I have not known my late mother, and love is not part of our vocabulary.
I knew her as a devoted and caring mother; but I did not get to know her as a person: her preference, her concerns, struggles and her inner emotion.
I was too young to know and understand her. She passed away at the age of 55, when I was in my last year of junior high school, ie I was barely 14 years old.
She became paraplegic after a stroke three years earlier. At 11 years of age, I suddenly became more patient and obedient, and took turns to care for her: to feed her with food and water, help with her medication, hand wash nappies in freezing cold water.
Each time, I had to rush home after school, as she would have been waiting for me to get home and bring her out of the house, and pour drinking water for her.
In summer days, I remembered she was really thirsty, her hand trembling and drops of tears in her eyes when I passed her a bowl or mug of water.
I was proud seeing her finishing off the last drop, yet choked in my throat.
Love is not part of our daily vocabulary, we did not have “subtle” emotions education, responsibility and care were the things in our strive for subsistence, survival and success.
She was busy as a bee, never stopping. I did not know she had any pastime, recreation, never seeing her touching Majiang, the national pastime and game.
The day she passed away was the 8th day of Chinese New Year. My sister who married into another family came home to visit her and got ready to walk back to her kids. My 2nd eldest brother brought his son to mother , for her to mind him. It snowed, and was very cold, she got up in a hurry, and fell to ground before she could stabilize herself. It would be her 2nd stroke, she never opened her eyes since the fall.
I was not sure if the marriage was a happy thing for her, I cannot image what sort of comfort and prosper my late father could have provided for her. She has NOT taken a single photo in this world.
Her mission completed at 55 years of age: being a devoted mother, being a committed wife.
I would trade every cent I have for a chance to pour her another cup of water, to talk to her as an adult and let her get to know me, not just as the 4th and youngest son she has cared for and worried about, but as a man she had raised up. A man who has inherited a healthy body, a good brain and a mild temperament, and gratitude for life.
The rumour in the village had it: she almost tried to give me up during late of the pregnancy in 1966 , in a rural village in Central China. Attempts were also made to let other family to adopt me.
But, in the end, I thank her for giving me the opportunity to experience this life, and to care for her in her last 3 years of life.
(S Lin, in tears, reflecting on Mother’s Day )
我不认识我的母亲。“爱”也不是我们家的词汇。
我认识的是我的母亲这个角色。但我太年幼，从没有认识母亲这个“人”：她的好恶，她的挣扎，她的内心。
她过世时我在读初中三年级；此前三年，她患脑溢血，偏瘫了3年。
我有机会给她端茶送水。年少忤逆的我，变得安静，变得听话；
放学后，急急赶回家，给她开门，给她倒水。有几个夏天的下午，
我回到家时，她口渴得很，我把水递到她手上时，她有发抖，眼角还流泪；
我很骄傲地看她喝完， 心里也发酸。
“爱”也不是我们家的词汇。所以，我们没有温情教育，只有对家人的责任和担待。
只记得她尽职得为家里劳动，她没有歇息停顿的忙着，没见她有什么娱乐，没见她摸过麻将。。。
她走的那天，是正月初八，姐姐回完娘家，就准备走回去。 二哥他们把儿子送来，准备给她看着。天冷，她就急着起床，大概，起身太快，有高血压的她，就再次脑溢血。
没来得及站起来，就倒了下去。
不记得她在这个人世享受过什么，甚至连张遗照也没有。也不敢想象，先父给她任何安逸或奢侈。我甚至不敢认定婚姻对她是快乐的。
为人妻，为人母，她的使命完结了，享年不到55岁。
去年，一个朋友的妈妈的隔膜癌，我的直觉是她只有100天余寿。他在外地上班。我告诉她：
你该回来陪你妈；如果可以的话，我会倾家荡产，换回给母亲再倒一杯水的机会。
现在我是成人，我可以请她讲讲自己，我好去认识母亲这个人，而不单单是“母亲”这个角色。
我可以开这自己的车带她去没见过的海，没坐过的飞机，没照过的像，
没喝过的我做柠檬茶， 吃她没机会尝过的我做的菜，
让她听我用英文接受采访，播报新闻，讲课，看我的摄影展，看我的摄影集。。
让我再牵着她的衣角，去走亲访友。
让她认识我这个人，跑到天涯海角来的老四，不单单是她放心不下的小儿子。
（母亲节 四立 泣字 ）
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