没有孩子在身边的日子。太清静。虽然总是有许多事情要忙碌，但是。屋子里空落落的。还好，这个周末我们去城里看女儿，过几天儿子也回家来休几天假。我们得好好计划一下，做些什么。
翻阅一些旧文章，看见了儿子八、九岁时写的文字。贴一篇在这里吧。记得他那时小小年纪，就写二战、写纳粹集中营里的故事，写古代印第安人部落里的事，写另外星球上的故事。写得栩栩如生，如在眼前。他的文字雅致简洁、很有节奏和韵律感。他从不用生僻字。但就是这些简单朴素的文字，组合起来就给了文章一种内在的气场。这气场非常温暖感人。
真不知道他怎么写出来这些故事。我那时常想，这一定是先天带来的吧！
但是，今晚读他写的这个故事，还是让我想落泪。因为这个故事里有我和他的影子，虽然说是杜撰，但是那份情感很真实。
James Lin
This is what I remember.
That morning in the country, the wild flowers were so full, so colored.That sky was so blue, the clouds so deep, I felt myself reaching towards them while the trees darkened the grass beside me, as if I could grab one and press the softness of it into my cheek.
I remember seeing the mountains, so indistinct, fading into a blueness in the background. Their peaks so close in height to their troughs, they looked a small thing, just a zigzag in the distance. The sun was shining down on my hair, the high grass tickling my legs. It was the kind of summer days you dream about.
I remember sitting down and picking the grass, stripping the thickness apart, then throwing the pieces in the air, and laughing. The pieces descended quietly, like feathers, back and forth, floating, like a hammock. And I lay back and felt the sun warm my face, the heat like a blanket.
I watched you come out our back door, smiling, your face colored in by the same happiness than adorned the landscape around us. I remember you meeting me halfway in a hug, telling me in that sweet high singsong voice of yours we were going to the lakeside that day. And I almost felt like things were normal.
That morning you made my favorite breakfast. It turns out you probably knew that it would be the last one you made for me. And I would never know.That syrup was so soft, so sweet, the pancakes melting into my mouth.
And then I heard you calling, your voice trailing from outside to where was at, telling me we were leaving.
And we started. I could see you catching your breath, gasping for air even as we walked the short distance to the lake.
And while I see the lake come closer to us, I see you are not well off. You were wheezing. Your face, so pale. And I remember the water was sparkling, and the butterflies fluttering from flower to flower. The scene was idealistic.
Then you knelt down in the grass, and let a butterfly fly to your finger. And you brought that butterfly up to my hands, and let it drop. And then you smiled, and slowly, you fell backward. I almost went to help you up, but then I saw that glassy look in your eyes. And then I knew. I could not stop the tears.With the tears there were huge, hacking coughs. No matter what I tried, I could not stop. I knew you died happy. But it did not help. It did not.
I knelt down and kissed you goodbye. And you were almost alive to me again, putting through my mind images of times that were happy, images of times that we shared together.
And I stopped crying.@*
责任编辑：林芳宇
