中午,简单的吃午餐。就等亲戚 光临了 , 下午亲戚 们陆续来了 , 以经是黄昏 , 大显身 , 婶婶 、 阿姨 都来帮做 菜了, 我像老板 , 在厨房里转了 , 今晚菜很 , 有猪肚 、 猪心 、 猪肉 …… 差不多快整猪了 。 旁边蔬菜 ,看了就让人“飞流直下三千尺”。
一会儿 , 围坐在桌上吃饭了 , 在餐[来源]桌起了 “ 风卷残云 ”。 下面是敬酒环节 , 大祝孩子们 : 身体健康 , 学习进 步 。 祝长一辈的. : 工作 , 万事如意 。 祝老 : 身体健康 , 长 命百岁 。 我家的大钟敲了 8 下 , 迅速聚集沙发上 , 看起了电视 , 刚才热闹的桌子 , 现已了一张孤零零的桌子了 。
令我过得最难忘的除夕夜。
棺材是两个,一大一小。大的是她,小的是祖父。祖父的棺材里只放了他的一套衣服。他要和奶奶合葬,用他的衣冠。灵桌上的照片也是两个人的,放在一起却有些怪异:祖父还停留在二十八岁,奶奶已经是八十三岁了。
I would rather say when that day eventually arrived we were not so sorrowful as imagined, also, the traditional custom didn’t allow too much sadness. She passed away at the age of 83, that was an enviable life span. As for her death, it seemed like an occasion on which the funeral turned to be a celebration. A number of relatives came, they cried on the funeral but then we ate, slept and chatted, as normal. Every time when my sister was about to go to sleep she said to the coffin, “Good night, grandma.”
And then she turned back to us, “Grandma loves us she will surly let us have some sleep.”
We laughed and agreed, as if our grandma were still around us.
There were two coffins, grandma slept in the bigger one while the smaller one was for my grandpa, not his body, but some of his old clothes. In his will several decades ago he told his family if he became a missing corpse in the war, he would be buried with his wife after she passed away, using his clothes to represent his body.
The photos of the couple put on the table also looked strange. My grandma was 83 while my grandpa was always at the age of 28, for all the past half a century.
我看着一小一大两个棺材。它们不像是夫妻,而像是母子。我看着灵桌上一青一老两张照片。也不像是夫妻,而是母子。为什么啊?为什么每当面对祖母的时候,我就会有这种身份错乱的感觉?会觉得父亲是她的孩子,母亲是她的孩子,就连祖父都变成了她的孩子?不,不止这些,我甚至觉得村庄里的每一个人,走在城市街道上的每一个人都像是她的孩子。仿佛每一个人都可以做她的孩子,她的怀抱适合每个人。
我甚至觉得,我们每一个人的样子里,都有她,她的样子里,也有我们每一个人。
与此同时,她其实,也是我们每一个人的'孩子。
I stared at the two coffins, they didn’t look like those belonging to a couple, but more likely to be a mother and her son. Then I saw the photos on the table, they also seemed to be mother and son. Why? Why I had the feeling of strange identity disorder when I stood in front of my grandma? I always felt my father and mother, now together with my grandpa, were all her children, even anyone in the village and anyone walking past the streets were her children. It seemed that her embrace could warm everyone in the world.
I even had the feeling that everyone of us can identify the parts of faces and bodies which are inherited from her, our appearances have something similar to hers more or less. She was everyone’s mother.
At the same time, when she died but we continue to grow old, she became a child of us to some extent.
我的祖母已经远去。可我越来越清楚地知道:我和她的真正间距从来就不是太宽。无论年龄,还是生死。如一条河,我在此,她在彼。我们构成了河的两岸。当她堤石坍塌顺流而下的时候,我也已经泅到对岸,自觉地站在了她的旧址上。
我必须在她的根里成长,她必须在我的身体里复现,如同我和我的孩子, 我的孩子和我孩子的孩子,所有人的孩子和所有人孩子的孩子。
活着这件事变成了最慢。生命将因此而更加简约,博大,丰美,深邃和慈悲。
My grandma had left us. However, I know very clearly that the distance between she and I is always short. We are closed as we were, no matter what happens. The life and death are like two sides of a river, I am here and she is beyond the river. When her soul float downstream and disappear in my sight I know I will swim across the water and stand on where she once stayed.
I must grow inside her root system, she must reappear inside my body, like my daughter, like my granddaughter, like the child of everyone.
Living on earth is a slow process. Life is simple, deep, beautiful and full of kindness.
山花烂漫,总是无悔。手指重叠,交错,散去又聚拢。你在身边,画了一个圆。天下着雨,也许不是泪水。为什么总有五步之遥,你我不曾走近,靠近,也许会有温暖。
记忆是要覆盖的,于是,便忘却了。
世俗里的故事在流淌,在我眼前滴落,花瓣,再次飘零,如影随形,我没有奢望,我只要――只要你过的比我好,只要你能快乐。
繁华如流年,温暖如雪花,山水倒流,如影,如星,如心。
风儿拂动柳梢,你怎么知道我不寂寞,孤寂总是无言。
沧桑岁月,都已老去,带着痕迹离去,脱离,乖戾。一遍又一遍地重复上演。苦海的苦涩,零碎的文字,逃离出了想象。
温度化成一声又一声的呼喊,听不见,摸不着。
所有的冷峻,所有的残酷,不能再有了希冀。超出了想象,不想付出,也不想收获。迷迷糊糊的憧憬,希望不要再消散了,人情世故,事移物换,追忆昔游,殆如梦寐。
思想被禁锢,不敢想象,恨泪下,乱如麻,惆怅似锦。你的终点在哪里,我没有看见。心灵不能有未散的乌云,面孔似雨后的蓓蕾,点点滴滴,烙入心。
我说过,只要你过得比我好,你的'快乐是我的全部,你我都不要再追忆,幸福快乐的日子还会。物是人非,一个让人心酸的词,也许拥有过很多快乐与温暖也就满足了,可有时候会让人措手不及的。因为这份情已经生根,约定是万古长青的,请你记住你的微笑,我的微笑,那一天,我们还说――再见
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