Soon to be Father's Day, but it is just attended his father's funeral. Father was June 9, 2011 died. At the time, found in the village said the father is kneeling, lying on the floor, mouth the earth, the nose a little bit of blood traces, not the breathing. I can imagine the father for the last moment. . . Brain hemorrhage, increased intracranial pressure, transient syncope, but also realized that bad, take the initiative to kneel with his hands pressed to support themselves in the soil to keep the rest, but in the end no match for a large number of slowly coming cranial blood, and then lose strength with both hands, sprang forward in the body, mouth to eat in the soil. . . I asked a heartbroken mother, her father died the day before that, a small mountain logs cut small branches, on the way back, fell in a ditch, the ditch across his forehead the stone. . . Father villagers discovered, were rescued, others carrying small logs to help him, his father covered in wet clothes, the followed back. Father at the age of 75 years. I do not understand, father, for many years, your child many times to persuade you that you are older, have no worries about food and clothing, money and grain enough, stop farming, carpentry, heavy labor, but each time has been You are stubborn to let us smile, but helpless to answer, I'm fine, I can move my work properly. . . . . We can not reverse this stubborn you had your own hopes will be within their means, only the hands of live dry point, when the right to exercise, quit in the face of heavy work, but now. . . . You wake in the night, I took a flashlight that storm came in silence beside the small branches, small branches seem to be only a small bundle in the middle of each bare root trees cut was burnished, like fresh cut marks can see you are holding a machete up and down waving. . . I picked up a bit with both hands, fresh and moist bundle of small twigs, very heavy very heavy, like me, born in rural areas, rural menial jobs done all the look, that bundle of branches at least a minor under 40 kg, and you, father, is a 75-year-old, and you go to the mountain, far away and is the most difficult of the rugged road. . . Father, you wet the back, there are two bruising on his forehead, you just point the mother wiped the red syrup, as usual for lunch, the afternoon went back to back a bunch of really tall mountains,fake bag, as the evening continued as if nothing to eat, sleep, The next day, as usual you did a live morning because the afternoon after going to the mountain village temple to help live, you will be at noon dined watched TV after the break, two in the afternoon, you have an old old age partner's urging, rush to the temple, less than 200 meters away, on a slope, you feel dizzy, and finally kneeling down, facing LOESS, did not wake up. . . . Father, your last breath of life still in labor. I can imagine, when you two bruising on his forehead, covered in wet places to come back, turning your brain from the blood is seeping cracks; when you suffering extreme pressure, do not listen to the doctor's mother, brother informed advice, but with red syrup half-hearted, when your brain has accumulated within the solidification of blood clots; when you do not know is not pretending to be normal to eat, sleep in order to let the family worry about when death might have been grim smile mad to go to your close. . . . . . Father, you take way too so we were shocked, too so that we heart the pain! Father, you are old carpenter, perhaps you see a small log so good, can do a beautiful window frames and other small furniture stuff, so with your old carpenter's mentality will not allow them abandoned in the wild, you want the pieces, whittled Guangliu small logs back back, I did not expect, which would be your life. . . . Father, if you are a soldier, you died in the fighting front line! Let us not even had time to think about it with our endless long for, not enough time to fall in love you, obey your loved ones feet. Us by surprise! Many years ago, a sunset of the evening, my father, I squatted in front of you, you sit in a big board, chop the wood with an ax, we Yeliang in the chat, I said, Father, Lord some portrait next to XX, stroke and lying in bed for several years, eat and drink Lazard in bed, live so hard ah. . . On hearing this, paused in the hands of living, half long, with a sigh, said: chronic illness without filial ah,fake bag, so alive, tortured offspring, meaningless. . . . Father, a prophecy,fake bag, and now you are even lying in bed You go so hurry, we are six brothers and sisters, no one in the last minute of your life, keep on your side. . . . . . After another six and so we come back from all directions when you have lying there quietly, he has not opened her lips, eyes never again look at any one of us. Father, soon to be Father's Day, but we have been caught off guard the six days will never be a father, how do you make us long for the ocean sink to extricate themselves? Father, I call you, you heard it?