作者: Damian Wang
It would be around seven o’clock in the morning when I would hear her footsteps coming up the stairs, her hands grabbing the handrails as she made her way up to the second floor of our house. As children, it was an unwelcomed morning ritual as those footsteps meant it was time to get out of bed, and get ready for school. She would quietly come into our rooms, open the blinds, and whisper into our ears that it was time to get up. As my siblings and I grew older, the task became harder for her. She would sometimes need to climb those stairs twice more to finally get us up and ready. Eventually, it got to the point where she had to coax us out of bed with food, whispering into our ears that she had prepared a Cup Noodle for us downstairs – later on, even asking if we wanted it to be Shrimp or Chicken flavored before doing so. She did this every morning, climbing up and down the stairs, getting us out of bed for school. Even when her body prevented her, she would still try and talk to us from the bottom of the stairs to get out of bed. She was relentless.
That was how much she loved us. I didn’t realize it then and failed to in the years following, but I realize it now. It was in that small daily act (but no small feat) of getting all three of us ready for school, where she cared for us the most. I honestly don’t remember if I ever thanked her for her dedication but I thank her now – teaching us the importance of getting an education and getting in that most important meal of the day, a Cup Noodle, Shrimp flavored. I have many fond memories of our grandma, but this is the one I will cherish the most. Keep singing and never stop praying Nai Nai.
發表於二零一六年 九月 第二九四期 – 沈光霞姊妹紀念專刊, 回到本期目錄