The Pain of July

July, the garden of hibiscus and violet flowers are blooming hot, I pass by them every day, a gorgeous smile to welcome me in anger. I often think, if there is no pain and suffering on earth, no old age, no sickness, no unrest. Beauty, when the language of flowers to make the best interpretation. I am a person who loves flowers inordinately, and I have always felt that there is no beauty in this world that can be so specific and pure.

I am happy to enjoy being around beauty and try my best to be a person who spreads it. Let the blooming of the heart and the diffusion of fragrance reside in a place. I have been walking on the road, getting the strength of life from the upward gesture of the branches and leaves, and seeing the truth of life in the blossoms and flowers. I keep the stretching posture, with the attitude of holding up to get the nourishment of the sun and rain. Hard work and sweat, upward and upward, can make me forget the pain I once had for a while. I don't know these flowers, they don't hurt. Just as I passed by them, my eyes suddenly filled with tears. I think they must have seen my pain.

A scene like a movie was imprinted on my eyes and my heart ached in a moment. An old man was carrying a child in a basket made of bamboo gabions, he was wearing a tongue and teeth hat, holding a cup in his hand, and was standing under the violet flowers, looking at me with a smile. I was so happy to go up to him and take him, my hand outstretched, but only dared to amuse the child. Then I fled into the car and let my tears well up in my eyes.

I saw a shadow, a father's shadow. Back then, my father also stood here with my child on his back waiting for me to come home. I pouted that my child was a little naive, less than a year old child on his father's back tiger scurrying moving, eyes dripping, I pretended to turn around to leave, he could not wait to cry out. Father said, this is how smart baby ah, when it rains, a hand off the father's hat squatting to hide in the basket. Father is not allowed to say a little bad about his grandson, he and mother often threaten to say I do not like to return to them.

Mother said that father all day long Bao Bao Bei Bei called, more intimate and patient than with the childhood we. The accident of a hundred secrets, so that the child just grew feet burned half of the face. The father tearfully held the back, more than heartbroken, but also sad and upset. While thinking about the child's injuries, and wondering how to tell his daughter about this cruelty. The parents found dog oil, goose oil, aloe vera and other medicines that could heal the burns and carefully applied them, hoping that the scabs would soon fall off. In the meantime they still needed to hide the truth from their daughter and weave reasons to prevent her from coming home. The mother called to say that she would be here next week with her children and that we should not go back this weekend to save some money on gas for the bus.

What I didn't expect was that on that Saturday afternoon, I waited for a phone call saying that my father was seriously ill. How did my father become seriously ill? My brother and I rushed to the countryside in a panic and took a cab. In that simple health center, my father was lying quietly in bed, letting us hold him and cry out heartily, but he never opened his eyes to look at his children. I held my father's still-warm hand close to his chest. I always had a thought deep inside me, hoping for a miracle, that my father, who was asleep, would wake up.

When the coldness gradually invaded my hands, I realized that I had lost my father completely. I begged the heavens and worshipped the earth, but I could not get back my father's life. I felt someone was pulling a thick rope that was directly connected to my heart, and it kept being pulled desperately outward. My whole being was cut and torn out of shape, and my soul begged again and again for someone in charge of life and death in the other world on my knees. I cried and refused to leave my father's embrace, and was pulled away with help, and struggled with no will.

The hospital was ten miles from home, and it seemed like I had walked for a long century. The village people carried my father home, and I walked with my father's shoes, crying all the way, as one of my father's hands dangled helplessly from the stretcher. I took this hand that had lost its warmth, and I wished that my father would touch my head with his big hand, smile brightly, and look at me with encouraging eyes, just like he did when I was a child!

My elderly grandmother, my mother with gray hair, my sorrowful and numb children, our world had completely collapsed. I was cut off from all thoughts and was left with nothing but tears to pour out. It was late at night, when the little child was carried into my arms by a neighbor, that I remembered I had a child. Half of his face was thickly scarred and he looked dutifully at a world that was different all of a sudden. The one-year-and-five-month-old child, who could not yet speak, pointed his finger at his lying father, as if inquiring. The family's grief once again broke the bank, resounding through a village of mourning, making the night nowhere to hide!

A daughter who just lost her father, a mother who just learned that her child was injured, how to place the torn heart ah! All the pain is just the salt of the wound at the beginning, and the pain continues after the pain until you don't know what pain is.

The process of stitching up this wound is so long. From that July, the pain of the day and the night invaded my body. The sky, the earth, the stars, the moon, the smoke, and the sheep were all irrelevant to me, but they all saw my bloody pain. The day is a fine and dense stitch, each stitch, are sharply painful. Just learned to speak the child still clearly remember his father's face, every food raised his little hand to feed to the mouth of his father's photo, issued a simple byte, "Gong ...... eat ......". The call of the next world, the desire to die of sorrow always in a moment on the heart.

The scar on the child's face slowly fell off, leaving a heart-shaped and liver-shaped mark, strikingly occupying half of the face. I applied medicine to him every day, hoping that there would be no marks in the future. The eight years passed by minute by minute without any marks on my son's face. The scars on my heart, on the other hand, flared up with pain from time to time.

Every year, I visited my father at Qingming and Spring Festival, and a cup of yellow earth on the short pine hill was my father's permanent home. I took my children to kneel in front of my father's grave, telling him some happy things, praying for his peace and happiness in the other world, and asking his spirit in heaven to bless his children and grandchildren.

My father knew that after he left, my grandmother, grandmother, great aunt, second aunt and aunt passed away one after another, and my father's absence made these funerals seem messy and silent. I heard relatives sighing and saying how nice it would have been if he had been there, and that my father would have taken care of everything. The news that the good man was no longer alive was lamented by the neighbors in the village for a long, long time, and the village without my father always made me feel a boundless emptiness.

Whether I left the village or returned to it, I always picked up stories about my father. I remember the year my daughter brought her boyfriend home and my father was very happy. To discuss the marriage, according to the etiquette, it should be the man's parents to visit the woman's home. And his parents said that their eldest daughter-in-law had not been married to the door, and now to the younger son can not break the rules to break the heart of the eldest daughter-in-law. I was so angry that I wept and vowed not to enter the family. My father smiled brightly and said, "If he doesn't come to my door, then I'll go to his house. I said, there is no reason to send your daughter to your door, this is also too fallen status. But my father was willing to bend over backwards for the sake of his daughter's happiness.

In one evening, the father really came, he talked at the prospective in-laws overnight, said his daughter's temper is bad, said his daughter's knife mouth bean curd heart ...... early the next morning, he went back with a smile on his face. The in-laws-to-be, who have always been high-minded and praised their father, now repeatedly lament it whenever they talk about it.

All of this became a regret when I was slowly walking the journey of aging. I used what my father taught me to manage my married life, and it was very beneficial. After I learned the true nature of life, I still maintained my love for life. I think that this quality of approach to life is the baton that my father gave me. I want to go on without haste, not forgetting to enjoy the scenery on the roadside, not counting too many gains and losses. Although I often get caught up in the minutiae of life, attacked by inexplicable sadness, but a sincere heart is still enthusiastic.

But sometimes, emotions are like the boiling point at a very high altitude, always bursting out between gentle touches. In a casual conversation, in a familiar scene, or even just a similar hat or a dry tobacco bag, I returned to my father's side.

When pain and pain are sewn together by time, sadness is just normal sadness, and longing has become plain longing. My father, like his life to his daughter a kind of revelation, let me understand early the most genuine meaning of life. I am no longer so obsessed with the strife of right and wrong, nor do I dive into money. I understand that all selfless love is related to the openness of the heart, and all acts of kindness reflect the broadness of the heart.

The integrity, kindness, cheerfulness, enthusiasm, optimism and upwardness in my father ...... I went through and learned one by one. I have been walking on the path guided by my father, not daring to slacken and refusing to let go. I think that if my father is at peace, he is willing to see his daughter as she is today.