But at night 1 1 when my brother and I came home from work in the hospital and just fell asleep, my cell phone suddenly rang violently. I immediately understood that the last moment had arrived. In a panic, I jumped out of bed, put on my coat and rushed to the elevator.
In the vast darkness, just a taxi with flashing warning lights came and stopped in front of me with a "honk".
"Observation room of Zhongshan Hospital!" I shouted eagerly and was speechless. Zhongshan Hospital is Zhongshan Hospital. How did the driver know where the observation room was? I figured it out later. The driver doesn't seem to be in such a hurry. Wait until I sit tight and close the door before stepping on the gas pedal. "Don't worry! It's already like this. Not if you are anxious. " He seemed to understand what had happened, and said softly and slowly in the voice of a mature middle-aged man.
Taxi drivers who are used to traveling at night may have seen many such scenes, so let's just say. But for me, this sentence immediately calmed my restless heart a little, just like God's help.
Lying in the observation room, almost all of them are dying people who have issued a "notice of critical illness", and the light is dim. Only the dim light on the edge of mother's bed 39 is dazzling, and the round halo is reflected on the roof. Her bed is surrounded by white curtains. Several patients who were still awake felt strange and looked up with difficulty, hoping to see something. But there was no sound, no movement. The people in the curtain have been cut off from the world forever.
I stroked my mother's hand, which was still warm and sweaty. I held my mother's head and whispered in her ear. A vague voice suddenly rolled out of her throat. I anxiously asked the nurse on duty next to me. She explained that this is the smell of people who have already left. The gauze I soaked in warm water wiped away the faint bloodshot from my mother's nose and mouth at the last moment. Mother is 90 years old, but because of long-term drug injection, at the moment, her face is white and full, just like an angel.
On duty tonight is an old nurse whom we are all familiar with. While unplugging the monitor and other musical instruments from her mother, she whispered, "My mother-in-law just likes playing mahjong. It's no use trying to persuade her from morning till night, so we have to go. I heard that your mother's hobby in her later years is very elegant, and she seems to like calligraphy and Peking Opera or something ... "
Yes, my mother was still wearing glasses to write calligraphy the day before she was rushed to the hospital by an ambulance. We all thought she would come back soon (wasn't it always like this before? )。 On her small desk by the window, everything is as usual, the paper is still open, the pen is still tilted, the ink is faint, and the small asparagus grows weakly but stubbornly on the mottled windowsill, waiting for the owner to sit back in the chair at the table and pass on the warm breath to them.
Nurse Xiao Liu took advantage of her soft body and quickly wiped her mother and changed clothes. After changing clothes, the old nurse looked around and said softly, "When all my relatives arrived, I announced that I had left. Look at your watch. It's 23: 55 on April 5. The workmates will come soon. "
Mother's body is getting colder and colder, and it will never be warm again. I remember what she said recently: "somehow, there is no sound around, and my eyes often hang down like curtains." I couldn't help crying, and my nose moved a few times, but I held back.
The young workmate wrapped his mother in a big blue cloth bag and tied both ends with ropes. The lifeless mother was carried on a trolley and sent to the morgue not far away.
In the middle of the night, everything is quiet and the stars are so far away and cold. Our two brothers led the cart at both ends in tandem and walked along the side road of the hospital step by step with the workers. When it came to an end, the night sky rang with the cries of workers. I saw an old man in white coming out of the small door of the side room quickly, rubbing his eyes while buttoning his clothes, apparently awakened in his sleep.
"coming." The old man said flatly, I don't know if he said it to himself or to us He came slowly and opened two tall black carved wooden doors next door. "Go in!"
The borders and walls of the Black Gate are white and solemn. Two square glass lamps hanging on the wall are like a pair of guardian eyes. An old stone tablet is embedded in the wall on the right side of the gate, and the three traditional characters of "preparation room" are engraved in the middle. The small print on the right and left are "Twenty-five years of the Republic of China" and "Donation from Shanghai Funeral Home" respectively.
A room full of chill, full of rows of numbered iron fences, used to store the remains.
The old man opened the grid numbered "18" and instructed us to move the wrapped mother from the cart to the special mattress, then slowly send it to the iron gate and finally close the iron gate.
"Take three bows." Look at our reluctance, the old man whispered beside us.
When we stepped out of the gate, the old man's sincere voice came from behind: "Good number."
There happened to be a class the next day, so naturally I couldn't go. Early in the morning, I sent a short message to the monitor of two classes. The students will certainly understand me. Besides, what can you expect?
What I still don't understand is that the first two text messages I received were not sent by the monitor, but by two classmates I didn't have any contact with at that time.
Xiao Wei, white and slim, wrote, "Teacher, I am sorry for your loss! As you said, constantly adapting to change is growth. I wish you all the best. " This is the first message to comfort me, in my own words. Yes, I said something similar, and more than once. I'm a little excited.
Then, it was Yan Jun's silent and low-key sentence: "What the teacher gave me last time was very useful. I just heard that the teacher may have something very sad. I don't know if it's true. Here I also send a word to the teacher:' Life and death are actually the same, and death is a part of life.' Haruki Murakami.
Tears can't help flowing down. I remember-that's what I said when she explained to me that the reason for the late handing in of homework was the accidental "departure" of an "old friend". I said, "Don't be too sad. Adapting to changing living conditions is a sign of a person's maturity. " I never thought that at this sad moment, such a young student gave me spiritual comfort, and I was a little ashamed. I immediately replied to her: "In a sense, teachers and students are also relative." This is completely heartfelt. At this moment, I am a poor "child" and need the guidance and guidance of an "adult".
My mother died in Tomb-Sweeping Day that day, which must be God's arrangement.
The weather has been fine for the next few days.
(Author: Chinese Department of Shanghai Normal University)