8.
Choose the best answer.
I've loved
my mother's desk since I was just tall enough to sit above the top of it.
Standing
by her chair, looking at the ink bottle, pens, and white paper, I decided that
the act of writing must be the most wonderful thing in the world.
I never
saw mum angry, never saw her cry. I knew she loved me, she showed in action.
But as a young girl, I wanted to have heart-to-heart talks between mother and
daughter.
They
never happened. I was "too emotional(情绪化的)". But she lived "on the surface". As years passed and I
had my own family. I loved my mother and thanked her for our happy family. I
wrote to her in careful words and asked her to let me know that she did forgive
me.
My hope
turned to disappointment, then little interest and finally, peace-it seemed
that nothing happened. I couldn't be sure that the letter had even got to
mother. I only knew that I had written it, and I could stop trying to change
her.
Years
later, during her final illness, mother kept different things for my sister and
brother.
"But
the desk," she said again, "is for Elizabeth.
The
present of her desk told me that she was pleased that writing was my chosen
work. I cleaned the desk carefully and found some papers inside a photo of my
father and a one-page letter, folded and refolded many times. It was my letter.
"Mother, you always chose the act that speaks louder than words."