一再过一个月,母亲该过八十九岁的生日了,也就是说母亲开始吃九十岁的饭啦。九十岁,我掰着指头算呀算,怎么也算不出母亲走过的路有多长,吃过的苦有多重,付出的爱有多沉。这长长短短、轻轻重重、沉沉浮浮的算法,一次次剥离我的良心和道德。我扪心自问,养儿防老,我的母亲养儿防老了吗?我痛苦地摇了摇头,回答是否定的,我没 Over the past month or so, her mother should have passed her eighty-ninth birthday, which means her mother started to eat rice at the age of ninety. At the age of ninety, I broke my fingers, counting how long my mother walked, how heavy she had eaten, and how heavy it was to love. This long, short, heavy, buoyant algorithm stripped my conscience and morality over and over again. I asked myself, raising children against old age, my mother raising children anti-aging it? I shook my head painfully, the answer is no, I did not