Her birth is also a mystery, where did she come from? Where was it going? Her hurried journey is to meet with whom, who is the father of the child in her womb, what kind of story is this, as long as she is not awake, there will be no way to know, and moreover, no one knows, before the accident, he days are happy or sad.
The days passed in her coma, and finally one day she was wheeled into the delivery room, and then the doctor proudly announced that the five-kilogram baby boy was healthy! The nurses brought the baby over to her, they felt that even though the mother was a vegetable, they should let the mother and child meet, as the baby instinctively sucked on the breast, the mother's face showed all kinds of impulses, and her chest was surprisingly milky and wet! The milk was secreting little by little. After that, whenever the nurse lady brought the baby over to breastfeed him, this expression of overflowing happiness appeared on her face, and sometimes a murmur came out of her mouth as if she were a happy mother singing to her own child.
Three months later, and again in turn, the child was well fed, and she finally left the world in peace and tranquility. When she was admitted to the hospital, she weighed one hundred and twenty-one pounds, eighty-six pounds after delivery, and only sixty-three pounds before her death, and she was using her own flesh and blood to conceive and feed this child! Originally, she could have left after giving birth to the child, but fearing that the child would be alone, she insisted on accompanying him on the road of life for a while. Later, we bought her a piece of affordable cemetery, no her name, nor her biography, a simple tombstone with only one line of text: a woman who shines with the light of motherly love!
Is there a beautiful language that can say everything about a mother's love? I don't think so.
Is there a magical scale that can measure a mother's love? I don't think so.
I read a newspaper story about a massive mudslide on a night in June last year that destroyed four villages in Meigu County, Sichuan Province, and devoured more than a hundred and fifty lives in a flash. A young mother, despite the fact that her thighs had been crushed by the rocks, held her baby, who was only a few years old, aloft with both hands in the waist-deep mudslide, and stood up with great difficulty for more than four hours. She held on until early morning, waiting for people to come to her rescue, and the baby turned out to be unharmed!
When I read this report, hot tears streamed down my cheeks. In the blur of tears, there seemed to be a statue of our mother surrounded by divine light standing in front of us! The light that surrounds her is the light of Mother China's motherhood!
I once read an article in the "Reader" magazine: in the Nanjing "7.31" crash, almost all passengers on the plane died, but a baby girl named Dani was miraculously alive. It turned out that in the moment of the plane crash, Danni mother Gong Hongmei tightly embrace the child in his arms, with his own body to block the rocks and foreign objects and flames, Gong Hongmei with their own death in exchange for the life of the little Danni. The mother held her daughter so tightly that rescuers had to work hard to get Dani out.
I read this article a few years ago, when I was still an elementary school student, but I will never forget the shock this article caused in my mind! With tears in my eyes, I pondered a question that did not fit my age: what is mother's love? It seems that from this moment on, I have found the answer.
One day, my brother copied me a small poem entitled "A Bowl of Rice with Oil and Salt": The day before yesterday/I came home from school/with a bowl of rice with oil and salt in the pot. Yesterday/I came home from school/without a bowl of oil and salt in the pot. /Today/ I came home from school/ with a bowl of rice fried in oil and salt/ and put it on my mom's grave.
I was still in a state of ignorance when my eyes scanned this little poem. The second time I read this little poem carefully, tears streamed down my face. For the sake of such a mother who had to prepare a bowl of rice with oil and salt for her child in the last hours of her life, for the sake of such a mother who did her best to give her child warmth and love in the midst of poverty and misery. Through the bitter wind and rain, I seem to see that in millions of poor villages, there are millions of such poor but great mothers!
Like many of my classmates, I grew up under the care of my mother. Perhaps because I have too much, but a little less experience the preciousness of mother's love. Until my mother left me to go to a distant place to work, until I left my hometown to study in vocational high school, so that I have a long time with my parents apart. During that time, whenever I saw my roommate's female companion happily gathering with her mother who came to visit, I had to quietly hide to the side.
Mother's love is the greatest in the world.