Between life and death

Suddenly one day you find that the person who brought you into this world is gone, gone, like water being evaporated, gone from you forever, gone.

The kind, soft voice that called you by your maiden name, the withered hands that once caressed your cheek, the gaze that looked at you longingly when you went out on a long journey, full of love and instructions, are gone.

It's a disappearance that can't be regenerated, unlike shaving your head, a cut, your long-grown hair falls to the ground, bald head makes you disappointed, but, as long as you have patience, hair can regenerate out. When a person dies, it will not reappear, no.

A Mexican writer once said, "Death is not the amputation of a limb, but the complete end of life." Yes, even if a person inadvertently loses his hand, the stump will still remind him that the hand once existed. Death is a complete end, like the melting of snow, the dissipation of fog, the drifting of clouds, gone forever, no more.

However, the memory does not disappear with death, every day, as soon as you enter the room, you look for the face that makes you miss, miss, you know so well. If you don't find it, you can't help but shout "Mom!" Then, room by room, you look to see if she's resting or working - washing the never-ending laundry, making dinner for the kids, or intently watching TV? But, this time, your voice is not answered. The house is empty, she's not there. Looking at the picture on the wall, you know that she is gone forever. The picture of your mother, who has always brought you joy, you suddenly find a trace of sadness in it. Is it possible that the picture is also spiritual, that it brings together in its gaze the care she gave to you?

I don't want to go into my mother's room again, I don't want to touch the clothes she left behind, so I just leave it as it is and let the dust seal it. Alas, every relic is a knife, a move will stab the fragile nerves.

Day by day, I no longer shed tears. Who does not know that death is the end of life! Life, let us tie a knot to life, death, is a relief. My wife consoled me in this way, and so did my son. They soon jumped out of their pain and went about their business, happy and busy, as if the death of their mother had been a long time ago. My mother's death left them with only a short period of pain and no wound, but in my heart, it left a deep wound, with a lot of blood flowing out, and I often pressed my chest, hoping that the wound would heal as soon as possible. But soon I found out that the wound was only healing the flesh, but not the depth of the wound, and the pain would often spread.

I will never forget that on September 6, 2001, at 5:00 p.m., during the study and discussion in the conference room of the Chinese Writers' Association, I was anxious with an almost out-of-sorts feeling, hoping that the meeting would be over soon, and then I couldn't wait to run to my mother's place. When I was almost home, I called home, wanting to hear my mother's voice immediately. The bell rang empty and I hoped she had gone for a walk downstairs.

I pushed the door open and, as usual, I called out "Mom," but no one answered. I hurried into the room inside and saw my mother lying on the floor, moaning. I jumped over to her, hugged her, tried to get her to sit up, and asked her what was wrong. She just slurred, "I'm trying my best, but I can't sit up." I looked at the torn sheets on the bed, at the wrinkled clothes on my mother's body, and knew she had struggled. But all the struggles were useless. My mother's left side was paralyzed and she could not sit down. She was in pain, helpless, and helpless as a child. How could this once very strong being suddenly become so fragile!

But, anyway, I understood the whole reason for my anxiety, impatience, and restlessness that afternoon. An invisible thread - the thread of life - was pulling at my heart. Although I didn't hear my mother's cries, my heart was like a disturbed pendulum, out of balance. I wanted to go back to my mother's side with an unprecedented eagerness. Maybe if her hand touched me or her eyes looked at me, the fire in my heart that was out of control would be extinguished.

Just two days later, when my mom took her last breath and left the world she had lived in for 81 years forever, I felt that a large part of my life had been taken away with her. I guess a person's theoretical life may be long, but it is partly divided by the loss of loved ones and emotions, and life eventually becomes short.

There is no medicine to heal the pain of the heart, so we can only learn to "forget". However, it is not easy to forget a loved one! We have to seek books and philosophers, and let the cotton gauze of reason suck the blood out of the emotional wounds little by little. Those sermons on life and death, which once disgusted me, have now become my essential medicine.

I am reminded of a religious story about death. There was a mother who went to the Buddha with her sick and dying son in her arms, hoping to save her son's life. The Buddha said there is only one way to bring your son back from the dead and relieve your suffering: you go to town and ask for a mustard seed from a family who has not had a loved one die.

The woman, who had been dulled by pain, immediately went to look for it, but she searched all over the city and did not bring back a single mustard seed. For, there is no family in the world that has not lost a loved one. Finally, the Buddha said, you have to be prepared to learn about suffering.

Suffering, do you need to learn? Yes. Happiness is like a flower that fades without notice, no matter how carefully you take care of it; but pain is like a weed that grows as strong as you mow it down and eradicate it. You have to learn to meet the pain, heal the pain, resolve the pain, let the pain "calcification", become part of your strong life.

However, this will be a difficult and slow process, and you will have to hold back your tears.