Where I go, she goes.

For decades, she has always followed me. From home to the construction site, from dawn to dusk, her hands and feet have never been idle. I know I am ordinary, not very capable, unable to give her peaceful and quiet days, but instead, I want her to share my life, to struggle in the dust with me. This has been my long-standing guilt deep in my heart.

She is very frugal with herself, wearing the same clothes for years, and refuses to buy new ones; but she is extremely generous to her family. Whatever the children want, she always tries her best to satisfy them. She cannot read or write, but she talks a lot, every sentence is about family matters, every word is about concern. It may seem trivial, but in fact, she ties the whole family to her heart.

She always says that working together on any task never feels tiring.

But is there really no fatigue? It’s just her concern for my suffering. This concern has long overshadowed all her own exhaustion.