Under the influence of Hongli, you converted to Christ. The Gospel of Jesus to your life injected vitality, but also make your love more widely thick. I remember in 1997 I graduated from college, work unfunded, as rural youth and is older, it is inevitable for my marriage anxious family, my sister's daughter a time when 2-year-old, the infirm, you every night and morning, kneeling in the white picket fence, stop land without the guidance of Hallelujah,Pray God, ask Him to bless us all the best. Later, I went to work in remote villages and towns, to see your day even less. 02 years time, you basically not more out of the door, all day long stay in the room. Parents busy with farm work, with little time to spend with you that you can only lonely lying on the kang, hang some quietly flow away from your side. Once I go home to see you helping your back leg sticking out of the quilt, and found your legs because of long inactivity have become swollen, knead for a long time can not be restored.

When I broke the back of a piece of cake to cook into your mouth, you squirming mouth to say something but did not say, but in the eyes welled up big drops of tears. You are alone, you are lonely, you are very much hope to be able to spend time with your loved ones, and your talk, can you know that we are busy, we do not want trouble. Grandma, I know, you do not say I know, but I know too late. When I kneel before you keep the spirit, watch your pale, calm, never to wake up face, I realized: the child wants his parents wait!

Ten years between life and death. Grandma, on your tomb is already a green grass, vines wound. Every spring, yellow winter jasmine will open your graves filled in, there are numerous flowers embellished with white paper flowers, that was my great-granddaughter and you minimize your pierced together. You'll remember that sitting in your white picket fence, holding your feet wrapped, whooped feet feet, really beautiful, the little baby do? Now she is over 12 years old, grow into a slim big girl. The annual Qingming, I will come to your grave with her, you Zhahua, you burn. Qingming every year in mid-Rain, wind Suisui but each flower. Green crops, yellowish spring, white paper flowers, this beautiful scene will bloom year after year in the rest of your piece of the field.

Posted by: zabetheny at 03:30 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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