Mom has a habit, a family-sized dress, which is stacked in different categories when the seasons change in spring and summer. That day, she packed her clothes as usual, and I was lying on the sofa reading an old magazine. In the afternoon, the warm sunshine shines in, and a bunch of pure white gardenias on the coffee table exudes a faint fragrance. "Look, Wang Hao, there are many handkerchiefs here!" My mother suddenly turned to me and said that she seemed very excited.
"handkerchief?" I asked.
"Do you remember these handkerchiefs? It's been here for over ten years. Look, this blue one, remember? When you were four years old, I used to pin him on your coat and wipe your sweat. I watched you run in front of me, and your handkerchief shook like a flower Hu Die! " Mother talked aimlessly, without looking at me, completely immersed in happy memories. I listened quietly and said nothing. I can't talk to my mother-because I don't remember anything.
"There is this piece of blue and white, which was specially made when you were 10 years old. It was printed with the words-'10 Happy birthday to my beloved son Wang Hao'. Alas, in a blink of an eye. " She sighed softly and turned to me, but her loving eyes overwhelmed me. How I wish I could remember these past events, even if they are vague and fragmentary! I can't imagine why my mother collected the past so carefully and told me everything like a treasure. Doesn't she always complain that she has a bad memory when she is old?
I admit, I completely forgot the story of the handkerchief and threw it in the corner of my memory. In addition, handkerchiefs are out of fashion now, and they are replaced by paper towels. When you sweat, take out one, rub it gently, it has a good texture and a faint aroma, and then throw it away casually. How convenient. So naturally, the handkerchief was unconsciously forgotten. If my mother hadn't mentioned it unintentionally, I really couldn't remember that these handkerchiefs once belonged to me. My mind easily accepts new things and forgets some things, including the most basic and true love. My mother, however, is a collector of years, always walking behind me, quietly picking up my missing mood and initial innocence.
I felt my eyes a little wet and whispered, "Mom, how do you remember so much?" Mother was silent for a while before answering, "How could I not remember?" She seems to be talking to herself. My tears fell quietly. Yeah, how could you not remember?
Because I love you, I remember.