It was the winter of 20 15, and relatives rushed back to their hometown together. My hometown is very quiet. Even if there is someone in the room, it is not as noisy as before. White coarse cloth covered the whole house, just like a huge cage, which made everyone inside feel depressed and want to break free. That black coffin is out of tune with this white and pure world. The portrait of the master was quietly placed on the coffin. In the photo, he is smiling, amiable and carefree.
Looking at his photo, my memory went back to the past. At that time, I was learning to ride a bike, and my grandfather held me by his side and held my arm tightly. He is always nervous when I have a slight lump. He always follows me when I want to ride it by myself. I was afraid I would fall, but he was always behind me, always. He gave me strength, gave me never back down, and looked straight ahead. Because of this power, everything becomes simple.
After a few years, my uncle's family was poor, and my grandfather had to work as an unloading worker in a logistics company in his sixties to make a good living for his son. He had to carry a mountain of goods on his shoulders. He is stubborn and strong. No matter how heavy things are, he has to carry them himself. In this way, two years later, his health is getting worse every day. Until that day, it completely collapsed. In the hospital ward, I can't get rid of the picture of my grandfather's bloodless face and the anxious and painful faces of my relatives outside the ward.
Up to now, the memory he left me has been blurred, but the stubborn figure sitting on the threshold smoking has made me unforgettable. I really miss him.