Dear Father:
Hello!
Before I knew it, it has been almost 18 years since you left us. I can no longer contact you directly, so I can only express my thoughts about you in this special way.
On October 10, 2004, you suddenly collapsed in the toilet while going to the toilet. When we hurried back, we saw you lying on the bed. Although it was a little difficult to speak, you were awake and your language was accurate. My family and I are very pleased. You were afraid of affecting our work and kept urging us to return to the city. But who knows that you have suffered from a heart attack (meaning heart and lung failure in hometown dialect), like a lamp that has been burning for too long and is about to run out of oil.
People often say that there is telepathy between mother and child. But I believe the same is true between father and son.
I dreamed that night: Your family lifted you from the bed to the steps outside the kitchen door, and a bright ray of sunlight shone on your face, making your face rosy and shiny. I knew something was ominous, so when I rushed home, my father's limbs were still warm, but he was already dead.
It was the first time that I was facing the deceased so closely, facing my closest relatives, and I was burning inside. I reached out and touched your face gently, dreaming of waking you up, but no matter how heartbreakingly we called you, there was no response. I know: the person who gave me life has left me forever. From now on I will no longer have a father to call me.
I stayed in the mourning hall at night, silently weeping and reminiscing. Father, when you were here, I didn’t think you were good, I just thought you were as ordinary or even mediocre as the Badi grass that can be seen everywhere. I even feel that everything you have done for me is as it should be, and compared to other people's parents, you haven't done enough. I will get angry at you when I'm in a bad mood. And when you left suddenly, I couldn't help but feel regret and heartache. All the love you had for me in the past came to my heart, as clear and warm as a picture.
You are an honest, kind and hard-working person who doesn’t talk much. Love for me is reflected in simple and concrete actions. My father was 43 years old when I was born. Although he was not the only son in the family, you were very happy to have a son in middle age. As the saying goes: The emperor loves the eldest son, and the people love the youngest son. Even though life was difficult at that time, when I was still young, my father would occasionally drink alcohol and put the tip of his chopsticks on my mouth. He would always bring me some snacks when he went out on the street. In the middle of the meal, the bowl with more food will often be placed in front of me while I'm not paying attention. When I envied others flying kites, you cut bamboo from the bamboo forest and made it for me. When I saw you put the sliced ??bamboo slices on the back of the knife and use the back of the knife to check whether the thickness of both sides of the bamboo slices was even and balanced, I couldn't help but be surprised that you still had such skills. I was sick and hospitalized when I was a child and slept in the corridor of the hospital. You took care of me and comforted me all day and night. You don't have much education, but when you see me writing calligraphy, you always tell me: when writing, you need to sit upright, with your chest lifted from the table, and when you write, your palms should be empty enough to hold an egg.
Father, to support our family. When you were young, you carried charcoal and walked more than a hundred miles to Chengdu to sell it, eating cold rice balls and drinking water from ditches. You also ventured down into caves to dig coal. The damp and dark environment made you suffer from severe rheumatism. Your hands often tremble, so that when selling vegetables, buyers mistakenly think you are playing with the scales. I still clearly remember the way my father was shirtless weeding in the cornfields and planting rice in the paddy fields in the summer, sweating profusely... Overwork destroys your body, as happened in 1959 and 1985 So tired that I vomited blood. Therefore, the root of the disease fell and you left us prematurely.
Father, life was difficult in the past, but you were diligent and thrifty. Nowadays, the party’s policies to enrich the people are good, and people’s lives are well off. When you were supposed to be a child who could feed your father back and let you enjoy happiness, who would have thought that God would be ruthless and never miss a holiday. My father cruelly abandoned his son and did not give us the opportunity to fulfill our filial piety. The saddest thing in the world is that a child wants to be raised but cannot be cared for. The grass is still crying, with infinite care, and there is no time to mend all kinds of regrets.
Regret that the world of mortals is disturbed, and colorful dramas become a big dream;
Sad that the sea is blue and the sky is cloudy, and there is no way to return to the underworld.
Whenever I visit your grave, I will hear the wind rustling the leaves beside the grave, as if my father is still worried and is giving us earnest instructions. However, Yin and Yang are separated, and kindness is hard to find. In my empty hometown, I no longer have a father to call. With this boundless regret, I ask Mingyue Qingfeng to comfort me on my behalf: Don’t worry, what my son should do now is to work hard, serve his mother well, raise good children, and make his family harmonious, happy, and happy. Good health.
May my father rest in peace.
Unfilial Man: Zhigao
March 25, 2022
(Author: Liu Zhigao)
Call for Papers:
The Qingming Festival is important in the emperor, and people are worried about themselves. The sound of cars is heard on the road, and the east city is green with willows. Flowers and grasses grow together, and warblers and butterflies fly. Sitting in the empty hall reminiscing about each other, drinking tea and chatting to get drunk.
——Meng Haoran
The grass is green once a year in spring, and it is the Qingming Festival again. Affected by the epidemic, in order to prevent and control the situation, it is inconvenient for us to go to the tombs of our relatives to toast a glass of wine and express our condolences this year.
However, this is a time to reflect on the past, remember the past, and express grief.
Every time in this season, there is always a moment, deep in memory, in sweet dreams, when a smile or a greeting from a loved one makes people burst into tears...
< p> Pick up an old object, and the figures of your loved ones will always appear in front of you. When encountering a difficult situation, the messages from loved ones make people move forward courageously. Or just like Meng Haoran, drinking tea instead of wine, sitting alone in an empty hall and recalling the past...The laughter of the past, the sadness of the past, and the bits and pieces of the past linger in my heart. Once upon a time, the longing revealed from the tip of the pen. At this moment, my sustenance lies between the lines. Let's remember together.
1. Contents of the Call for Papers
Tell stories about your deceased relatives and express your remembrance of them. Tell the story of your deceased relative during his or her lifetime, express your memory of your loved one and the positive energy you learned from your loved one’s story.
2. Call for Papers
There is no limit to the genre of the manuscript, and the length should be controlled within 2,000 words. Relevant pictures and information can be provided with text descriptions.
3. Call for Papers
4. Call for Papers Time
From now until April 2, 2021, please send electronic manuscripts to email: 396101201@qq .com.
Contact number: 0931-8960109 13609382624