The Mai family’s letter to their late father: Only love can last forever in the world

Yesterday I shared a letter written by the Mai family to their son who traveled across the ocean to study in the United States.

The Mai family wrote their fatherly love, earnest entrustment, deep concern, and infinite blessings and expectations into the letter to their son, and also into the hearts of every reader.

In fact, the Mai family also wrote a letter to their late father, written on the first anniversary of his father's death in 2012.

I accidentally discovered this article on the Internet when I was reading his "The Conspiracy".

I was stunned after reading it. Because at that time, my father was gradually losing his mind and needed to be cared for by his mother like a child. In severe cases, he would not be able to recognize his own daughter. So I really sympathize with the Mai family's desire to reconcile with their father who is suffering from advanced Alzheimer's disease.

Occasionally there are adults around who talk about the harm and negative impact their original family has had on them, and you can also see their alienation and resentment towards their parents.

I know that their parents must have problems. The way they get along with their parents in their original family has affected their current family and even their own husband-wife relationship and parent-child relationship. Their lives are often in a state of confusion. A kind of twisted state.

I believe this letter written by the Mai family to their father can cause us as adults to think deeply:

Reconcile with life, reconcile with relatives, and reconcile with ourselves.

Only love can last forever.

Father:

Hello!

Do you know that I just went to see you?

An hour ago, mother, eldest brother, eldest sister, second sister, and younger brother, we all went. Today is the third day of the ninth lunar month, the first anniversary of your death. I got up at six o'clock in the morning and went out at half past six. I had to get out of the city early, before the traffic jam. Nowadays, life in the city is becoming more and more inconvenient, there are more and more people, the roads are becoming more and more congested, and the sky is getting lower and lower. Of course, the worst thing is that people's hearts are getting more and more chaotic, the world is getting darker and darker, and they don't even feel at ease with what they put into their mouths. The vegetables I eat now are all grown by myself, and most of the meat is sent from the countryside. If it is not available, I eat as little as possible, or even not at all. If you don't eat, you won't starve to death. If you eat, you will worry about death. People worry about food! Father, I think you must know this. You should know everything now. You have gone to heaven and become otherworldly. Things on earth and in the world cannot be hidden from you, right?

Father, time flies by so fast. In the blink of an eye, it has been an anniversary since you left us. I say leaving, but in fact this year I feel that you are closer to us than ever before. My mother misses you almost all the time. She will leave a portion of your favorite food for you. When the weather gets cold, I wonder if your clothes are enough. , on a hot day, pour cold water on the concrete floor in front of your house, as if you were still sitting there enjoying the coolness. Mother said that you have a hot temper and are afraid of the heat. After dinner, you always go to the creek to carry a bucket of water and pour it in front of the house door. When the heat dissipates, you will lie down on the armchair leisurely and happily. Standing on Erlang's legs, shaking the big cattail leaf fan, smoking cigarettes one after another, talking about the sky and counting the stars, as happy as a god. Our home is on the edge of a mountain. There are so many mosquitoes at night, but strangely, they never bite you. My mother said it was because you smoked too much. The blood was bitter and smelled of nicotine. You should not eat mosquitoes.

My mother always likes to talk about you being magical. I remember that every time I was beaten by you, my mother always comforted me and said, "That's good, you've grown up a little bit more." What a joke! How can this make sense? But that's what my mother said. In order to convince me, she would quote from many sources and take the trouble to explain the truth thoroughly. "Which child in the world has never been beaten?" "Children are grown up by being beaten, just like babies are grown up by crying." "It's not said that people are made of iron rice or steel. Which piece of good iron is not the hammer of the master blacksmith? "Is it the result of being beaten with a hammer?" "If dad doesn't beat you, you will be beaten by outsiders when you go out. If dad beats you now, you will be beaten less when you grow up." "Daddy beats you because he loves you." I don't want you to be beaten by outsiders. "Listen, my mother said it so clearly and miraculously. When I was young, I was confused by her, and I was still silently thanking you after being beaten by you.

But that time, that time, you broke the "myth" carefully crafted by your mother. Father, you should know which time it was. When I was 12 years old, I had a fight with my classmates at school. Three of them beat one of me, and the teacher took the blame and beat me until my nose was bruised and my face was swollen.

I was so angry that I didn't go home at night and blocked the door of a classmate's house, waiting for him to come out and prepare to fight him to the death. After you learned about it, you came over with a bamboo stick in hand. I thought you were here to avenge me, so I was so excited that I rushed towards you, crying and complaining about my great grievances. As a result, you slapped me hard twice in front of my classmates’ parents, and the bridge of my already injured nose was crooked. The nosebleeds suddenly spurted out like chicken blood from slit throats, and flowed into my mouth. I felt like It's like drinking water. I can't hold it in my mouth. It flows up my chest and into my crotch. If my classmates' parents hadn't stopped them in time, you would still have beaten me with a bamboo basket, right? What I saw was that you had already raised your shoulder and wanted to chop it down at me. That arm is as thick as your arm. If you chop it down, I will be dead. If not dead, I will be disabled. Either my hand will be broken or I will be lame. I will be either hunchback or paralyzed.

Father, how could you be so cruel!

Father, how could you hit me like this!

Father, you are wrong! Do you know why I fought with my classmates that day? Because of you! They called you a "counter-revolutionary," a "god," a "four types of elements," and an "old lackey of U.S. imperialism." They called me a "bastard," a "little nigger," and a "follower of U.S. imperialism." In short, I have scolded you with all the unpleasant words. In order to defend your dignity, I will fight three against you. I will not be afraid in the face of danger and regard death as home. I feel like a hero, but you treat me like a bastard, like a pig or a dog. Father, yes, although you have hit me many times before, this time it really broke my heart. There is a knife stuck in my heart and I can't pull it out! You should know that since then, I have changed and become a lonely child who doesn’t like to go out or make a sound. At home, I am like a broom at the mercy of others, but I am always silent; when I go out, I am like a stray dog, always shrinking my body, hanging my head, walking against the wall, avoiding the excitement and joyous scenes. My mother nicknamed me "Cat in the Cave" because of this. The grief made me unable to hold back a single tear. I was wilted, wasted, and wasted. I became mute and deaf. I completely closed myself off and stopped playing and communicating with others. I only communicate with myself and write a diary every day, like an ambitious kid in the city. In fact, it is not ambition. My heart is full of pain and hatred, and I can't find a place to vent it. I vent it in my diary. I still remember that the first diary entry I wrote was that I vowed not to call you dad again. I kept my word - you must remember - I never called you dad again after that. It wasn't until 1993, when I got married and brought my new wife home, that I vaguely called you daddy, as if I were a thief.

Father, talking about this, my heart still hurts. I used to only feel pain for myself, but now...I feel pain for you too, for you and me. The pain makes me shiver all over...Forget it, let's talk about something else, let's talk about how we miss you. As I said just now, my mother talks about you every day. If there are holidays or festivals, she will be busy. She always asks people to pray for you a few days in advance, make paper money, wrap white bags, and prepare delicious food. When the day comes, she can't help but ask us all to go back, perform rituals for you, and celebrate the festival with you. Today is your big festival, the first anniversary. My mother informed me a month ago that if I want to cancel anything, I must go back and organize a grand sacrificial event for you. When I came home today, I saw my mother looking pale and tired, but her eyes were still very bright and her brows were filled with joy. The second sister said that my mother was so excited that she didn't sleep all night when she thought about celebrating a big festival for you today. Does she think she can meet you today?

Father, think about it, with such a mother here, how can you be away from us? You can't live without it, it's at home wherever you go. Before our eyes and ears. In our mouths and hearts. Father, you may not know that my mother has thought of me as you many times this year. When she saw me suddenly, she would always say: I thought it was your father who was back. Father, you really shouldn't have left so early. Your departure has depleted our mother's life, caused us great pain, and made the whole situation miserable. She no longer has a life of her own. She lives just to miss you. She misses you and talks about you all the time. Father, to be honest, you make me very envious. You have such a good wife who will always keep you in my heart no matter where you go. Father, let me tell you, your life is really worth living. At least there is one person who lives completely for you. She will never leave you even when you are alive, and she will still watch over you every day after you die.

Today, we sent you a lot of things, five large packages of paper money, which took an hour to burn. It's getting colder, and the mountain wind is coming and going, blowing paper dust all over the sky. My mother said this is good, the higher and further you fly, the more you achieve.

These paper money are made of fine tender bamboo paper, and the ashes are white after burning. Mother also said that this is good. The whiter you are, the clearer and clearer your life will be in the underworld. Mother also asked us to chant sutras and put fingerprints on the ashes, with men on the left and women on the right, first men and then women. There were so many details, and the operation process was so complex, solemn, and meticulous that I felt for a moment that you were not dead, but just far away. We also brought you a lot of food, including sweet rice crackers, paper candies, apples, candied fruits, and persimmons, which are all your favorites. You love sweets. I remember you were hospitalized in the summer five years ago and the doctor didn't allow you to eat sweets. After a few days, you were so flustered that you asked me to buy paper packets of candy. I bought a bag of white rabbits, and you ate ten of them in one go like a child. I tried to persuade you several times not to eat them, but in the end you got scolded. You said that you are almost eighty years old, you have lived enough, and you are not afraid of death anymore. Are you really not afraid of death, father? You often talk about death and dismiss it because you are disappointed in our children?

I think, at least I am disappointing you. In the eyes of outsiders, I am successful and you are lucky to have my son. I must have given you a lot of honor and warmth. But in fact, for a long time, all I gave you was anger, indifference, opposition, and hostility. To be honest, father, you really broke my heart that time. I was so beaten that my conscience and morals were ruined. I didn’t even recognize me. I hate you, so clearly, so unforgettable, so long-lasting. Before I was 35 years old, I always regarded you as an enemy. I only had one thought for you, which was to leave you, to rebel against you and punish you with disrespect. Therefore, when I was 17 years old, I left home to go to school, deliberately walking far away, and not writing to you. For more than ten years, I always only addressed my mother when I wrote letters, without mentioning you. I did this on purpose, I want to take revenge on you! Every time I go home from a visit to relatives, I buy everything from clothing to food for my mother, but I won’t buy you a box of cigarettes or a bag of candy, so that my mother can’t bear to stand it. I often secretly give you cigarettes and sweets in my name. clothes. After so many years of marriage, I have never invited you to my house. I even changed my name... Thinking of this, father, I really feel like a bastard. How could I treat you like this? You are the one who gave me life. Even though you have beaten and scolded me roughly, how could I hate you so deeply and take revenge on you?

I am ashamed!

Don’t make me ashamed, tell me something about my filial piety to you. I can’t remember the specific time, but it must have been 1999. During the Spring Festival of this year, you fell and almost died. I became a father myself at that time, and my child was one year and nine months old, and I went back to see you for the first time. No one believed it. It was unbelievable. It was the first time for my child to go back to see his grandparents. For such a big thing, I first delayed it again and again until the child was almost two years old. Secondly, I didn’t accompany him and only let the child go with him. Go back the fuck. This incident is enough to show how long and how deep the stalemate between you and I has been. Maybe I went too far and God couldn't stand it any longer and wanted to create something to teach me a lesson. The first thing is that you fell down and had a meeting with death; the second thing is that your fall and hospitalization left a deep impression on the little guy. After returning from his hometown, he often babbling in front of me. : Grandpa, wrestling, getting injections, crying... over and over again. He seems to be a messenger sent by God, constantly stimulating and urging me to go back and see you. Finally one day, I quietly went back to see you. This is the first time I've made a special trip home for you! Maybe it was the bell of your death that shattered my stupidity, maybe it was my hard work as a father that awakened my conscience, maybe it was God... In short, from then on, I began to ease the relationship with you, and I insisted on every I call you once a month, go back to see you once a year, and agree on a travel plan with you. I want you to visit several major cities in the southeast, northwest and northwest before your death, see the outside world, and do my best to show my filial piety. But you suddenly fell ill, and in the end you only went to Beijing and Shanghai, but not to Guangzhou, Hong Kong, Chengdu, and Xi'an. I still regret this now. In fact, it was me who was not determined or quick, procrastinating and slacking off. If I knew you would get that disease later, I would definitely drop everything and accompany you to visit these cities. Therefore, I often tell people now that filial piety must be fulfilled as early as possible!

In 2008, the Wenchuan Earthquake occurred in Sichuan. You know, I was still in Chengdu at that time, but I was preparing to be transferred to Beijing. In March, my new unit had transferred my files. Just when I was about to report to my new unit, a huge earthquake occurred around me, and hundreds of thousands of people experienced life and death.

One day I went to visit the disaster area and saw the grieving old people. I cried so much because I thought of you - every old person is you! You were 81 years old that year, but I had never comforted you when you were sad, never hugged you like you once hugged me when you were bedridden, never washed your feet once, never held you in your arms when you were bedridden. You cut your nails once... No, no, I didn't do much for you! On that day, I decided not to go to Beijing. I wanted to come back and spend my last years with you. Although I went through the transfer procedures as quickly as possible and was transferred back to Hangzhou in August of that year, I never expected that God would punish me like this: when I come back to you, you will no longer recognize me! You have Alzheimer's disease and you don't even recognize your mother. I regret coming back too late, and I'm glad I came back to you when you needed me most.

Father, I am becoming more and more fatalistic now. There are some things that I cannot understand. For example, there is no perfect ending between you and me. I always feel that this is fate. To be honest, I have been particularly afraid of your death since you fell ill. I want to atone for my sins and make up for my mistakes. I owe you so much and I want to pay you back. I did do that. For three years, every weekend, no matter where I was, no matter how busy I was, I would rush back to serve you, feed you, wash your feet, carry you to bed, massage you, and sleep with you. , shout out to you. My mother said, you occasionally wake up. I do this in the hope that you will wake up at some point, see me serving you, know that I am repenting and atone for my sins, and then comfort me and let me know that you have forgiven me in the end. . You can't say, just smile at me. I need your recognition, even if it's a symbolic recognition, a smile that eliminates grudges. In fact, in the past three years, except for my mother, I spent the most time talking to you, but you have sobered up, laughed, and spoken to other relatives, but you just didn't give me a chance. One day, you were surprisingly awake for several hours in a row, and your mother called me urgently. I rushed back urgently, hoping to see you before you woke up, talk to you, and see you smile at me. But just a few minutes before I walked in, you suddenly went back and returned to the same state of ignorance. When you saw me, you showed no expression and said nothing, like a stone against a piece of wood. That day, I lay in your arms and burst into tears. You were as indifferent as ever and fell asleep amidst my tears and cries. Oh my god, why don’t you give me a few minutes! I think if I had gone back a few minutes earlier and seen me crying so sadly, with tears streaming down my face, you would have wiped away my tears and comforted me that you had forgiven me. That would be great, perfect, and I wouldn't be so sad today.

Father, I am really sad now, really sad, so sad. Father, you have given me a lot in my life, and I want to give you a little more at the end. I want you to have a sober smile, a solid recognition, a word of comfort, a word of forgiveness, and a loving hug from father and son. But you didn't give it to me, father. You just left like that, without giving me anything, not even a slight smile or a touch. Father, are you unable to give it to me or do you not want to give it to me? Father, give it to me, give it to me, you can't imagine what this means to me? I will always feel a sense of guilt and shame towards you. Father, give it to me, I begged, give it to me tonight, in my dream, I am waiting...