The death of my begonia

Yesterday, my mother called me to tell me that the begonia in front of the door had died. Her tone was particularly calm, but before she hung up the phone I could clearly hear her chanting, "I wonder if it will sprout again in the spring.

　　When I was a child, I often heard my father, who was sitting in front of the door on summer nights, say that he wanted to plant a begonia, and he said that he had seen a begonia in someone else's garden when he was a child. When the flowers bloomed, the leaves would sprout again like weeds and continue to grow, and so on and so forth. In those days, it was very difficult to see begonias in such a small southern town, and I always thought that my father might have misremembered them. My father was a construction worker, and planting flowers was one of his few hobbies. Unfortunately, until his death, he was not able to plant the begonias he longed for.

　　I bought the begonias in front of the door from Fangcun in the waxing moon of the year after my father's death. First, I wanted to fulfill my father's unfulfilled wish; second, I wanted to give my mother, who was alone at home, some spiritual support. The umbrella-shaped begonia tree was more than one meter high, full of dark red stamens and not a single leaf in sight. It was close to New Year's Eve, so I took a break from work and observed it every day, then cultivated the soil and watered it, but after some days, the stamens were still unmoving. My mother was not very concerned, saying that I was tossing and turning, not to worry about that, when the time comes, the flowers will naturally bloom. I even think that my mother is too calm, this is my father's favorite flower ah!

　　After the New Year, the begonias were finally going to bloom. At first there were one or two, quietly revealing their pink and white flower centers, testing the scent of spring. The next day, the whole tree is blooming, and the rosy petals turn from dark to light from the outside to the inside, with light makeup. This is the most vivid image. At this time, the small pointed leaves emerge from the thin stems, with green temples and vermilion faces, and the spring color is so exciting that it makes people feel that they have suddenly met the most beautiful. I think the daily soil cultivation and watering may have worked. I felt a sense of pride as I watched the begonias in all their intensity. My mother stood quietly by my side, looking at the begonias with fascination. I think she also remembered my father ------

　　When I left home, I was relieved about the begonia and asked my mother to take good care of it. After that, on the phone, the begonia became a necessary part of my conversation with my mother. My mother said very little and I said very little, so the begonia tree was the bond of affection between us, I guess. During those two years, I seldom came home due to work, and begonias were still the topic I talked about most with my mother. However, after that one bloom, the begonias never bloomed again, and a few dark green, sparse leaves hung on the robust branches all year round. My mother began to scold herself and wished I would come home to visit. There is a poem by Wang Wei of the Tang Dynasty that says, "You have come from your hometown and should know what happened there. In the coming day, in front of the window, will the cold plum be in bloom?" The Qing dynasty Song Gu Le "Tang people ten thousand stanzas selection" commented on this poem: "to micro-objects suspense, to convey every piece of concern, homesickness of the eager." In fact, I understand that my mother was too embarrassed to say I love you directly, so she used this poem to express her longing for her daughter by "transmitting every piece of concern". Later, when the house was being rebuilt, the builder wanted to raze the begonias to build a flower garden. My mother was determined not to allow it and called me specifically to say that the begonias were still in good condition.

　　But then the bad news came. I didn't seem to feel a single thing, like a knife cutting my hand and only knowing the pain after the blood came out. A voice repeatedly came to my mind - my Haitang was dead. I thought of Lin Haiyin's novel "Daddy's Flowers Falling", in which the oleander withered together with Daddy, with some sadness and hopelessness. After all, we are not here where the begonia grows, but it has really been with us for several years. I know that begonias are not just begonias anymore, but they have become a family member that I dream about on the phone, connecting my father who passed away, my mother at home and me in the field.

　　Will the begonias come back in the spring? I don't know. I will go back to see it in early spring ------