I have been wondering for a long time what title I should use to write the book. Many people have used it, such as "Mother" and "My Mother", and I don't want to repeat the burden again. After thinking about it, my mother started taking the three of us as a tow truck when she was 32 years old. How many trivial matters in life have she experienced during this time? Probably only the mother herself knows. It's appropriate to think of mother and the three of us. Everyone in the world probably thinks that their mother is unique, but it seems that all mothers are the same. They love their children hard and without complaint. No matter how time passes and the children grow older, mothers will always be the strongest support. That kind of happiness that you can act like a baby no matter what your age. However, I no longer have such warm time. The unforgettable pain of having a child who wants to be taken care of but cannot be kissed is like a virus, which invades my internal organs from time to time, making my hands and feet cold and my whole body shaking. Every time I think about what I did at Liangjiahe Cancer Hospital, I am so ashamed that I can't breathe. The ignorance and helplessness of adolescence that has nowhere to go makes me pretend to read an incomprehensible book seriously when I shouldn't be reading, and pretend to ignore my mother who is pale due to radiation treatment. Many years ago, when I became a mother myself and my child had a cold or fever and was given infusions, the heartache would reflect how unbearable I was back then. Shame and regret would instantly fill my mind. My mother's brisk and even joyful words, "My lymph nodes are healed, and they can be eradicated with a few more surgeries" always linger in my ears; on that extremely ordinary morning, my mother never woke up again, but I couldn't understand the last words she said. I remember the way my sister and I slept curled up at her feet. I also remember my sister calling for mother heartbreakingly at the funeral, my mouth full of blisters, and my brother's red and swollen eyes and whimpering. Everything does not disappear gradually as we grow older, but becomes more clear. So, at this special moment when my daughter is about to take the college entrance examination, on this quiet night, I can't wait to write about my mother without delaying even a moment.
Purpose: Remembering my mother