Unforgettable love

For some reason, I suddenly started missing my late grandfather tonight. The memories stirred up brought tears to my eyes, and I recalled many fragmented moments. As I've grown up, I've come to understand the love that was etched in those memories.

Thinking of my grandfather brings back so many memories. Brushing my teeth in the dilapidated kitchen at ten o'clock at night, watching the TV tower flash by, always sent a chill down my spine. His daily midnight meal, a small glass of wine, a table full of side dishes, the occasional train whistle outside the window—Grandpa always told me it was a call to distant lands. Grandpa wasn't a talkative man; when I visited him each week, we barely exchanged a few words, but he always gave me a small gift before I left, either dessert or fruit—it never stopped as long as I can remember. There was a big tree outside the window in front of Grandpa's desk, and I even wrote a diary entry about it in elementary school. Every time I sneaked into his study, he knew. I don't know why I was nicknamed "Little Mouse," but after he passed away, no one called me that anymore. I hated that nickname, yet I longed to have it called again. I only asked Grandpa one question, a reading comprehension question on a Chinese exam. I only vaguely remembered a few words: Lu Xun and Runtu. He could tell from the article which chapter it was from and the plot summary just by looking at it. I admired him greatly, but I also felt a pang of regret. Every year during Chinese New Year, my grandpa's house was always bustling with activity. Back then, there were no unhappy days. Watching the elders play cards was truly a blissful experience.

My first long talk with my grandfather was in early 2003. It was the closest I'd ever been to him; I could see every wrinkle on his face. We talked for a long time, and as we talked, tears streamed down his face, flowing freely through those wrinkles. At the time, I didn't understand why he was saying those things, nor did I understand the meaning of his tears. But those words are deeply imprinted in my mind, forever.

July 14, 2003. The sun was shining brightly. In the afternoon, I took a bus to my maternal grandfather's house. He received a phone call that made me realize something. When the news arrived, I remained calm, not understanding what it meant, and not wanting anyone to see anything. That night, I slept with my maternal grandmother. Late into the night, tears streamed down my face, soaking my pillowcase again and again. Some things are over, never to begin again. Someone who silently loved me and brought me happiness is gone, and I didn't even get to say thank you.

The last time I saw Grandpa was on a very, very long road. In the twilight, Grandpa was pushing his bicycle, and we talked for a very, very long time. It seemed like the road had no end. I know it was a dream, but I tried my best to stay awake and let the road continue indefinitely.

Every time the night is still and quiet, I think of you. I will remember your teachings and your love for the rest of my life. I wonder who else will treat me like that, love me like that.