母親床頭的木笛

我一直不知道，
為什麼母親當年會買下那幾支木笛。

在達拉斯的家中，她總喜歡把木笛放在床頭。
黃昏時分，她常獨自坐在窗前，輕輕吹奏。
那笛聲低沉而悠遠，像風從很遠很遠的地方吹來，帶著一絲淡淡的鄉愁。

那時年輕的我，並不明白。
我不知道她吹的，是離鄉的孤獨；
不知道她懷念的，是再也回不去的故土；
更不知道，一位經歷戰亂與漂泊的母親，把多少思念都藏進了那細長的木笛之中。

也許，
她只是想讓自己的心，有一個可以停靠的地方。

歲月流逝，人生如夢。
如今，母親與父親，早已長眠在華府波多馬克河畔。

每當我來到那片安靜的墓園，遠望波多馬克河水緩緩流過，我總會想起母親當年吹奏木笛的身影。
河風掠過樹梢時，我彷彿又聽見那熟悉的笛聲，在遙遠歲月裡輕輕回蕩。

父親一生堅毅，母親一生溫柔。
他們帶著一家人，走過動盪年代，跨越千山萬水，最後在異鄉落地生根。
而我，也在人生漫長旅途中，才漸漸明白——

原來母親買下那些木笛，
並不只是因為喜歡音樂。

那是她對故鄉的思念，
對青春的懷念，
也是她對人生風雨最安靜的傾訴。

如今木笛仍在，
只是吹笛的人，已在天邊。

而那悠長的笛聲，
卻永遠留在我的心中。

The Wooden Flutes by My Mother’s Bedside

I never truly understood
why my mother bought several wooden flutes so many years ago.

In our home in Dallas, she always kept them beside her bed.
At dusk, when the evening light quietly filled the room, she would sit alone by the window and softly play them.

The sound of the flute was gentle and distant,
like a breeze drifting from another world,
carrying a quiet sorrow and an unspoken longing.

Back then, I was too young to understand.
I did not know she was playing the loneliness of exile.
I did not know she was remembering a homeland she could never fully return to.
And I certainly did not realize how much pain, memory, and hope a mother could hide within the sound of a simple wooden flute.

Perhaps the flute was the only place
where her wandering heart could finally rest.

Time moves on like a river.

Today, my mother and father rest together beside the Potomac River in Washington, D.C.
Whenever I think of that peaceful riverside, I can almost hear her flute again, carried softly by the wind through the trees.

My father lived with strength and determination.
My mother lived with quiet grace and tenderness.
Together they carried our family through war, displacement, hardship, and immigration, building a new life far from the land where they were born.

Only now, after walking through so many years of my own life, do I finally understand:

My mother did not buy those wooden flutes simply because she loved music.

They were her memories of home.
Her longing for lost years.
Her silent conversation with a life filled with sacrifice and distance.

The wooden flutes may still remain,
but the one who played them has long since departed.

Yet the sound of her music
will forever echo in my heart.