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.
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. 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.
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. Sometimes the incident seemed very close
sometimes far away. But always it lurked
in the back of my mind.
Well
the years have passed
and I'm not a little girl anymore. 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. She's been our doctor
reaching into a medicine cabi for the remedy to calm a young girl's stomach or soothe the boy's scraped knee. She cooks the best fried chicken in the world... gets stains out of blue jeans like I never could...
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. 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.
In my memory
for the thousandth time
I recalled the night my young voice plained
"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 fotten — and fiven — long ago.
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.
中文譯文：
母親總是在我入睡之後，為我掖好被子，然後俯下身子，輕輕撥開覆在我臉上的長發，親吻我的前額。日復壹日，母親壹直保持著這個習慣，即使我已不再是小孩子了，這壹切卻依然故我。
不知從什麽時候開始，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。終於，在壹個夜晚，我忍不住沖她吼了起來：“妳不要再這樣了，妳的手好粗糙！”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壹天畫上句號。
日子壹天天過去，隨著時間的流逝，我卻總是不由得想起那壹夜。我開始想念母親的那雙手，想念她印在我前額上的“晚安”。這種渴望忽遠忽近，但始終潛藏在我心靈深處的某個角落。
若幹年後，我成熟了，已不再是個小女孩了。母親也已到了古稀之年，可她卻始終沒有停止過操勞，用她那雙曾經被我視為“粗糙”的手為我和我的家庭做著力所能及的事情。她是我們的家庭醫生，小姑娘胃痛時，她會從藥箱裏找出胃藥來，小男孩擦傷的膝蓋時，她會去安撫他的傷痛。她能做出世界上最好吃的炸雞，能把藍色牛仔褲上的汙漬去得毫無痕跡......
現在，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。有壹次，恰好是感恩節前夜，我決定就睡在母親旁邊的臥室裏，陪她度過這壹夜。這是我兒時的臥室，壹切都是那麽的熟悉，還有壹只熟悉的手猶豫著從我的臉上掠過，梳理著我前額的頭發，然後，壹個吻，帶著壹如往日的溫柔，輕輕落在了我的額頭。
在我的記憶裏，曾幾千次再現那晚的情景和我那稚嫩的抱怨聲：“妳不要再這樣了，妳的手好粗糙！”我壹把抓住母親的手，壹股腦說出我對那壹晚深深的愧疚。我想，她壹定和我壹樣，對那晚的事歷歷在目。然而，母親卻不知我再說些什麽-----她早忘了，早已原諒我了。
那天晚上，我帶著對母親新的感激安然入睡，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雲散。