在每年清明节快要来临的前一个月,父亲就来电话,问问工作,问问生活,末了就一句:清明将至,别忘了回来给先人们上一炷香。在父亲很小的时候,爷爷就战死沙场,尸骨无存,靠奶奶在兵荒马乱中拉扯着三个孩子长大成人。小时候烧香祭拜,奶奶总忘不了提醒我们:在屋外面也烧一点,把在外的爷爷请回来。记忆中奶奶说这话的声音很小很小,有时还撩起衣袖擦拭眼角的泪花。 A month before Ching Ming Festival approached, my father called, asked about his work and asked about his life. At the end of the day, Ching Ming was about to return to the forebears. When my father was very young, my grandfather died on the battlefield. There was no remains of my grandfather. My grandmother pulled three children and grew up in chaos and turmoil. Burning incense as a child, my grandmother always can not forget to remind us: outside the house also burn a little, grandpa please come back. The voice of my grandmother in the memory said that the voice was very small and small, and sometimes lifted her sleeves to wipe away tears in her eyes.