My grandparents

In my impression, my grandpa's noodles are not delicious at all, but I clearly remember that my favorite when I was a child was my grandpa's noodles. Every time I think of it, I feel very surprised, and even want to rack my brains to find out with myself: is my memory biased, or my taste has changed, or is it because I am a very contradictory person?

Yes, every time I read stories written in other people's books, I feel that I can't understand those feelings for my grandmother. Because I didn't have a good grandmother when I was a child, I always admired other people's grandmothers. My grandmother seldom talks to me and gives me little pocket money. She never plays with me and sometimes scolds me. So, I never liked her.

As far as I can remember, grandpa said very little except that he collapsed in bed and shouted "Tingting" and "Eat". By the way, there is another sentence. He protected me and said to my father, "Stop hitting the children". But I remember many pictures, such as I hung behind my grandfather and watched him play poker with his grandparents. And I hung on grandpa's chest, grinding the sweetness of his pocket money; And that morning, grandpa was walking around outside wearing a red armband and holding a radio. In my memory, my grandfather's face is blurred. Maybe I was too young at that time, too young to be near grandpa's face.

My grandmother, who I don't like at all, seems to have many good friends. She always sits on a small bench among a group of grandmothers, but when I grow up, I know that only two grandmothers and her are the best. One of them I like very much, and the other, I remember I always go to her house to play. I still remember arguing with my grandmother for ten yuan to buy snacks when I was a child. I had more than nine dollars left in my hand. I didn't want to give it back to my grandmother, so I hit me in front of my neighbors and children.

Grandpa is the only one who will give me pocket money. I think I was probably bought by money, so I liked my grandfather best since I was a child. When I was in the third and fourth grades of primary school, I found that my grandfather had a bad heart. He is reluctant to spend money and never goes to the hospital. Later, he began to drink medicinal liquor every day. But medicated wine didn't help him. One day, he finally went to the hospital. He hasn't been conscious since he came back from the hospital. There was no one to protect me after that.

? Time seems to have passed for a long time. Grandma and grandpa have been sleeping in the same bed. Grandpa couldn't sit in the chair until he had to lie in bed. Grandma never took care of grandpa, nor did she listen to her being depressed about grandpa's health. Her life doesn't seem to have changed, but there are fewer and fewer good friends. In those days, my mother was busy taking care of my grandfather's tired figure at home, and my father had to go to work and quarrel with my grandmother. I remember that during that time, I had been suffering from lack of pocket money, so I stole coins hidden by my parents and tricked my grandmother into saving them for me. I think it was the first time I felt grandma's kindness, but I didn't want to solve my misunderstanding about grandma.

The day suddenly jumped from the fourth grade of primary school to the fourth grade of college, and the color has not changed at all for so many years. It was probably my junior summer vacation. One day, everyone said that my grandfather was dying, and my mother quickly called an ambulance. I watched the ambulance leave at the window, and then I knelt in the room and cried. After a few days, my grandfather came back. Grandpa doesn't call "Tingting" so often, and seems to have forgotten me, but every time I call him, he still remembers me. Grandpa doesn't often shout for dinner anymore. When I came home in winter vacation in senior three, I suddenly lost one person at home. Grandma still sleeps in that bed, or moves a small bench to sit in the open space outside the door, sometimes alone, sometimes with everyone, but the frequency seems to be not as high as before. It was then that I discovered that among so many old ladies, she was not talkative.

When I got home, grandpa had been away from home for more than two months. I remember complaining about my parents that night and then secretly crying, but I don't remember that my mood collapsed because of this. I still spent the whole holiday very comfortably. It's just that I clearly remember my guilty heart. I hate that I didn't try to love and take care of my grandfather in his last days, so that I can't figure out whether I have to shed a tear every time I mention my grandfather, out of love and missing or out of guilt. However, this guilt has not changed me. It seems that this is what I have been avoiding, and I forgot my love for my grandfather.

Perhaps, from the moment I saw my grandfather was ill, I began to escape.

When I grew up, I once heard my mother and neighbors mention that my grandfather's heart disease started when he was a child and he got lost willfully. I didn't see him sick at that time, perhaps because he was too worried about me, so even if he was very ill, he wouldn't want to fall down. And grandma, in a hurry, broke her right index finger when folding the bench. I suddenly thought, why does grandpa call my name again and again when he doesn't remember anyone? Is he still worried that I will get lost again? But now, even though I still get lost again and again, I can't hear that call anymore.

In retrospect, I know that at that age of ignorance, my grandfather was the only one in my heart. From the moment he was ill, the mountain in my heart collapsed. I don't want that mountain to collapse, but I can't stop it. I can only close my eyes and let the landslide in my ear crack. Because what is invisible is not real.

The fact that it is not recognized is like a fool, pointing to the crying flowers in the rainstorm and saying that he is clearly blooming well.

Two years before grandma left, an old couple came to see her from abroad. Grandma talked a lot that day, and she answered "yes" to everything others said. I just know that grandma likes others to talk to her more, and grandma can be very happy alone.

Four months before grandma left, I started reading in front of grandma's bed from time to time. That frequency is too little and the efficiency is too low. It took more than four months and read more than ten pages. I missed the last wonderful paragraph and didn't watch it. Her body is asleep forever.

I haven't seen grandpa's photo, but I touched grandma's body through the bedclothes. It was too cold that day and the bedding was too thick. I can't feel grandma's temperature. I just thought the quilt was still soft, but she didn't move. Looking at her shriveled body, I witnessed a person's shriveled body for the first time, but the last time I saw the body in the funeral home, she just seemed to be asleep.

When my mother cried to death, I could still greet people with a smile. One day, I took my mother out, invited her to dinner with her money, and then bought her milk tea to make her happy.

It rained heavily all day on the day of eating. I said goodbye to my mother in the rain, watched her cross the street to take the bus, and then walked to the church alone. I didn't expect that from the moment I sat in the church, I would cry all night with the accompaniment of singing poems and preaching, and I don't know why.

Later, I began to be quiet. Later, I began to like not talking.

I think it's probably because grandma took away my last thoughts about grandpa. Perhaps, in that last time, I finally saw that I had a good grandmother, but when I finally found out, she was gone.

Grandma is getting old bit by bit, just like watching a candle with only a little wick left, but there is still a weak flame. We have been preparing to watch it go out, or have been waiting for it to go out. Even so, when it really went out, we were disappointed.

In those days when I have nothing to say, I have time to think about my time. In many things, I also thought of my grandmother, but that wasn't missing her, and I didn't feel sorry for her like I did for my grandfather. I admit that I don't love her enough, but I don't admit that my feelings are broken because of my grandmother. At that time, grandma died almost a month ago, and even my mother was not so sad. Why should I?

Actually, I'm lucky. My memory with my grandparents can last for 20 to 30 years. When others have slowly lost their memories, I will still be needed and missed by others, and no matter how much I owe in my heart, I will always be the cutest and most beautiful in their hearts.

I think, if there is heaven, I hope to see this old couple who have never been in love in my eyes.