Tears prose grandma touching family articles.

In our memory, grandma is covered with heavy wrinkles, because she has a smile and the lines in her eyes are like two open fans. The following is a tearful article I brought to grandma for your appreciation.

Grandma in Tears Prose (1)

At noon that day, at the end of the meal, I will go up and call you, and you will come down.

Who would have thought that you could never eat this meal and left on an empty stomach?

Over the past few years, you have been living in Foshan with me and changed places. Every time I look for a rental house that is nearly ninety years old, I encounter a lot of dust, and the owner refuses to rent his old house to such a white-haired old man. I am the one who suffers for you. In this world and this country, the rich are always too rich and the poor are always too poor. Your grandson is one of the poor, so he can't buy you a house and let you die suddenly on the wooden bed of 10 square rental house the night before the hot summer. He will feel guilty for you for the rest of his life. You left so suddenly that you didn't even have time to say a parting word. It is unkind of you to be a ghost. He will meditate on what you want to say in your last sentence all his life.

Yelling and crying proved that you could never respond to me again. Your soul has gone away, and you can't hear it anymore.

After hunching for 25 years, I finally straightened up once. You sleep with your mouth open. If you are hungry, you shoot at the lonely lamp on the ceiling. Your shriveled breasts are exposed. It was too hot to sleep naked last night, and the old fan on the table shook his head weakly. Lonely old people in this country, your body is getting lighter and lighter because you are far away. I can't dress you, all my joints are stiff. I'm afraid of cold bodies. It's your granddaughter who occasionally stumbles with you and helps you put on your left sleeve neatly. Turn your thin right shoulder, turn your thin body and dress slowly. How heartbreaking, looking at your unwilling stiff face and toothless mouth, how many words should you say before you leave. You left with heatstroke, and the sheets were struggling with wet sweat like salt foam. I was at least four hours late. The air full of corpses is deeply blaming me. The fate of grandparents and grandchildren in thirty-three years is so different. From now on, you can stop suffering with me, but I can't support you anymore. You raised me for more than twenty years, and I only raised you for ten years. How unfair!

You have no children under your knees, and I grew up without father and mother. Thanks to you, you raised me with a handful of shit and urine for my school. It's not easy for you to adopt me when you are 60 years old. Grandma, I'm an adult, but I can't be as diligent, simple and spotless as you. You forgive all my bad habits and laziness, and love your little granddaughter who is three times my mother's age. My white-haired grandmother. When I was seventeen, I couldn't bear to earn money for my education at the age of seventy-five. I dropped out of school. But you don't work for me in the south, so I stay at home and write poems crazily. At that time, the radio station in the county broadcast my works crazily every day, and all the neighbors heard gave you a thumbs-up and said that your grandson was a genius, not to mention how happy you were. Later, my name appeared frequently in newspapers and periodicals. You can't read any of them, but you still read the newspaper carefully. Sometimes I can't bear to explain. The success of teenagers also delayed my youth. He was imprisoned at home for several years, but Qian Yin's income was very small, and his family's economy was once tense. After that, I was even more down and out. I used to sell paintings and words in the streets of the county. My long hair flies around in the strange eyes of passers-by, as dazzling as cutting the world. I finally can't stay at home. As the ancients said, parents are here and don't travel far. I ran away from home when you were eighty, leaving you alone at home. On the day I came out, except for the ticket, I only had a crumpled 47 yuan, and your 100 yuan was not enough. I can't send money back until I get paid next month. Life is so hard. In recent years, my bunk has been stolen many times, and my salary has been deducted from these bunk funds. I lend you money and remit it back every month. I can only give people who have just left 400 yuan a monthly salary 100 yuan, and you can deposit it in 500 yuan for one year. Looking at the money hidden in the cracks and wrapped in old newspapers, I can't imagine what grandma's life is like. Think about it. In recent years, the three of us have eaten nearly 2000 yuan in such a tight way. Think about grandma's food expenses of tens of dollars ten years ago (the price was almost the same at that time), which made us sad. When I came out to work, my grandmother was left alone at home, hungry, cooking alone, sick, seeing a doctor, lonely and talking to herself. I can say whether my grandmother is alive or dead. I have no idea. I was deaf when I called her, and I couldn't even write. I am extremely depressed. Only once in the new year, two people who care about each other rely on these days to treat their broken liver and intestines. I remember the first year when I went back, you insisted on squeezing into my bed and sleeping with me. I don't feel sick. I stroked your wrinkled forehead, and tears soaked my eyes and ears. Yu Jian said his mother is pure cotton, 100% cotton. Does he mean that his mother is unbearably warm, soft and wrapped? Materials that are behind the times are always afraid of cold and heat for their sons. I want to say that my grandmother is pure hemp. The love she gave me is like hemp rope, rough but firm, like a sack full of rice, or even like a dense mosquito net. Leave the trouble to yourself. After seven or eight years, I finally came out. I, a poor boy, also married a wife, gave birth to a child and brought you to me. I haven't lived a happy life. Unexpected? What about you? He left without saying a word.

It hurts to see you being carried away in a cloth bag in a funeral home and curled up into a ball. This farewell is forever, I think you can only rely on memory, a painful distance to stop there, and you? You'll never come back after a long trip

The next day, my wife and I went to the funeral home to handle the funeral. What hurts me more is that I can't afford to buy you a coffin. Shrouds and urns are also very cheap. Even death is a price in this city. There are tens of thousands of people who have money to buy coffins. Those who have no money are like your grandson, and only paper coffins are given to you. I feel very guilty and miserable. Looking at your body that has been refrigerated for a day, looking at your pale eyelids that have been deeply immersed in your eyes, covered with all the thousands of feet love you have given me for 33 years, I almost collapsed. The whole ceremony was arranged by the staff. I want to watch it for a few more seconds. At the last moment, I cried. It's just that you can't open your eyes anymore. After a night of frosting, the world has set up any freshness that makes your heart move. Your lips are closed and your nose is locked. You don't have to cling to this deadly and changeable world anymore. I touched your cold lips with my forefinger. How I want to be close to you again, close to you, close to you and listen to you. That I can't hear the staff stop drinking. At this critical moment, the last moment of existence is the beginning of bifurcation, and you are slowly pushed away, taken away and taken away forever. The ends are spread out and the bones are brittle. Watching your body enter the furnace, I cried outside the furnace, and my wife was also crying, but compared with the collective crying of dozens of people in a nearby furnace, the scene left by this world is really bleak. You have been cremated in an open hearth in a cremator for nearly half an hour, and the meat has turned into smoke and ossified into ash. After the oven, you meet a skull, looking at the pile of bones lying on your back, without a trace of meat. White is dazzling, and the broken bone is still a little pungent behind the fish pond. You lay there one by one, separated from me one by one. This is the last time for our grandmother and grandson. This is the last helpless silence since we got along. Your empty skull and deep cranial fossa are still looking at me kindly. No, after years of deafness, the temporal bone is finally opened, and the facial skull is still full of kindness. How I wish it would make a sound at this moment. I usually see creepy skulls on TV. At this moment, I feel extremely nostalgic and never tire of listening to them. Grandma, grandma in the bones, and the big pieces of broken bones left me with the appearance of my last grandmother. I knelt down and watched the staff next to me break up my grandmother bit by bit, even breaking her bones one by one. Grandma, that pile of bones is the last beating music you left me. There is only a cup of dust left in your body. I hold the urn in my arms, and even the jar can't carry you weighing less than five pounds, or you are lighter than the jar, but my hands are as heavy as lead. Finally, put your urn in a carton, pack it, hide it from others, and transport you back to your hometown by bus. I have no money to buy you a cemetery in this city. Fallen leaves return to their roots, which is my last and most decent false comfort to you.

Grandma tears prose (2)

As the saying goes, blood is thicker than water, and all China people like to find their roots and ancestors and explore the origin of blood. Speaking of blood, it is not an abstract existence, but actually flows in our blood and memory. Roots of vegetation, mountains and rivers and Kunlun mountains, rivers and Zu Hai? So we talk about both inheritance and inheritance. Grandma, my relationship with you is not direct, but without you, I would have broken up. On which hill was childhood buried? In which river did youth die? The four seasons are endless. It is you who lead me through the colorful jungle and know the world when you are one year older than me. It was you who brought up the baby and transformed me.

Exploring my background, this unrelated search for relatives, with love as the final result, led me to find the great source of love for ordinary women in China. Grandma, like my ancient mother, has a long love history. Even after three generations, it is still so fresh. The blood in my veins is mixed with the blood and tears shed by my grandmother from the source, so my running can be continued, so there is a maternal love system of my grandmother, which belongs to an unpublished personal spiritual biography? DNA？ I also have qualities in my bones that my grandmother should not be taken away. Raise me, teach me, even beat me, scold me, and teach me by example? All this is actually so solvable, because it all points to fate. There is grief and recognition. Or all women are just one woman, and all mothers are just grandmothers I have met in my life. It's so sad. Beneath that face that has been worn out by the world, another face of my mother Sansheng III has also been revealed in this life with the help of my grandmother.

I always thought grandma was no different from mom.

But, grandma, I dare not think about how you raised a baby under the age of 1970, when there was a lack of food. When I was ignorant, I didn't really envy children with mothers, because you gave me twice as much love as maternal love. I'm too bad at writing memoirs. Is it because grandma is too old and I am too young to get rid of the face-to-face favor of three generations separated by one yard? After my death, my grandmother rolled away the vicissitudes I wanted to remember like white hair.

Grandma, it is because of me that an old man in his sixties often takes a child to work. How can he not camel for years? This bow of flesh and blood full of years, until I was four or five years old, I was reluctant to let go of my arrow, so that I was often laughed at by my friends. This kind of doting is like grandma's unfathomable eye socket. Lying on grandma's back, grandma's big hand holding my little ass, this kind of grandma's happy enjoyment of treating me like a donkey and a horse at that time is uncomfortable in retrospect today. I deeply blame that kid. I can't help but feel sad at the thought that my wife has been carrying her son for a long time. It turns out that I bullied my weak grandmother so much. It is futile to blame myself today, but my existence has deeply dragged my grandmother into bad karma. It is my sin not to let her live in her old age. When the lion dance crowd came, grandma wore it behind my back, trying to get a good seat for me. The crowd dressed as the ancients came, the crowd singing and picking tea came, and the crowd jumping spring cattle came. Every busy day makes grandma feel tired and weak. Grandma always insists on satisfying my young and ignorant curiosity. Grandma's spine bends a little for me, and the hump is grandma's accumulated love for me. That hump, like grandma's kindness to me, stands out. I feel guilty about grandma's camel, but it's my masterpiece.

The grave paved for you is also like a camel. A pile of loess has laid a foundation for me, which makes me even more ashamed of you. What kind of inscription should I use to summarize your life? But your grandson can't afford a stone, and he can't give you a hard time. I still owe you some time. ? There will be stone carvings such as unicorn, ancient crane and two dragons playing with pearls, but unfortunately they are not yours, grandma. That is, XX Anle Permanent Cemetery. That's the underground palace of the rich. There will be the sound of cold moonlight, ghosts pushing the plate, stones telling the solemnity of 8 million, glory of life and luxury of death? Everything will trip the whole class. There will be rich people's oil in the dust but no poor people's blood. In this world, talented people come forth in large numbers, and there is white in their bones, so there will be underground CBD and back garden of life? The meeting of one hundred generations has a long history. Who is the best, who is the ghost hero? Who hit the nail on the head? The sky is already an old newspaper that has been polluted again and again. Only repeated lies will have a future. Just stay there and watch the sunset blackened by incense. Under the portrait of death, how many times did a wandering soul see the starlight and lift the camera to take pictures? As a poor man, I can't exaggerate my hatred for the world because of you. I give you poverty because I am not good enough; As a grandson, life can't give you happiness and death can't give you peace. I have been in debt for a long time and become a burden. I can't imagine you as a poet in words. Your tombstone is not standing, it is empty first. Your love for me for more than 30 years cannot be repaid by a stone. Neither can Kirin, nor can ancient cranes, nor can there be any land of feng shui. You can't accept anything. Since then, I will come back to see you once a year. Burning incense and kowtowing is just a ritual. Everything that belongs to you has gone out. I opened the urn in front of the grave to see you for the last time, because the local custom here requires exchanging blood for bones before burial. I want to bite my index finger and drop a drop of blood on your skull. At this critical moment, I can't bite. My cousin grabbed my right hand and stabbed my index finger with a cup. After a drop of blood came out, he was pressed by my cousin to wipe grandma's broken bone. Predictable primitive impulses seen in blood and bones? Is my cousin's consciousness so that we can recognize it in the afterlife? Grandma's life ended like this. In the afterlife, I know it's a lie. The world I live in now is already another world, a world without grandma. After adding the last handful of dirt to grandma's grave, I knocked three heads and turned around. Grandma and I got separated.

From now on, the grave is what you look like, what an unacceptable fact. The humpbacked grave will always accept the love of weeds. And I come here every year, and I don't know how many times I can come again. Life is impermanent After decades, we really have no news!

Grandma tears prose (3)

Grandma's kindness to me can never be finished. Let's just focus on one thing. Grandma, thank you for writing me a modern edition? Meng Mu moved three times? . Although I can't be Mencius, my grandmother and Meng Mu have the same idea and think of me. For my studies, during the ten years from 7/kloc-0 to 80, you moved four times, spanning two provinces. Meng Mu III was in his prime and moved quickly, but you completed these huge moving projects in your 70s. This is not only a cumbersome process, but also the changes in the surrounding environment and neighborhood relations brought about by each move, as well as the procedures for buying and selling houses and the custom of choosing a good day for school. How difficult it is for an old man! Every time I think about it, I feel even sadder. For seven years, I have been infatuated with writing the Soul of Nine Songs, which makes my grandmother, wife and son very cold. "The Soul of Nine Songs" went from a few hundred lines to 20,000 lines and then to 40,000 lines, with one draft, two drafts and three drafts, and it was non-stop, thinking day and night. That's really masochistic writing, which is about nausea and vomiting blood. This is a crazy way of writing, just like a deep feeling in doomed love. The Soul of Nine Songs is suffocating me with great physical exhaustion and spiritual revelry, but it also ignores the people close to me. Because of writing, I became an incompetent father, husband and grandson. My existence exists in name only. Balzac may be poison to him, Shelley may be a trap to you, and I in writing may be a plant to my relatives.

Grandma's nagging is well known. Many times I am addicted to writing, and I don't know what my grandmother has said for decades until my inspiration is broken. Memories may be the only happiness grandma can bring in the past. I returned to the ancestral temple like a ghost. I looked at my grandmother who was still talking to herself and felt guilty again.

Grandma's efforts are unrequited. She has never complained about me? Fickle? With what? Widowed? .

My grandmother can't compare with Meng Mu, because I'm not as great as Mencius. So-called? A son's saint is a mother's saint? 、? Life teaches children, aiming at blue and purple. A wife teaches a child, aiming at Confucius. Since ancient times, there has only been one person. ? The feudal emperor sealed Meng Mu for many times until the second year of Qianlong (1737), and also sealed Meng Mu as? Mrs. Fan Xuanxian, Duan Guo? Is that because feudal rulers tried their best to shape Meng Mu to meet their needs? Idol? . In my mind, it is natural that my grandmother is greater than Meng Mu.

My first home was in a remote town in the northwest of Guangdong where I was born. That's my hometown. Grandma set up a frying stall at the corner of town to earn money to support her family. As I grew older, I gradually realized the hardships of my grandmother's life. Get up before dawn every day to mix powder, and the strength of rubbing needs an old man of 70 or 80 years old to complete. It is impossible to understand how tired I am. And these dozens of pounds of glutinous rice flour were ground by grandma with a stone mill. Speaking of stone mill, many people don't know what it is now. The stone mill consists of two short cylindrical stones with the same size and a grinding disc, which is placed on a table made of wood blanks, and a lower fan (fixed disc) and an upper fan (turntable) are stacked on the grinding disc. There are neatly arranged grinding teeth on the contact surface of the two mills. Glutinous rice enters the middle of the two layers from the upper hole, moves outward along the grain, and is crushed when rolling through the two layers to form gouache. There is a navel grinding between the two fans to prevent the upper fan from falling off the lower fan when it rotates. The grinding hand is hung by a cantilever beam. When the grinding hand is pulled, the grinding disc creaks, accompanied by audio and video, and it takes more than an hour to pull half a bucket of glutinous rice. Tiny, I stood on a bench and ground holes with a spoon. The ground glutinous rice slurry should also be poured into a cloth bag to dry the water. These processes are very hard, so every time grandma is tired and sweaty. Grandma's oil cake is really delicious. I am a lovely little ghost. Grandma's oil cake is not made by adding water to the yellow sugar board to make a thick liquid and mixing it with powder. Instead, put the yellow sugar board directly into the oil pan, dip the fried sugar on the half-cooked cake, and then control the heat to fry the icing, which is crisp outside and soft inside. Because grandma's ointment is famous for its golden color, round and shiny skin, crisp and sweet, and it can also become one of the most representative local snacks in this town, the village did not apologize for her old and unsanitary things, and the business was quite good.

Grandma is willing to spend money on me when she earns money. When I was four or five years old, I began to contact Romance of the Three Kingdoms, Water Margin and The Journey to the West. Sure, okay? Comic books? Counting comic books, I have 10 Flying Tigers, 6 Linhai Xueyuan, 60 Water Margin, 60 Romance of the Three Kingdoms, 50 Journey to the West, 10 San Mao Wandering, 6 Hulu Brothers? A book is equivalent to the price of 3 Jin of rice. How many meters is my three-basket picture book? At that time, there was no internet, and few households in the town had televisions. Comic books were my only spiritual food at that time. Although I can't understand many words because I am young, I still find it very interesting. My childhood was ridiculously wonderful! Although these picture books were lost after many moves, they are now widely circulated on the Internet and have been collected for thousands of dollars, but the wealth and happiness I got in my mind at that time are by no means something that collectors can buy with money. Because I played picture books too much at that time, I learned simple line drawing at the age of six, and became the most important protagonist of the wall newspaper held by the Children's Day school every year as soon as I went to school. Thanks to my grandmother's generosity.

Later, I moved to a town in Guangxi, where I corrected my Cantonese accent in Mandarin.

In the following years, my grandmother moved repeatedly because of my studies. Every time I move, I can't take away the coffin my grandmother prepared in her later years. Anyway, the driver refused to help me carry the coffin. Every time I move, my grandmother sells the coffin before buying it. Buying and selling coffins so many times? This will upset an old man's heart. After the funeral reform, it was impossible to be buried, and grandma's coffin was still empty in the empty old house in the country and turned into rotten wood. And grandma followed me south until I left, and the coffin still didn't belong to her. I can't afford her wooden coffin in this city. I owe her a coffin for the rest of my life. In this life, I can never repay my grandmother with a coffin. It is my shame to lose this society and my country. I am alive, I am poor, I am in a daze, and the coffin that stings my heart hanging in the air will make me feel like a lead cloud. I can't help crying when I think about it. Lack of a coffin, for a dead person, even the world has been left behind, why not put it down? The living have an almost morbid sensitivity to the lack of a coffin for their dead relatives. Grandma has paid so much for me, and I have saved the last coffin. what can I do?

Grandma wrote me a modern edition? Meng Mu moved three times? And I'm still? Three debts? I owe a comfortable old age, a stable home and a peaceful coffin, which makes me feel ashamed.

Grandma tears prose (4)

Grandma, it's so simple and habitual to do something she thinks is very simple.

Writing another million words can't add any glorious image to her.

I haven't written a poem for her for so many years, and I know that no matter how I write it, I can't do it.

The crowd is crowded and the city is noisy. The world is so busy and prosperous, but people are still lonely. As lonely as grandma came to this city from the countryside, sitting on the slate of a certain intersection and counting the traffic, I often look at a certain intersection in a trance in a world without grandma? Looking forward to her sudden appearance? The hunchbacked old woman, the white-haired old woman, I aim at these lonely figures to fantasize about my grandmother!

Guess you like:

1. Prose in memory of grandma

2. Prose about Grandma

3. Touching family prose

4. I miss my parents' most touching articles

5. Touching prose about mother