完形填空
Night after night, my mother came to my bed, even long after my childhood years.She would 1 down and push my long hair out of the way, and then kiss my forehead.
I don't remember when it first started 2 me-her hands pushing my hair that way, for they felt work-worn and rough 3 my young skin.Finally, one night, I shouted out at her, “Don't do that any more-your hands are too rough!” she made no 4 and left quietly.
But never again did my mother do it with that familiar expression of her 5 .
With the passing years, my 6 returned to that night time after time.By then I 7 my mother's hands and her goodnight kiss.Sometimes the incident seemed very 8 , sometimes far away, but always it was 9 in the back of my mind.
The years have passed, and I'm not a little girl any more.Mom is in her seventies, and those hands I once 10 to be so rough are still doing things for me and my family.
Now, Mom no longer has Dad and lives 11 .One night on Thanksgiving Eve, I found myself 12 to her house to spend the night with her.As I slept in the bedroom of my youth, a familiar hand hesitantly ran across my face to 13 the hair from my forehead.Then a 14 , ever so gently, touched my forehead.I burst into tears.
In my memory, thousands of times, I 15 the night my young voice complained.Catching Mom's hand in hand, I told her how 16 I was for that night.I thought she'd remember 17 I did.But Mom didn't know what I was talking about.She had already forgotten and 18 long ago.
That night, I fell asleep with a new 19 for my gentle mother and her caring hands.And the guilt that I had carried around for so long was 20 to be found.