Mum's Hands

媽媽的手

Night after night, she came to tuck me in, even long after my childhood years. Following her longstanding custom, she'd lean down and push my long hair out of the way, then kiss my forehead.

母親總是在我入睡之后，為我掖好被子，然后俯下身子，輕輕撥開覆在我臉上的長發(fā)，親吻我的前額。日復一日，母親一直保持著這個習慣，即使我已不再是小孩子了，這一切卻依然故我。

I don't remember when it first started annoying me — her hands pushing my hair that way. But it did annoy me, for they felt work-worn and rough against my young skin.

不知從什么時候開始，母親的這種習慣漸漸讓我感到不悅----我不喜歡她那雙布滿老繭的手就這樣劃過我細嫩的皮膚。

Finally, one night, I shouted out at her, "Don't do that anymore —your hands are too rough!" She didn't say anything in reply. But never again did my mother close out my day with that familiar expression of her love.

終于，在一個夜晚，我忍不住沖她吼了起來：“你不要再這樣了，你的手好粗糙！”母親無言以對。但從此卻再沒有用這種我熟悉的表達愛的方式來為我的一天畫上句號。

Time after time, with the passing years, my thoughts returned to that night. By then I missed my mother's hands, missed her goodnight kiss on my forehead.

日子一天天過去，隨著時間的流逝，我卻總是不由得想起那一夜。我開始想念母親的那雙手，想念她印在我前額上的“晚安”。

Sometimes the incident seemed very close, sometimes far away. But always it lurked, in the back of my mind.

這種渴望忽遠忽近，但始終潛藏在我心靈深處的某個角落。

Well, the years have passed, and I'm not a little girl anymore.

若干年后，我長大了，不再是個小女孩。

Mom is in her mid-seventies, and those hands I once thought to be so rough are still doing things for me and my family.

母親也已到了古稀之年，可她卻始終沒有停止過操勞，用她那雙曾經(jīng)被我視為“粗糙”的手為我和我的家庭做著力所能及的事情。

She's been our doctor, reaching into a medicine cabinet for the remedy to calm a young girl's stomach or soothe the boy's scraped knee.

她是我們的家庭醫(yī)生，小姑娘胃痛時，她會從藥箱里找出胃藥來，小男孩擦傷的膝蓋時，她會去安撫他的傷痛。

She cooks the best fried chicken in the world... gets stains out of blue jeans like I never could...

她能做出世界上最好吃的炸雞，能把藍色牛仔褲上的污漬去得毫無痕跡......

Now, my own children are grown and gone. Mom no longer has Dad, and on special occasions,I find myself drawn next door to spend the night with her.

現(xiàn)在，我自己的孩子也已長大，有了自己的生活，母親卻沒有了父親的陪伴。有一次，恰好是感恩節(jié)前夜，我決定就睡在母親旁邊的臥室里，陪她度過這一夜。

So it was late on Thanksgiving Eve, as I slept in the bedroom of my youth, a familiar hand hesitantly run across my face to brush the hair from my forehead. Then a kiss, ever so gently, touched my brow.

這是我兒時的臥室，一切都是那么的熟悉，還有一只熟悉的手猶豫著從我的臉上掠過，梳理著我前額的頭發(fā)，然后，一個吻，帶著一如往日的溫柔，輕輕落在了我的額頭。

In my memory, for the thousandth time, I recalled the night my young voice complained, "Don't do that anymore — your hands are too rough!" Catching Mom's hand in hand, I blurted out how sorry I was for that night. I thought she'd remember, as I did. But Mom didn't know what I was talking about. She had forgotten — and forgiven — long ago.

在我的記憶里，曾幾千次再現(xiàn)那晚的情景和我那稚嫩的抱怨聲：“你不要再這樣了，你的手好粗糙！”我一把抓住母親的手，一股腦說出我對那一晚深深的愧疚。我想，她一定和我一樣，對那晚的事歷歷在目。然而，母親卻不知我再說些什么——她早忘了，早已原諒我了。

That night, I fell asleep with a new appreciation for my gentle mother and her caring hands. And the guilt that I had carried around for so long was nowhere to be found.

那天晚上，我?guī)е鴮δ赣H新的感激安然入睡，我感激她的溫柔，和她那呵護的雙手。多年來壓在我心頭的負罪感也隨之煙消云散。

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