My father's prose

In midsummer, when the wheat waves rolled, my father was seriously ill and died. He died at the age of seventy-six and died in the loess bunker. The world is sad and rainy, weeping like a complaint, mourning for the whole family, crying for the land, screaming at the top of my lungs, laughing and laughing, which is also illusory and true, calling my father not to caress his father's body without temperature! Alas, I broke my heart, shed tears in mourning, and was buried and buried. When I came back from my third service, I looked at the portrait, stared at the empty kang, and recalled the past and my father's dribs and drabs. I can't help but burst into tears, my vision is blurred, and I can't help crying. I only care about paper towels and wrote a composition as a sacrifice!

My father was born in the 26 th year of the Republic of China. At the time of national disaster, his family was poor and embarrassed. There are four sisters, and the father is the youngest, and he is very loved by his brothers and sisters. After the founding of New China, my father got a chance to study and finished high school. Since then, his poems and books have been handed down from family to family, and he has cultivated himself and settled down. My father learned a lot, worked as a correspondent in the township office, studied medicine, taught books, worked as a worker and sold vinegar. In the end, due to family drag, lack of perseverance, give up halfway, accomplish nothing, and become a real farmer.

As a farmer, my father's mood has also become irritable, and he often beats and scolds his mother and us. My parents have been quarrelling for as long as I can remember, and we are all afraid of my father. In addition, my mother often lists my father's shortcomings, so in our opinion, my father is stricter than love.

Probably because I am a scholar, my father attaches great importance to my study. At every stage of primary school, junior high school and senior high school, my father will come to the school to learn about my study, communicate with teachers and teach me severely when my grades drop. I'm afraid that's why I have achieved something in my studies.

Before his father died, he was thrifty. He often holds steamed buns in his hands and licks the bowl after eating. He often says: you must be as frugal as possible! Sometimes I give my father some money, but he doesn't want to eat or drink. He buys daily necessities for his family or saves money to buy snacks for his little grandson.

Although my father is stubborn at home, he is an optimist in the village. My father gets up early every day and goes for a walk in the village. Sometimes he gets together with some old people, sings yangko, growls and tells jokes, which makes the villagers laugh. My father is also very kind outside, and there has never been any contradiction with the villagers. Therefore, during his father's serious illness, people in the village came to visit his father in succession, and some even shed tears of regret.

My father has cancer, but he is strong. He believes that he will get better. He walks every day and hardly eats anything. Later, I became so ill that I couldn't swallow any more food. When I eat a little, I will spit it out. My body is getting thinner day by day, and then I am bedridden. During the days when my father was ill in bed, I stayed by his side, watching him become insane and listening to him "go home, go back to our house!" " "My heart aches and my grief is unbearable. In the last two days, my father was blind, and his breathing was weak, so he couldn't even moan. Only the corners of his mouth wriggled gently, so he wiped his lips with a cotton ball and opened his mouth to drink water. That scene makes people imagine how dad fed us and how we smoked when we were young. My father fed us before we grew up. When we fed him water, my father had come to an end. He had been dead all his life. How ruthless the laws of nature are! ), can feed a little water, he will vomit, so repeatedly, dying father has no strength, just panting. Father's muscles have been swallowed up by the disease, leaving only a handful of bones, gaunt. My father lying on the kang has actually reached the door of the gate of hell!

On the afternoon of his father's death, his son didn't arrive because of the primary school entrance examination. The father seems to be awake, and his mouth slowly opens, as if calling his son's name: Sisihuai. Until my son came back and said, "Grandpa, I'm Wise!" " Father nodded hard and never said a word again! Until I stopped breathing and went to another world. Since then, my father has separated from us, becoming an illusory term in my mind and a shadow in my dream!

In those days, the sky has been overcast, dripping and dripping with rain. Is it the tears that God shed for his father? Did the rain moisten the father's soul, or did the father's soul wash away the rain? I don't know, I just burst into tears. I only hope that there will be an afterlife, a soul and a time to get together!

On the eighth day of May, when the lights were on, my father closed his eyes and stopped breathing. Without a word of complaint or exhortation, he left quietly and went to the cold and dark world. From my father's illness to his death, we tried our best for more than 70 days, but we couldn't go back to heaven. We can only serve before the collapse, in order to show our filial piety, to feel the pain of our father, to appreciate his love for his son, and to regret his bad feelings towards his father before. However, the son has to be raised, not waiting for relatives. He gave birth to me and raised me. When will he get the reward? The heart of every grass and tree, poor heaven! Heaven blood and tears, science!

Oh! Being a son is sad, and heaven is ruthless, which makes my generation sad and my father's face hard to see. Who can say that he is full of sadness? It's just that under the dim light of night, the tears in the castle peak are blurred, and the loess is exposed in the middle. My heart is sad and lingering, and there is guilt in the air! When I miss my father, I hold a handful of loess and burn a pile of paper money. It is also difficult to be filial. I only sigh at the moon in the middle of the night and close my eyes to remember!

It's hard to express my father's thoughts and feelings. Even if I have Shi Mi's talent and Sima Zhi's literary talent, it's hard for me to repay my father's kindness of dripping water, beating my chest and crying for thousands of lines, and it's hard for me to thank my father for his parenting. In the dead of night, people are quiet, depressed and brooding, unable to get rid of their feelings. They get up in clothes, confide in their hearts, say a few words, and have the right to vent their lovesickness and send them to mourn.

Ti Tuo Mountain, the dead are gone, but the living remember them and write them on thin paper. I think my father is in the spirit of heaven, and he can feel the pain of missing his unfilial son and the infinite sadness of separation between heaven and man!

Alas, my father, a perfect merit, was left by the crane.

Alas, father, there is no return for the kindness of raising, and how can you forget the feelings of missing!

May my father rest in peace!