The height of this tree is more than three stories high, and its branches and leaves are swaying in the wind on the roof. What I see every day is its thick trunk, which stands there like a pole.
Since I lived here more than 30 years ago, it has stood outside the window with its head held high, like a loyal sentry year after year, but I have never looked at it carefully.
I didn't notice it until my father died. On April 27th, 20 15, my father, who had just been discharged for two weeks, was hospitalized again, with heart and kidney failure and skinny. If it weren't for the clearly visible ribs on the chest, it would still fluctuate up and down, just like a lifeless board lying in a hospital bed.
The dialysis machine buzzes beside the bed, like a vampire, inserting a slender, eagle-claw-like tube into the artery of his father's thigh, sucking blood out, sending it to the machine, making a crazy turn in it, and then sending it back to his father's blood vessels.
Father's blood vessels have been completely destroyed by 1000 bottles of medicine during his first hospitalization. On average, more than ten bottles of potions a day have not made my father fat, but made him thinner and thinner. When spring returns to the earth and flowers are in full bloom, my father is like a dead leaf, as if it would fall at any time.
That must be unbearable pain. The father, who was already in a semi-coma, stretched out two thin hands, stood up with difficulty and desperately grasped the claws on his thigh.
I didn't realize my father's pain at that time. I just want to save my father from death. So, I acted as a vampire's accomplice, standing on the bed like the executioner's hand, bending over and holding my father's hands stiffly, for fear that he would tear off the claws on his thigh.
Over the past year, the scene of my father panting and trying his best to compete with me has been engraved in my mind, gouging my heart like a knife. My father's hands not only protected our country with guns, but also paid a lot for raising our children and warmed my life.
When I was seven years old, I followed my father back to my hometown. I remember, it was a summer, and we took the train at night. When we walked out of Luoyang Railway Station, it was still before dawn. At that time, the long-distance bus station was quite far from the railway station. My father has luggage on his shoulder, a bag in his left hand and my hand in his right. After a few steps, he asked me if I was tired. I haven't slept all night. Why aren't you tired? I nodded. At that time, I was withdrawn and didn't like to talk.
My father called a tricycle, first put the luggage on my shoulders and hands into the carriage, and then carried me into the carriage. Then he got on a tricycle. Father sat by the car and bowed his head and asked me if I was cold. I nodded again. My father silently opened his arms and held me in his arms.
The warmth from the raid and the long-awaited hug first made me pause, then I was extremely excited, trembling all over, and tears followed. My father thought I was cold and held me tighter.
Since I was sensible, I have been longing for my parents to hug me. However, sooner or later, my mother will hug my brother, and my father will hug my sister and go home from work.
I always sit silently on the small bench against the wall without saying a word, and look at them from a distance. I really admire them. I also fantasize that one day, when my brother grows up, he can walk and run. Maybe my mother will hug me, even if it's just a hug. Or, my father came to hug me like a sister.
However, it didn't. My brother is leaving, my mother gave birth to a little brother, and my father came home from work. He held my brother in his arms, but no one came to hug me. I'm disappointed. I feel that I am an unloved and unloved child. I didn't say a word all day, sitting in the corner like a mute.
On that day, my father's arms were so warm, how could I not be excited and unhappy? After coming back from my hometown, I was excited for many days and people became cheerful and lively. Now, nearly half a century has passed, and that scene has never been forgotten.
The dialysis machine was still buzzing, but my father's hands gradually lost their strength and collapsed to his side. The ups and downs of his chest tended to be flat, and then slowly stopped. Father is like a leaf in late autumn, floating down from the tree, turning into a wisp of smoke, and the ashes are buried in the soil.
Father got rid of his illness, went to heaven and left us forever. It was the last day of April.
After my father left, I did nothing all day, staring at the' big tree' outside the window with tears in my eyes.
Summer is here, with lush trees, lush green leaves and extremely cool shade, which is a good place for people to enjoy the cool. At noon, the sun is scorching, and there are always several tricycles under the tree. Those who collect old furniture and rags lie in the carriage with their heads on the rickshaw. Soon, they fell asleep and snored evenly. When the sun went down, they rubbed their sleepy eyes, got out of the car, got on the tricycle, and shouted and walked the streets.
My father once stood under a big tree pushing a tricycle.
That year, it helped us put some furniture in another house. My father was seventy years old at that time. Regardless of his age, he patted his chest and insisted on being a transport worker. He also said that several pieces of furniture were not worth looking for a moving company. Why spend that money? You have to be careful to live. My father was thrifty all his life, never squandered a penny, nor did he let our children spend more.
I don't agree. Isn't it funny that my dad helped us move furniture when he was so old? But my father stood under the tree and refused to leave, so he had to help us move. I can't beat my father, so I have to let him go. My husband and I carried the furniture to the car, and my father rode a tricycle to his destination.
When my son is at school, I often buy steamed buns, vegetable boxes and fried dumplings for breakfast. When my father knew it, he said, "Don't buy those things to eat. It's unhealthy and uneconomical." .
Since then, he and his mother often steam steamed bread at home, or make fried buns or vegetable boxes. After they finished eating, my father walked two stops to my building, stood under the big tree and looked up and told me to go down and get it. Every time I eat these foods sent by my father, my heart is always full of happiness.
Nine years ago, my son Qin Er was admitted to a foreign university. Before leaving, I asked my son to go to his parents' house to say goodbye to his grandparents. I also told my parents not to see Qin Er off. He will be back in a few months. I'm afraid they will be sad, because Qin Er was brought up by her parents and is their darling.
On the day our son left, when we went downstairs with our luggage, we just walked under the big tree and didn't get on the bus. Our parents came running panting. Looking at their pale hair and sweat on their faces, my eyes were moist and my heart was sad. They have been reluctant to let their son go abroad to study. Since the notice came down, they have quarreled with me and said that I am a cruel mother.
After our son said goodbye to them, we got on the bus. I advised my parents to hurry home and said it was going to rain. The car drove slowly forward, and my parents stood under the tree with tears in their eyes. Both of them were wiping their tears. Father cried and the car drove far away. My father and mother are still standing under the tree, looking straight and waiting for a while. ...
From then on, before his son came back in winter and summer vacation, his father would fry it in advance and divide the dried skin. When their sons come back, they will bring their sons' favorite pigskin, eight-treasure rice, pork belly, roast chicken and so on. Come down to the tree and let me take it upstairs to warm it up for my son. When the son goes back to school, his parents always take some money, come under the tree and put it in his pocket, telling him to eat well and not to be hungry. Then, I watched my son set off for school.
Day after day, another day. After entering autumn, the branches and leaves of poplar trees become dry. The autumn wind blows, the branches sway from side to side, and the leaves fall with the sound of rushing. After landing, they drift with the wind, roll up, fly over and land again. ...
Does the tree feel pain when the leaves leave the branches? My heart was torn, and I thought of my father again. Tears wet my clothes, and through my blurred eyes, I looked up at the new green of a tree. In a few days, they will be flourishing, full of green.
My father, like those fallen leaves, must moisten us with his love, bless us and let us live safely and happily.