I could never forget the days after my dad died as a revolutionary martyr in the civil war that ended in 1949, when my grandparents were still alive, and when the government still bothered to come to visit with gifts for the Chinese New Year. They left us two bamboo baskets full of vegetables and foods. After they left, grandma would carve off the pork, in tears. She said to me, aged 8, that my father paid for it with his flesh and blood.

We were left with a wooden billboard with four Chinese characters: “Glorious martyr’s family.” As the paint started to fade, visitors from the government subsided. Grandpa and Grandma died within two years. Mother and I and my brother were left to ourselves. Often was the day when we did not have rice to cook, and did not have even one coin left. Misery and hardships, only Mother and I and my brother knew, for we tasted every bitter bit, tens of years, all by ourselves.

By Cultural Revolution, we still had our glorious billboard at the front door. We still had government papers commemorating Father's sacrifice for the Revolution. But our home was ransacked by people sanctioned by Mao, our Great Leader etc.. Letters from our late father were taken away (and never returned to this day). Our mother was shut up in a small room in their work-unit with all windows completely plastered up with Big Character posters. A few days later, our mother was released. When she was let go, she did not have strength left to carry a thermos bottle with water in it. Her eye sight was badly damaged because she had been crying most of the time, day and night.

Forge the past. Forget those disasters. Forget all your sufferings--now that things are all right now. We were told. Those who gave the advice were really nice people, except that they had not lived as we did. They had not experienced it like we did. A sage once said: The pain was your own, in your body and in your heart. Others may sympathize with you, but they could never feel your pain the same way.

Yesterday we had two groups of visitors. They came to be with us, to cheer and to console. Mother was extremely delighted and grateful. Solace was always good and appreciated, belated or not.

“Glorious Billboard”

忘不了爸爸成为烈士后的头两年，当爷爷奶奶还健在，当政府和街道还敲锣打鼓来慰问。他们留下了两个装满慰问品的大竹箩筐。他们走后，奶奶留着眼泪在天井里切肉。 她告诉八岁的我，那肉是爸爸的身子换来的。

他们走了，留下一个挂在大门口的褐红木牌子，上书“烈属光荣“。年过一年，那牌子渐渐褪色了。年过一年，来慰问的人和东西愈来愈少了。爷爷奶奶两年内去世。我们孤儿寡母凄惨地过日子。揭不开锅，没有一分钱的日子是常有的。这其中的哀苦，唯有妈妈和我们两个小兄弟知道。

文革的时候，我们家门口的“烈属光荣“牌倒是还在。我们家墙上的“新中国奠基石”的表彰状倒也还在。但我们家被搜查，我们爸爸留世的信件被抄走（而且至今未归还），我们的妈妈被她们单位抓去关。几天后当妈妈被放出来时，她提不动一瓶装水的热水瓶。她的眼睛也哭坏了。

忘掉过去吧，忘掉那场灾难吧，忘掉我们母子三口的数十年的辛酸吧--好心人如今这么劝告我们。是啊，应该忘掉，假设不曾亲身地、长久地经历过这些伤心事。有一位贤者说：痛是自己的，别人即使理解，也也未必能感同身受。

昨天，我们迎来了两拨客人。衰老的妈妈十分高兴和感激。同情和慰藉永远是珍贵的，谢谢了。

漳州党史通讯2016年林婷文章：铮铮铁骨干革命，碧海丹心留青史--记庄少萍烈士

“烈属光荣”牌