Night after night, she came to help me fall asleep, even long after my childhood years. I don't remember when it first started making me feel uncomfortable—my mom's hands pushing my hair that way. But it did make me uncomfortable, for they felt rough (粗糙的) on my face. Finally, one night, I shouted at her, “Don't do that anymore! Your hands are too rough！” She didn't say anything, but she never did it again.

Years later, I missed my mother's hands and her goodnight kiss on my face. I was not a little girl any more. My mom was in her mid­ seventies, and her rough hands were still doing things for my family and me.

 It was late on Thanksgiving Eve. As I slept in my bedroom, a familiar (熟悉的) hand ran across my face to push the hair from my head. Then a kiss, ever so gently, touched my eyelid (眼睑).

 Taking my mom's hand, I told her how sorry I was for that night. But my mom didn't know what I was talking about. She had forgotten it.

 That night, I fell asleep with new appreciation (感激) to my gentle mother. And the guilt that I had carried around for so long was nowhere to be founded. 

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