Chapter 29 The fate hidden in the photo album

A good friend made a sudden request to see pictures of me when I was a child.I said, when I was a child, I was very silly, chubby, with two braids twisted forever, nothing to look at.He stubbornly wanted to see it.I had to search in the old house where my mother lived.I didn't have many photos when I was a child, and they were caught in an old yellowing photo album that my mother had collected for decades.It was the most old-fashioned photo album, with a very ordinary hard shell cover, dark brown, and the photos inside were all old.Black and white, uneven by an inch or two, and fixed with transparent corners that are glued on the back, so that they cannot be easily moved. It is completely different from the current ones, which are all colored and enlarged to six inches. Airy and brilliant.Therefore, my mother's old photo album seems to have been forgotten long ago, and has been stuffed in the coldest corner of the closet.And my mother's old house will not be occupied for a long time.When I was in the dark room and took out the photo album from the even darker wardrobe, I seemed to smell a wave of mildew.However, when I turned on the light and looked through the pages carefully, I only felt that the soft and warm light was illuminating one shocking and emotional picture after another. Although it was black and white, it was also magnificent and brilliant.Of course, not because of myself when I was young, but because my mother was so young, so beautiful, and so charming.But I can still smell the musty smell, which faintly enveloped the young man.That's beautiful.That is so charming...

My heart can't help but feel heavy and sad. The curtains were tightly drawn.I sat dejectedly on a square stool with a photo album open on my lap.The square stool is made of solid hardwood. According to my mother, it was shipped from Haimen Town, my hometown. I imagined that it must be a wooden boat with "creaking" oars.In my memory, Haimen’s home is a large courtyard. In front of the courtyard is a wide road, and alongside the road is a winding, clear and quiet river.Before I was five years old, I lived in that compound, often running by the big river, pestering my skinny grandma and gentle grandpa.No one told me where my parents were, and I didn't miss them.One day, grandma suddenly held onto the courtyard door and wailed, screaming, her thin body shrinking even thinner.It was that day that I had two white flowers on the tips of my two braids that were dragging behind my back.Soon, my mother picked me and my sister to Shanghai, first by "second-class car" and then by ship.The deepest impression on me in Shanghai is this small house of about ten square meters.We were so young back then, four brothers and sisters and our mother only lived in this small room, and it never felt crowded.Life in the cabin is without a father.The life in the hut is the mother's hard work, busy from morning to night.All I know is that my mother works as a doctor at the No. 14 National Cotton Factory, and everyone calls her "Doctor Zhou".I also know that my mother didn't work until my father passed away.Father suddenly left, regardless of.At that time, my mother was only thirty years old, and my younger brother was just six months old.The thirty-year-old mother already has four children, two boys and two girls.But a thirty-year-old woman is the best time, and mother is no exception.In the photo album, there is a photo of my mother when she was thirty years old: thin and beautiful, with short hair brushing her shoulders neatly combed, and a white flower on her left temple.There is no smile on her face, but she is calm. Although she is so thin that the lines of her face are clearly defined, there is a hint of desolation and pain contained in it.Taking that photo is useful for job hunting.Two years later, another photo of my mother showed a very different expression: On the campus of the nursing school, my mother took a group photo with two female students in the same class. She was wearing a crab blue shirt with three small cloth buttons, and tied a pair of The navy blue flared skirt, her short hair is still neatly combed, the difference is that the white flowers on her temples have been picked, and she is smiling, very energetic and elegant.After graduating from nursing school and going back to work, I must not wear that navy blue flared skirt. Its color is still like new, the blue is very deep and generous.I remember, before I went to the Great Northern Wilderness, I packed my luggage and quietly wrapped my mother’s flared skirt into the quilt. When I was a child, I especially liked wearing skirts. My mother made my flowery skirts out of flowered fabrics. The sewing machine placed at the door of the hut often makes "click, click, click" in the middle of the night.The clothes of the four children need to be mended, and the mother can only sleep less and keep busy for us.Waking up in the middle of the night, seeing my mother's back standing upright in the dim light, listening to the smooth "click" sound, a kind of relying warmth wrapped my heart layer by layer, and I gradually fell asleep deeper and more deeply.Our hut is really poor, and the walls are covered with white paper.But the hut is really warm and harmonious, the four brothers and sisters never argue or quarrel.The elder brother is the oldest, and he participated in the literary group of the Municipal Children's Palace when he was in middle school.The elder brother in my memory always has a book rolled up in his hand, and he refuses to let go even after washing his feet for a few minutes.In 1957, as soon as he was in his freshman year of high school, he secretly changed his age in the household registration book and signed up to go to the mountains and countryside in Anhui.In a family photo taken when sending off my brother, my mother looked thinner.We don't have a father, so we take our elder brother as our father. The mother obviously has a kind of dependence on the eldest son in her heart.But the elder brother stubbornly wanted to leave the hut. He was very vigorous, and in order to persuade his mother, he pressed a letter under her pillow every day.The mother who came back from middle shift read the emotional letters, tears drenched the pillow cover, but she did not stop her brother's choice in the end.Then, my sister failed to get into university and went to Xinjiang; then I was the first group to sign up to go to the Great Northern Wilderness; and then, my younger brother was assigned after graduation, and he was "a piece of red" again, and they all went to the countryside to receive re-education without any care .The younger brother was the last to leave the hut, and the mother fainted on the platform...

That was around 1970. The hut grew deserted, and at last it was completely empty, without laughter and without anger.The wooden boxes that once filled the bottom of the bed.luggage.The rattan box was divided up by the four of us one by one, and even all the "stock" that could be used by our mother in a big camphor box was also divided without reservation.Lonely year after year, all the mother's sustenance is letters from her children, looking forward to our return home to visit relatives once every two years, every four years, you come and I go.My mother kept sending them off one after another, with a smile on her face when she received them, and tears in her eye sockets when she sent them away.Year after year of blankness, the hut has not changed except for waiting and expectations, and the mother still lives alone.However, we have experienced a lot outside and wandered a lot, and we often forget the hut when we enjoy ourselves.The ordinary year after year, my mother got older unknowingly, got this disease and that unknowingly, and unknowingly reached the age of retirement.In order to get a retirement certificate, my mother went to Meilan Photo Studio to take a one-inch photo in a very solemn way. She wore a Chinese-style padded jacket with an ironed collar around her neck.That little photo was included in that photo album inconspicuously, but it happened to be juxtaposed with the photo my mother took thirty years ago when she was looking for a job.is intentional.Thirty years of changes are striking: my mother's hair has turned gray, half of her teeth have fallen out, and wrinkles extend from the corners of her eyes to the roots of her ears, gradually becoming thicker from thinner to thicker. "Am I getting older?" my mother would sometimes ask me.Indeed much older.I dare not say it, my heart hurts.Although my mother is old, she still misses us. My elder brother was the first to have a son. Taking into account their difficulties, my mother brought her grandson to Shanghai.On the eve of my graduation, I was also due to give birth, and she rushed to Beijing from Shanghai to take care of me during my confinement. The house I lived in was a simple and small board room, and the stove could only be placed outside the door. It is often windy and it is difficult to cook a meal.My mother didn't complain, and took care of our mother and son diligently and conscientiously.The grandson is a beautiful boy. Every time the mother hugs him to take pictures, her eyes are always happy like flowers. She said that she likes bathing the baby the most. There is a photo of her naked grandson playing in the bathtub. Black and white, my son was full moon that day, and his little face was humanlike and cute.It seemed to be the last time we took pictures with black-and-white film, and my mother clipped it to the last page of that old photo album.

A history seems to end on the last page. But life doesn't stand still.When celebrating my mother's sixty-fifth birthday, my brother also had a little girl who was as small as a cat, and he called her "Mimi".This little guy is my brother's life.Long cherished wish.The mother was naturally happy for the younger brother, and willingly moved to the younger brother's house to take care of their granddaughter.Our four brothers and sisters are all adults, but we still need our mother so much, especially now, I bring my son to work in Shanghai, it is best to have a mother to help me, and my brother’s wife went to Australia at his own expense, which is also a lot of hardships It was done, and Mimi, who was only two years old, had another operation, and she couldn't do without her mother's care.For thirty or forty years, all of us have taken for granted the care and love shared by our mother with all her life.Support, help, but, among the four of us, who has really cared about our mother's heart...

The cottage was quiet.The furnishing in the room is more like a writing desk, a cabinet with two glass doors, and four hardwood square stools brought from the countryside... These old furniture and this old photo album suddenly made me very excited. Deeply feel a deep feeling.Unresolved sadness, but also a strong.Unclear shame and guilt.I flipped through the photo album again, staring at my mother when I was young, the mother when I was beautiful, and the mother when I was beautiful.young.Beauty and beauty are the most rare wealth and the best time for any woman, and they should be used to the fullest to enjoy the beauty and beauty bestowed by life.But my mother never had this kind of enjoyment.Could it be that she can't enjoy it herself?In retrospect, I had a few times when I got into trouble with my mother, complaining that she controlled me too much and interfered with me. My mother cried, very sad, and angrily took her bag to leave. The hut was full of dust, no gas, and no TV. How can mother live alone!I lost my temper and coaxed my mother to stop.Mother's anger dissipated quickly, and she went to work again.Although there are not many such disputes, after the disputes, I will blame myself so much that I can't calm down.I think, we often cry and laugh about the happiness and misfortune of our emotional life, dying or living, why have we never thought that mothers need such "crying and laughing" and such "life and death" in these decades!She is also a woman, and she was once such a beautiful and charming woman.Her life should not be just for us.We were so ignorant that we dragged her like always refusing to cut the umbilical cord, dragging her for a whole lifetime!

When I closed the album, I held it with both hands, and I felt a heavy pressure from the palm of my hand to my whole body.Of course, guilt, shame, and anxiety are too late and useless.On the contrary, the stories contained in this old photo album treasured by my mother are worthy of meaningful aftertaste.remember.No one can undo the past, and no one can do anything about it, but the past is often the pillar for some people to live.So, I want to comfort myself, but fortunately, we have lived up to my mother's decades of waiting and expectations. I love my mother's collection of photo albums.

I love my mother!