美文：母亲的手 谨以此文献给天下所有的母亲
三月八号又要到了，谨以此文献给天下所有的母亲，也包括我的母亲，我母亲的母亲，还有我自己。
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.
原文链接：http://www.yeeyan.com/articles/view/64751/32182?orgin=index
母亲总是在我入睡之后，为我掖好被子，然后俯下身子，轻轻拨开覆在我脸上的长发，亲吻我的前额。日复一日，母亲一直保持着这个习惯，即使我已不再是小孩子了，这一切却依然故我。
不知从什么时候开始，母亲的这种习惯渐渐让我感到不悦----我不喜欢她那双布满老茧的手就这样划过我细嫩的皮肤。终于，在一个夜晚，我忍不住冲她吼了起来：“你不要再这样了，你的手好粗糙！”母亲无言以对。但从此却再没有用这种我熟悉的表达爱的方式来为我的一天画上句号。
日子一天天过去，随着时间的流逝，我却总是不由得想起那一夜。我开始想念母亲的那双手，想念她印在我前额上的“晚安”。这种渴望忽远忽近，但始终潜藏在我心灵深处的某个角落。
若干年后，我成熟了，已不再是个小女孩了。母亲也已到了古稀之年，可她却始终没有停止过操劳，用她那双曾经被我视为“粗糙”的手为我和我的家庭做着力所能及的事情。她是我们的家庭医生，小姑娘胃痛时，她会从药箱里找出胃药来，小男孩擦伤的膝盖时，她会去安抚他的伤痛。她能做出世界上最好吃的炸鸡，能把蓝色牛仔裤上的污渍去得毫无痕迹......
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