Every time, when I lie on the warm and comfortable bed, a gradually clear figure will appear in my mind - grandma.
In the words of my grandma, "This child is not a fuel-saving lamp." Ever since I came out of my mother's belly, I have never been able to sleep peacefully at night. Every time she went to bed, grandma had to be prepared: a row of armchairs surrounded the bed as "sentinels"; a layer of quilts was placed on the left and right sides of the bed, and two or three pillows were piled on the bed. Even though I had bought the "three-layer insurance", when I looked at it the next morning, I had already kicked the quilt out of the sky. So my nose would naturally have a traffic jam. If it was a little more serious, I would have to go to the hospital for an intravenous drip. My grandma was very worried about me.
This fall, I often had nosebleeds. My grandma took me to see a doctor. The doctor said that I had "too much internal fire" and suggested that I drink some chrysanthemum tea. Grandma shook her head and said, "She can't drink it either." If it’s less, it won’t work.” The doctor suggested that my grandma sew a chrysanthemum pillow for me to try. It was already noon when we walked out of the hospital gate. Grandma sent me home first, saying she wanted to go for a walk.
I waited boredly at home for a long time. Seeing that it was almost dark but my grandma hadn’t come back yet, I couldn’t help but feel anxious. Finally, grandma came back panting through the night, holding a plastic bag tightly in her arms, reluctant to let go, as if she was holding a treasure. She said proudly to us: "Today I found a geomantic treasure land. There is a wasteland at the end of Xianglong Road with many wild chrysanthemums growing. I have to prepare a big bag to pick them tomorrow." She looked as proud as a child. Jin, my nose is sore, the road is so long, and grandma is so fat. . . . . .
For the next week, grandma was like a hard-working bee, circling around the flowers all day long, picking, washing, drying, and collecting flowers. . . . . . The chrysanthemum pillow is ready, fluffy and exuding a light fragrance. I took it in my hand and weighed out its heavy weight.
The wheel of the season goes round and round, and my pillows are changed one after another, but the only thing that remains unchanged is the deep love my grandma has for me in the pillow!