杰文叔公死的那天特别寒冷,气温零下好几摄氏度。我儿子推开窗户问我,爸爸,外面是不是下雪了,我趴到窗户上一看,那不是雪,遍野雪白的都是霜。母亲从小就对我们说,霜比雪更冷。杰文叔公活着的时候,我就想为他写点东西,动了几次笔,没有一次完整写下来。得知他患绝症的时候我又提起了笔,写了好几段始终没有写下去。他活着的时候,要是知道有人在背后讲他的故事,他的表情是灰暗的,他是个不太在乎脸面的人, Uncle Jerwin died on that day, especially cold temperatures of minus degrees Celsius. My son opened the window and asked me, Dad, the outside is not snowing, I lie to the window to see, it is not snow, snow everywhere are frost. Mother told us from an early age, frost is colder than snow. When Uncle Jeong alive, I wanted to write something for him, moved a few times, and did not write it down all at once. I learned that he was terminally ill when I filed a pen, wrote a few paragraphs has never been written. When he was alive, his expression was gloomy if he knew someone who told his story behind him was a man who did not care too much about his face,