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Night after night， Mom came to tuck me in， even long after my childhood years. Following her long-standing custom， she leaned down， pushed my long hair out of my face， and then kissed my forehead.
I don’t remember when it first started annoying me. 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 couldn’t help returning to that night. I missed my mother’s hands and missed her goodnight kiss on my forehead.
Well， several 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.
On a Thanksgiving Eve， as I slept in the bedroom of my youth， a familiar hand hesitantly ran across my face to brush the hair from my forehead. Then a kiss， ever so gently， touched my brow.
Catching Mom’s hand in my 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 it， and forgiven me 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.
夜复一夜，母亲总是为我掖好被子，然后俯下身子，拨开覆在我脸上的长发，亲吻我的额头。母亲一直保持着这个习惯，即使我已不再是小孩子了。
不知从什么时候开始，母亲的这种习惯让我感到不悦。终于，在一个夜晚，我冲她吼了起来：“你不要再这样做了，你的手太粗糙了！”母亲一言不发，但此后，她再没有用这种我熟悉的爱的方式来为我的一天画上句号。
随着时间的流逝，很多年过去了，我总禁不住想起那个晚上。我想念母亲的双手，想念她印在我额头上的晚安之吻。
这么多年过去了，我已不再是个小女孩了。母亲也已到了古稀之年，可她那双曾经让我觉得粗糙的手却依然在为我和我的家庭操劳。
在一个感恩节的前夜，我睡在儿时的卧室，一只熟悉的手犹豫着从我的脸上掠过，梳理着我前额的头发。然后，一个吻，带着一如往日的温柔，轻轻落在了我的额头。
我抓住母亲的手，一股脑说出我对那一晚深深的愧疚。我想，她一定和我一样，对那晚的事历历在目。然而，母亲却不知我在说些什么。她早忘了，早已原谅我了。
那天晚上，我带着对母亲新的感激安然入睡，我感激她的温柔，和她那呵护我的双手。多年来压在我心头的负罪感也随之烟消云散了。
I don’t remember when it first started annoying me. 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 couldn’t help returning to that night. I missed my mother’s hands and missed her goodnight kiss on my forehead.
Well， several 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.
On a Thanksgiving Eve， as I slept in the bedroom of my youth， a familiar hand hesitantly ran across my face to brush the hair from my forehead. Then a kiss， ever so gently， touched my brow.
Catching Mom’s hand in my 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 it， and forgiven me 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.
夜复一夜，母亲总是为我掖好被子，然后俯下身子，拨开覆在我脸上的长发，亲吻我的额头。母亲一直保持着这个习惯，即使我已不再是小孩子了。
不知从什么时候开始，母亲的这种习惯让我感到不悦。终于，在一个夜晚，我冲她吼了起来：“你不要再这样做了，你的手太粗糙了！”母亲一言不发，但此后，她再没有用这种我熟悉的爱的方式来为我的一天画上句号。
随着时间的流逝，很多年过去了，我总禁不住想起那个晚上。我想念母亲的双手，想念她印在我额头上的晚安之吻。
这么多年过去了，我已不再是个小女孩了。母亲也已到了古稀之年，可她那双曾经让我觉得粗糙的手却依然在为我和我的家庭操劳。
在一个感恩节的前夜，我睡在儿时的卧室，一只熟悉的手犹豫着从我的脸上掠过，梳理着我前额的头发。然后，一个吻，带着一如往日的温柔，轻轻落在了我的额头。
我抓住母亲的手，一股脑说出我对那一晚深深的愧疚。我想，她一定和我一样，对那晚的事历历在目。然而，母亲却不知我在说些什么。她早忘了，早已原谅我了。
那天晚上，我带着对母亲新的感激安然入睡，我感激她的温柔，和她那呵护我的双手。多年来压在我心头的负罪感也随之烟消云散了。