My father died in the war when I was little, and he never had the chance to touch my head.
Dad had no biological brothers, only a concubine, so the family business was handed over to his concubine. My mother was in poor health. When I was seven or eight years old, she became seriously ill and finally passed away.
When I think of her now, the most profound impression in my memory is that she was sitting in the old yard washing clothes for others, while I stood in the yard watching her.
It must have been when I just hit my head. When I was three or four years old, I couldn't control my body and soiled my hakama.
My mother was very angry, raised her hand and hit me hard. I felt so much pain behind me and cried loudly, feeling full of grievances.
But while the mother was slapping, she hugged me again and started crying with me. When I saw her crying, I was stunned. Although I am afraid of her, I am also close to her. My mother was crying so sadly that I felt depressed and uncomfortable, so I held my sleeve to wipe her tears and calmly comforted her: "Mom, don't cry... Xiaoman doesn't hurt anymore." But my mother cried even harder.
I waited at a loss for her to finish crying, and watched her wipe away her tears, then use her cold, red, swollen and chilblained hands to pull me into the house, change me into clean clothes, and then come out to continue her unfinished work.
I sat in front of the ventilated window and watched her wash herself vigorously, making heartbreaking coughing sounds from time to time.
The weather is getting colder, but we don't have cloth, so the broken window can never be repaired, and my mother's illness keeps coming back and forth, and she never gets over it. She is busy making a living every day, and she has no time to relax and touch my head.
At that time, I could only think about when my uncle would remember to repair this window for us.
As long as this window is repaired, my mother's illness will be cured.
But the window was still broken, and my mother's illness was not cured.