童年的我們被呵護(hù)著，一雙溫柔白皙的手，帶來(lái)無(wú)私的母愛(ài)�；腥婚g，那雙手已經(jīng)不再溫柔了，甚至有些粗糙，但那雙手依然給我們帶來(lái)溫暖。世界上有種最無(wú)私的愛(ài)，那就是母愛(ài)，無(wú)論滄海桑田，還是天涯海角，母愛(ài)永遠(yuǎn)難以割斷。記憶深處的那一雙手，總是母親的手。

    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.

    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 cabinet 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 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. 

    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. 

    夜復(fù)一夜，她總是來(lái)幫我把被子掖好，即使我早已不是小孩子了。掖好被子后，她會(huì)彎下身來(lái)，撥開(kāi)我的長(zhǎng)發(fā)，在我的額頭上吻一下。這是母親長(zhǎng)久以來(lái)的習(xí)慣。

    不記得從何時(shí)起，我開(kāi)始討厭她用手撥開(kāi)我的頭發(fā)。但我的確討厭她長(zhǎng)期操勞、粗糙的手觸摸我細(xì)嫩的皮膚。終于，一天晚上，我沖她嚷道：“別再這樣了——你的手太粗糙了！”母親什么也沒(méi)說(shuō)。但從此之后，她再也沒(méi)有在一天結(jié)束的時(shí)候用那種熟悉的方式表達(dá)她的愛(ài)。

    時(shí)光流逝，許多年之后，我的思緒又回到了那個(gè)晚上。那時(shí)我想念母親的手，想念她晚上留在我額頭上的親吻。有時(shí)這幕情景似乎很近，有時(shí)又似乎很遙遠(yuǎn)。可它總是潛伏著，時(shí)常浮現(xiàn)，出現(xiàn)在我意識(shí)中。

    一年年過(guò)去，我也不再是一個(gè)小女孩，母親也有70多歲了。那雙我認(rèn)為很粗糙的手依然為我和我的家庭操勞著。她是我家的醫(yī)生，去藥櫥給我胃疼的女兒找胃藥或?yàn)槲覂鹤硬羵�的膝蓋敷藥。她能做出世界上最美味的炸雞…能洗掉牛仔褲上那些我永遠(yuǎn)都弄不干凈的污點(diǎn)……

    現(xiàn)在，我的孩子都已經(jīng)長(zhǎng)大，離開(kāi)了家，爸爸也去世了。在一些特別的日子里，我經(jīng)常情不自禁地走到隔壁母親的房間和她一起度過(guò)。于是，一次感恩節(jié)前夕的深夜，我睡在年輕時(shí)的臥室里，一只熟悉的手有些猶豫地掠過(guò)我的臉，撥開(kāi)我額頭的頭發(fā)，隨后是一個(gè)吻，輕輕地印在我的眉毛上。

    在我的記憶中，無(wú)數(shù)次回想起年輕時(shí)那晚我抱怨的聲音：“別再這樣了——你的手太粗糙了！”抓住母親的手，我脫口而出地表示我多么后悔那晚所說(shuō)的話。我以為她會(huì)像我一樣記得這件事情。但媽媽不知道我在說(shuō)些什么，她已經(jīng)在很久以前就忘了這事，并早就原諒了我。

    那晚，我?guī)е鴮?duì)溫柔的母親和她體貼的雙手的全新認(rèn)識(shí)進(jìn)入了夢(mèng)鄉(xiāng)。而我許久以來(lái)的負(fù)罪感也消失地?zé)o影無(wú)蹤。