandfather also passed away near the Chinese New Year. At that time, my parents waited at the bedside all day, and I went home to take care of my younger siblings.
The bad news came soon, and I was assigned to go to the town's photo studio to wash a portrait of my grandfather. The old man himself divined a fortune before his death, and the oracle showed that he could live to be 83 years old, but who knew that he would be thrown down at the age of 74.
I took the only old photo I had at home and walked a few kilometers to the town. Passing through some cramped country roads, I only dared to cry a few times in a place where no one was around.
The master of the photo studio enlarged and trimmed the ** with his hands and feet, and praised him repeatedly: "The old man has a good temperament, he is an old cadre, right?"”
I remembered that he had been poor all his life, relying on some crafts to support his family, and now he was lying there, his face was blue, his hands were colder than the weather, and he couldn't help but cry in front of the photo studio master. The man shut up and sped up his hand.
In my memory, it was the first time since I was sensible that I experienced the death of a loved one in my family, and I have always been close to my grandfather, and the grief lasted for several years. Sometimes when I wake up in the middle of the night and remember, I can cry. So much so that later, I can't tell whether I miss an old man who has been dead for several years is true or to move myself. And I almost never dreamed of him.
A few years later, one day I finally dreamed of him. Strictly speaking, I dreamed that I couldn't see anyone in the yard of his house, but I heard him talking to me. It's like the scene of countless winter and summer vacations when I was a child, I played in the yard, and he was busy in the house with his never-ending chores, occasionally yelling at me not to be naughty.
But that day in a dream, he said something so long that I can't remember it, but I remember it to the effect: Don't always live in the past, but look forward.
When I woke up, the May sun of Guangzhou fell on the bed through the window, like a bed covering my body. The brightness, lightness and joy of that moment will never be forgotten.
So I looked ahead. Although I don't know if this dream is from the ** spiritual power that spans life and death between relatives, or if it is my own inner suggestion. But since then, I've felt a lot less afraid of death and seem to be a little stronger inside.
After years of busy work, I really forgot about my grandfather. When I went back to my apartment a few nights ago, I was on the very short stairs up the second floor, but I suddenly stopped: the old man ......It's been 15 years?Or 16 years?
The memories soothed by a dream came rolling in and filled the small truncated staircase.
When I was a child, my mother often promised me to go to my grandfather's house during the summer vacation, but when it came to the holidays, she changed her mind, and the loss brought to me was almost hopeless. My mother feels sorry for my father, he doesn't make much money, and when his grandchildren go to visit, he always spends more money on hospitality. And we stayed for days.
What my mom didn't know was that I never cared about food and housing. I was infatuated with the old man's dilapidated house, and everything in the house and the withered, warm smell of the old man like cotton wool was my medicine.
The old people seem to have become medicine primers in the end. In their old bodies, there is wisdom that rises from the ground in the ordinary, and the skin that has been hammered repeatedly. Extremely reliable.
When I was young, I had many dilemmas, such as not understanding why parents and children living under the same roof pushed each other, or I couldn't get used to seeing the guy who stopped the car of a stranger to fight the autumn breeze all the time, and even was afraid of the suona sound at night. My grandfather doesn't talk much, but he has the effect of four or two thousand pounds, he is the island when I swim without roots.
But he was gone suddenly. The next year, his grandmother, who had been arguing with him for decades, also left. I also did a very naïve thing at that time, in order to offer my highest sorrow to my grandfather, I held back my tears in front of my grandmother's spirit.
A few years ago, when I went to the grave to pay him a New Year's greeting, the weeds obliterated his small grave. My dad and I pulled out an open space to burn paper money, set off firecrackers, and then smoked a cigarette next to me, and the whole time we were silent. The three of us seem to be pretty disgraced.
I didn't go a few years ago. My mother said it was overgrown with thorns and firewood, and she couldn't go up there, and she couldn't light incense and burn paper. I sat in the hallway, watching my two little nephews scurrying around like two little mice, without talking or going.
At this moment, I stood on the stairs, thinking of the small grave in the thorns in the distance, unable to move.
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