I previewed death with grandpa. It was romantic

Last week, colleagues exchanged stories about returning home for the Spring Festival. As we talked, it dawned on us that Spring Festival is not a reunion in a way, but a farewell for years and years.

Chinese New Year is the only time we can see our elderly family members again. There is a saying in China, "It's a sad year" -- next year, I don't know if I will see you again. Just like me. This Spring Festival, I seem to have seen my grandfather for the last time.

One night, dad said, "The old man's not doing so well this year, and he wants to get back into uniform. Where can I get a uniform?" "Taobao has everything, have you searched it?" My mom turned on her phone and found a bunch of old military uniforms. Finally, I bought a green army uniform of Type 87 and a pair of old Beijing cloth shoes without rubber. This is grandpa's shroud.

After hearing about the situation, I rushed to visit my grandfather before returning to Beijing.

We were silent all the way. The word "death" is taboo for all people, as well as an escape from death. The silence sent my mind racing: What would I do if I found grandpa already feeling empty or miserable about "life"? When I arrived at grandpa's house, I heard two things.

Grandpa gradually lost track of time. He would often get up in the middle of the night, thinking it was day, and then fall asleep at an unorthodox time. He has a biological clock of his own, and he doesn't know it.

Grandpa is nearly 93 years old, can't see, can still hear mostly, can get up and walk around, and can even give himself a note. However, the body parts of the slow stagnation of the irrepressible, so can not distinguish time, feel hunger, just subconsciously remember: wake up, will eat noodles.

It reminds me of the French film "All Goes Well", in which the father wakes up in the morning and is unable to get out of bed. His right side is paralyzed. He was diagnosed with a future in which he could not take care of himself and lead a normal life. So he raised his strength and said to his daughter, "Please help me to die." Although the condition is different, grandpa may have entered another "unable to live normally" state.

Most of the time, the elderly are far more open to "death" than we imagine, just like the father in the movie who took the initiative to request "euthanasia", just like my grandfather who took the initiative to ask his children to come to the military uniform as a funeral gown. They were already ready.

But it was something else that happened to grandpa that made me realize that death is not just a sad departure.

Grandpa said he often saw a hillside now. It was a fantasy. "I don't know if this is what you see, but what I see is a big hill." "He said to the large cardboard box in front of him. "Sometimes the hillside was empty, sometimes birds were flying, and sometimes some broken stones were rumbling down." He pointed to the corner of the bed against the beige corner in front of him and drew an arc up and down. Instead of a bed, it seemed to him that he was looking at a mountain, with occasional people running back and forth and standing on the opposite side.

"That's strange. Only the middle hill is moving, and the one on the side is not. Look, it's running away again. What's going on? I sometimes wonder if you young people can see these things too." As he said this, he was suddenly surprised: "Look, there are trees, several of them. There's a river up there, a big ditch with water pouring down." "It's a big pool now, changing all the time. Ouch! My day... Did you see that?"

Listening to this description, we suddenly felt an indescribable relaxation. With a smile: If we live to be ninety or so, maybe we will.

The original in life and death between the cracks, but also friction out of such an incomplete and romanticized world. Or rather -- it turns out that what happens to old age and death isn't all terrible. Grandpa's body still stays here, but the present half of the world seems to have gone to heaven in advance, no longer in the mere world.

Before I left, the heavy feeling of "the last farewell" in my heart seemed to be dispersed by the unknown hillside and river. I hugged grandpa twice, like dancing -- hugging him for a long time.

I know. This may be the last time. But what does it matter?

Life is a circle, destined from birth to death. Birth is as valuable as death. They, like other life stories, are only simple flowers in the flower of life, a common corner between hills and streams.

That's all.