Father, how are you in heaven?

Time flies, and unconsciously, my father passed away in a hurry for 27 years. How much I want to knock on the door of heaven and whisper, "Father, how are you in heaven?"

I was not with my father when he died. That morning, I just brought the students back from exercise, but I couldn't wash up. My cousin from a distant room rode to me and said that my father was ill and was admitted to the hospital. What was the disease I asked? He hesitated for a long time, saying that it was no big deal. If it hadn't been for a blood transfusion for your father, there would be no need for you to delay your work. I believed it. In fact, at that time, I believed my cousin's words, rather I believed in my father, believe in a strong father, there will be no big deal! Moreover, yesterday, together with my father, I drove the Yuan, pulled the condom, and sent a column of pig dung to the ground by underground drainage car. In the evening, I also accompanied my father, drank a cup of wine, and watched my father eat the three sticks pinched by his mother. What's wrong with such a capable father? I can't believe it! Here's what I think. However, when I think about it in the future, there are still signs: after dinner, I want to rush back to school for fear of delaying the morning exercises tomorrow, but my father is determined to send me to the entrance of the village. This has never happened before. When I arrived at the entrance of the village, I pulled my bike and told me endlessly and exhorted endlessly, as if I knew my time was coming and made a final explanation with my son, while I answered impatiently and wanted to hurry for more than forty miles, but I had no idea that it was a farewell between my father and me.

I believed my father, but I didn't dare to ignore my cousin's hesitation. Instead of asking for leave, I got on my bike and ran all the way, shortening the usual two-hour journey for forty minutes. When I entered the village, I saw those familiar aunts and aunts with a sense of foreboding hanging over my heart. I saw them either pointing or whispering and greeting them. Their faces were either surprised or sad, and they were stonewalling and urging me, and turned into the alley of my house. Something worried happened: on the left side of the door frame, there was a sheet of yellow paper sandwiched with paper. There I cried to my neighbors that my father was dead. When I saw the scene, I was so sad that I cried for my father. I suddenly felt top-heavy, my mind went blank, and it saved me a lot of trouble. When I woke up from the coma, I broke free from my mother's trembling hands, rolled and crawled, and threw myself in front of my father's spirit. I cried in the dark.

My father died suddenly. A heavy filial piety, kneeling in front of his father's spirit, choked up needless to say, tears streaming down his face. Waves of mourners kowtowed, bowed, or wept, and from their sadness, I intermittently knew about my father's deathbed: after three o'clock in the morning, my father woke up from his sleep, covering his chest and said to his mother, "somehow, I have severe angina." Mother was very alert and said don't move. I'll call a doctor for you. The doctor is a village doctor. When he heard the symptoms, he said that he was not good. He took a heart-saving pill and rushed to my house while telling his mother to find a car and send it to the hospital immediately. By the time he got to my house, his father's face had turned purple from gray to purple, and the beads of sweat rolling down were the size of beans, and before his distant cousin opened the tractor, his father had swallowed his last breath and his mother said sadly: less than half an hour from the onset of the illness to the end of his breath. Father left in such a hurry.

It is the greatest sorrow in the world that the son wants to support but does not wait. I did not expect that the greatest sorrow in the world fell on my head. On the day his father died, it was 36 days short of his 52 birthday. Yesterday, I discussed with my father and said: my son has graduated and has been assigned a job. On your birthday, I will buy you a roast chicken and a bottle of wine to celebrate your birthday. Father said: what birthday? Do not know Grain Rain before and after, order melons and beans? I'm all busy. Who has the spare time?

I know that my father doesn't have a birthday. When Grandma was alive, his mother gave him a bowl of noodles or an egg on his birthday. He said, "give it to your mother for your son's birthday and your mother's bitter days." After grandma died, he became the head of the family. My elder sister and brother discussed giving him a birthday. He said, "your brother and sister haven't grown up yet. What kind of birthday is it?" Later, I went to college and won a scholarship. When my father was approaching his birthday, I sent back 30 yuan and wrote to my father that I would buy a bottle of wine on my birthday and treat myself. Unexpectedly, he put the money in the bank intact.

During the three days of the funeral, I cried for three days, crying for the greatest sorrow in the world and for the great calamity of my father's life. Father eight years old, the death of his father, widowed mother's care, can not stop the decline of the family. Although he barely finished primary school and junior high school, because of the few acres of thin fields left to him by my grandfather, he set foot on ten thousand feet, and because he read the most books, people put on a high hat for him. Later, because of several of his diaries, he was regarded as a change in heaven, hanging him from the beam. The fate of Jie made his father cowardly and timid, so he had to accept it: let him go east, he dared not go west, let him beat the dog, he dared not scold the chicken. For many years, he carefully smelled the clock uphill, listened to the whistle to finish work, and even ate and slept nervously, fearing that the fallen leaves would break the heads of the family.

However, my father was very strict with us. There is no spoon without touching the edge of the pot, not to mention a group of seven-year-old and eight-year-old dogs dislike it. But once we have a conflict with other people's children, the father not only does not protect the calf, but whether we are reasonable or not, he can find out our fault and give us a few slaps in the face, so that our brothers and sisters will not cause trouble since childhood, let alone dare not cause trouble. even if we are bullied outside, we dare not go home to tell him, for fear that he will give us a fat beating. Father's harshness, in exchange for the respect of the neighbors, they often say: look at the children of the old Guo family, all of them are educated! This makes me still grateful for my father's harshness.

It is hard to let go of everlasting thoughts, and you are alone in pain. More than 20 years have passed in the twinkling of an eye, and the figure of my father who has long passed away has made me cry more and more sadly. I remember the day I received the university admission notice and reported to the school, it was raining heavily, and there were more than ten miles of dirt road between my home and the road. The dirt roads in the villages in the flooded areas of the Yellow River are covered with dirt on a sunny day and covered with mud in rain. In order for me to catch the train, my brother carried the luggage and my father carried the bike. We walked in the rain before dawn. The muddy road made it difficult for me to walk, so I couldn't help complaining about the sky, while my father slipped his bike step by step and said with a smile: the world can be in time! I said just in time. The implication is that the road is difficult. Father said: how many years ago did I understand why my father called the rain root rain? he wanted me to remember this homesickness!

The sudden death of my father has become an everlasting pain in my heart. Every time I pay tribute to him, I always think that if there is a heaven, I believe that my father must be somewhere in heaven, smiling at me with his smiling eyes!

Author: Guo Guangming