Grandma's Prose Living in the Cracks

This year is the ninth year since my grandmother died. This Tomb-Sweeping Day is the day of grave-sweeping for ten years, and I suddenly miss my grandmother.

As long as I can remember, my grandmother always gave me the impression that her hair was gray, thin and hunched, as if she had never been straight to her waist. Her three-inch golden lotus, when starting, leans back as far as possible, with her feet on the ground, always taking small steps and with a fast pace. Except for our child, it is hard to see the smile on her face and her poor words. She has hardly said anything to others.

Grandma was born shortly after the Revolution of 1911. She grew up in the rural areas of northern Jiangsu, with little education and never worked as a family after she married us. 1937 After my grandfather was killed by the Japanese, my grandmother supported the family by herself, dragging my grandfather and aunt and leading a hard life. By the time my grandmother got married, she was already a daughter-in-law. Besides, my grandmother has a good family, born in the late Qing Dynasty, and is said to be a landlord family. After a few days' education, she was very efficient and naturally presided over our family. By the time my grandmother died, my mother had been married for more than ten years and was also the daughter-in-law of that year. Moreover, my mother's personality is a little strong, and she has been taught by her grandmother, so she is in power, so she has never worked at home for a day in her life. But she didn't complain about anything, just said little, and there was basically no expression on her face. She is used to doing endless work.

As long as I can remember, grandma's image seems to have not changed.

When I was in primary school, every time after school, my grandmother always saw me with the same smile and asked me if I was thirsty or not, and if I wanted to pour a bowl of water. I was always annoyed from the heart: at that time, there were not many people who could eat enough, and they always asked me if I wanted to drink water. No matter how bright my smile is, I can't change my disgust. As soon as I entered primary school, we separated. Mom and dad live alone with our four sisters. Although they live alone, they actually live not far from their grandmother. On the surface, they broke up. Now is the time to work together. Whenever the farm is busy, we go straight to the field (threshing floor) after school, because all the family members are busy in the field, grabbing crops and seeds, and they are half tired. Who can care about the food and clothing of a child's meal except grandma? Every time I come back from school, the first person I meet outside seems to always be grandma, because she is the only one who will look at the sun and guess that it is time for us to leave school, so she will wait for us outside. Seeing our first face, she still smiled like that. It seems that no matter how heavy the manual work is, she is not tired. The first thing she said was, "Are you thirsty? Do you drink a bowl of water? " We are as annoying and helpless as ever-grandma, don't you really know? School is over and we are hungry.

After high school, the school is about 15 miles away from home, so I need to live on campus and go home once a week. When I got to high school, my family was not as good as before, because my father had been doing business at home and opening an agency shop, and those who could not make money never lacked food. In high school, my father stopped doing business and drank every day, and the agency shop was unsustainable. The expenses of the family mainly depend on selling surplus grain. After the busy farming, my mother will weave straw hats and braids, and my grandmother will weave straw mats to supplement the family with the poor money exchanged for handicrafts. My high school food is very stable: I bring 42 mustard seeds to bake pancakes every week, and an oxytetracycline slice to fry pickles in a big iron box. There are only three kinds of pickles in our family: dried radish peppers, black pickles peppers, spicy bumps and occasionally diced meat. There must be various special reasons, that's all; Pocket money is not fixed: if there is more money, my mother will give me two or three dollars. My mother doesn't have time to knit straw hats during busy farming. Maybe she has no money at all. I remember one week when I came home to bring food, I found that my money was one point short. Because I had 12 cents on me two weeks ago, now I only have 1 1 cent, so I didn't spend it. Think about it-that penny must have been lost. When I was in junior high school, my second aunt and my sister-in-law had been married one after another, leaving my grandmother alone. When I was in high school, my grandmother was old and the originally separated family was reunited. I remember going home every Saturday afternoon, grandma always sat alone under the buttonwood in front of the door, staring at my way, waiting for my arrival, standing up until she saw me, smiling as always and asking me if I was thirsty and tired, and if the hot water I poured was cold. I'm really tired and sweaty. I'm really thirsty when pedaling my broken bike, but I always say loudly, "No thirst!" " "Still so helpless, sometimes even angry.

Sometimes, my mother is really busy. I want my grandmother to bake the 42 pancakes I bring every week (usually my mother doesn't let her bake, one reason is that my grandmother is old and inconvenient to move, mainly because her pancakes are thick and nobody likes them). The same 42 pancakes are much thicker than her mother's. When I returned to school on Sunday afternoon, I could still eat the wheat fragrance of new pancakes for dinner that day, but by the afternoon of the next day (Monday), the wheat fragrance was basically gone. Because there were more than 20 people living in a dormitory at that time, the study in high school was very tense. Some students don't even wash their feet for days, let alone take a bath. The dormitory is full of smelly socks, smelly pickles and even the smell of urine. After dinner, we wrapped the food tightly for fear of cross-contamination. The tool I use to wrap pancakes is often the plastic inner film of a fertilizer bag (most students used this at that time, and sometimes it can't be washed clean and has a strong smell of fertilizer). Food is airtight inside, and sometimes pancakes are uneven in thickness and uneven in heating, which will quickly ferment and deteriorate in plastic bags. On the third day, pancakes began to grow long. At first, they were faint white spots. The next day, the white spots became bigger and became white hairs. On the fifth and sixth day, the original white hair turned into red hair or green hair. Later, if you don't dry it in time, your hair will turn black. This situation can only be slightly improved in winter. Even the pancakes baked by my mother, the same thing will happen, except that one or two pancakes baked by my grandmother are sometimes left (so moldy that I would rather not eat on an empty stomach and go home after noon on Saturday to improve my life). Another Saturday, I took two pancakes left by my grandmother home. As usual, grandma greeted me with a smile and asked me if I was tired. Do you want to pour a bowl of water? I growled angrily at my grandmother. This time, grandma's smile disappeared and became a giggle. I dropped the long-haired pancakes I brought back and quickly flashed into the house, never wanting to talk to her again.

I went home twice a year when I was in college. Every holiday, grandma no longer waits for me alone, and the whole family will sit under the buttonwood and wait for my arrival. Every time I go home, I always notice my grandmother at first sight: her moon-white shirt is thin and bent, but now her hair is all white. There may be too much to say when a family meets, but they can't say anything. Only grandma still smiles as before. Are you tired? Do you want to pour a bowl of water? The family I just met had nothing to say, but gave grandma a chance to interrupt like this. At this time, I can't be impatient or angry. After all, I was a college student, and I was probably used to it, but I still couldn't understand it at that time. Is grandma used to such greetings? Until last year in Tomb-Sweeping Day.

Last night in Tomb-Sweeping Day, I had a dream about my grandmother. I met my grandmother in my hometown. On the contrary, this time, I seem to be waiting for her arrival. I am in the yard, and the sun is shining. Suddenly, my grandmother bent down slightly, and came to me with a smile, still in that white cardigan, blue-gray pants, tied legs, little feet and small steps. Is this me waiting for my grandma? Is grandma thirsty and tired? I was just about to call my grandmother, but she ignored me and went directly to find my daughter who was born less than a year ago. I was shocked-what is the relationship between grandma and her granddaughter? You won't even talk to me? I thought in my dream that I shed tears: my grandmother has never received a day's education and has never been a family. She never talks about her sufferings and never asks for anything. Even when I went to see her mother, who is over 100 years old, she arranged things for her, no matter how much, and never complained. Is it possible that grandma can only be a home for pouring bowls of water? The answer is yes, then why does she love me? In fact, she can completely ignore my thirst or fatigue. This is her only expression of our true love, and the eternal smile is the best proof! I suddenly woke up-I yelled at her, but instead of being angry, she giggled. What can she say except helplessness and laughter? I regret once that I didn't even drink the water my grandmother wanted to pour me.

Grandma's life is very hard. Her father died early, married to our family and never met her father-in-law. She has never been a home for a day in her life, and she has given birth to ten children, leaving only my father and three aunts. My grandfather died very early, too. Although she didn't take care of it, she didn't do less. Who can understand such pain? Without her insistence, perhaps there would be no home for us now; Without her smile, maybe I wouldn't be where I am today-her smile inspired me invisibly, making me go forward with a smile without fear of any difficulties. I was rational that night. I miss my grandma very much. I woke up crying.

After graduating from college, I finally got my wish to become a policeman, and my grandmother was proud of me: with a bright smile, she was radiant and gradually talked more. I don't know when I added a fashionable vest to my moonwhite blouse. My all-white hair is brighter and my cheeks are rosy, but my thin body is still hunched. Grandma is a devout Christian. She goes to the Christian church in the village to sing scriptures every day. Everyone who meets the villagers is willing to say hello. Unfortunately, the good times did not last long. Grandma had two car accidents in three years, both on her way to a neighboring village for worship. Fortunately, there is nothing serious, but after all, she is old. Because of these two car accidents, grandma stayed in bed for half a year. Maybe the poor will never enjoy it. My aunts took turns to serve them while they were in bed. They ate a lot of delicious food and drank well, but they had a cerebral infarction. After the cerebral infarction is cured, there are sequelae, hemiplegia, inconvenient movement and basic loss of language ability. During that time, I often took my one-year-old son home to visit my grandmother. Every time my grandmother sees my son, she giggles and wants to hug him, but she only repeats one sentence: "I won't say." My son is now 12 years old. Whenever I mention grandma, he is still imitating her, hunching over and laughing, saying, "I won't say."

How many people still remember the saying that the tree wants to be quiet, but the wind will not stop, and the son wants to raise and not wait for his relatives? How many people who remember can do it? Do it and cherish it.

On the night when I was born, my grandfather had a dream that my mother was born, a boy with a handle. I was really born at dawn. It happened to be Tomb-Sweeping Day that day. Grandma and grandpa are naturally very happy. Grandpa walked three times in the village and told everyone that my grandmother was also a neighbor. Everyone said, "We have a grandson. What a coincidence, you say? Even the name is brought. " My birth brought hope to my grandmother, and so did my grandmother who lived in the cracks. I'm always in a hurry before I go to the grave. I burned paper at grandma's grave, kowtowed and turned away. But now, I'm going to Tomb-Sweeping Day. I want to have a good talk with my grandmother, clear my guilt and comfort her broken heart. I also want to tell her: I will be your grandson in the next life! Dear grandma, do you know in heaven that I really miss you?