“只管愛我，媽。我在這里！”
我能感覺到那些沒有問出口的問題。人們想知道，我怎么還能站著，還能走路，還能發(fā)笑。不過他們沒有問。他們不能向一個(gè)失去孩子的母親問這些問題。我的兒子丹尼爾(Daniel)三年前22歲時(shí)去世。當(dāng)人們問我“你……還好嗎”?他們的停頓和語調(diào)的變化讓我知道，他們是真的想知道。
I am tempted to tell them that it is I who am lost, not he. I am lost in my search for him, knowing he is nowhere on this earth. And still, it would not surprise me if he were to appear by my side wearing only his jersey boxers eating a snack at the kitchen counter. At times I can almost smell his warm cheesy breath and his still-boyish sweat. But when I look over my shoulder, he is not there.
我很想告訴他們，迷失的人是我，不是他。我在尋找他的過程中迷失了自己，知道他不在這個(gè)世界的任何一個(gè)角落。不過，如果他突然出現(xiàn)在我身旁，只穿著運(yùn)動(dòng)短褲，坐在廚房的操作臺(tái)邊吃零食，我也不會(huì)感到意外。有時(shí)，我?guī)缀跄苈劦剿麥嘏哪汤椅逗粑退廊痪哂心泻庀⒌暮刮?。但是?dāng)我回頭看時(shí)，他不在那里。
My mind invents stories. Daniel is not dead; he is lamenting the performance of his fantasy football team with high school buddies while they wait on line for ice cream at Magic Fountain. He is in his dorm room at Stanford, talking deep into the night with his friends. Daniel is lingering with new friends on the rooftop of his investment firm in Boston where he just started working.
我開始在頭腦中編故事。丹尼爾沒有死，他正和高中的伙伴們?cè)贛agic Fountain冰激凌店一邊排隊(duì)一邊哀嘆著他的幻想足球隊(duì)的成績(jī)。他正在斯坦福大學(xué)的宿舍里，和朋友們談話到深夜。他正在剛開始工作的一家波士頓投資公司的天臺(tái)上和新朋友們交流。
“Where are you, Daniel?” I shout the question to the sky when I am strong enough to bear the silence that follows. “Why did you die?” Even that has no real answer. His doctors think Daniel died of new onset refractory status epilepticus, or Norse, a rare seizure disorder in which healthy people with no history of epilepsy suddenly begin to seize uncontrollably. The majority of patients die or survive with significant brain damage. There is no identified cause or established treatment for Norse. This cloud of uncertainty does not obscure what I know: My child is dead.
“你在哪里，丹尼爾?”當(dāng)我足夠強(qiáng)大，能夠承受隨之而來的沉默時(shí)，我對(duì)著天空大喊。“你為什么會(huì)死?”甚至連這個(gè)問題也沒有真正的答案。醫(yī)生們認(rèn)為丹尼爾死于頑固性癲癇持續(xù)狀態(tài)新發(fā)作(new onset refractory status epilepticus，簡(jiǎn)稱Norse)，一種罕見的癲癇，沒有任何癲癇史的健康人突然開始不由自主地抽搐。大部分患者不管能不能活下來，都會(huì)出現(xiàn)嚴(yán)重的腦損傷。Norse沒有確定的病因或成熟的治療方法。然而這些不確定性并不妨礙我確知的一件事：我的孩子死了。
The instinct to protect one’s offspring runs through mothers of virtually all species. I violated the basic canon of motherhood. I failed to protect my child. That my child is dead while I still live defies the natural order.
幾乎所有物種的母親都具有保護(hù)后代的本能。我違背了做母親的這一基本準(zhǔn)則。我沒能保護(hù)自己的孩子。我的孩子死了，而我還活著，這違背自然秩序。
I love my husband and our two surviving children, but I couldn’t simply transfer my love for Daniel to them. It was for him alone. And so, for the longest time after his death, my love for Daniel bruised me.
我愛我丈夫以及我們的另外兩個(gè)還活著的孩子，但我不能把我對(duì)丹尼爾的愛轉(zhuǎn)移到他們身上。那是只屬于他的愛。所以，在丹尼爾死后的很長(zhǎng)時(shí)間里，我對(duì)他的愛讓我傷痕累累。
So unbearable was my occluded heart that I called out to him in desperation one day: “What will I do with my love for you, Daniel?”
我郁結(jié)的心臟難以承受這種痛苦，有一天，我在絕望中向他大聲呼喊：“我該怎么處置我對(duì)你的愛，丹尼爾?”
My eyes were closed in grief when suddenly I seemed to see him before me, his arms bent and lifted upward in supplication. In my mind’s eye, his face was suffused with love and tinged with exasperation, a common look for Daniel.
我悲傷地閉上眼睛，突然之間，我好像看見他出現(xiàn)在我面前，他的胳膊彎曲著向上舉起，做出祈禱的樣子。我透過腦海中的眼睛，看見他的臉充滿愛，帶著一絲惱怒——那是丹尼爾的常見表情。
“Just love me, Mom,” he says.
“只管愛我，媽，”他說。
“But where are you?” I ask.
“但是你在哪里?”我問道。
“I’m here!” he answers with frustration. And then he is gone.
“我在這里!”他沮喪地回答。然后他走了。
I had not heard his voice since the day before he suddenly fell ill. I spoke to him while he lay unseeing and unmoving in the hospital bed. I told him I loved him. I begged him to speak to me. I begged him to come back to me. He never answered or moved to squeeze my hand. The only flicker from him over his 79 days of hospitalization was a single tear. One day a tear slid from his left eye down his cheek and disappeared beneath his chin.
從他突然犯病前那一天起，我再也沒有聽到過他的聲音。他躺在病床上，看不見、動(dòng)不了的時(shí)候，我跟他說話。我對(duì)他說我愛他。我懇求他跟我說話。我懇求他回到我身邊。他從來沒有回答，也從來沒有緊握我的手。在他住院的79天里，他唯一的動(dòng)靜就是一滴眼淚。有一天，一滴眼淚從他左眼滑落，流過臉頰，消失在下巴下面。
And now, months after he had died, I felt him before me.
而此刻，在他去世幾個(gè)月后，我感覺他出現(xiàn)在我面前。
“Just love me, Mom. I’m here!”
“只管愛我，媽。我在這里!”
His words unleashed a torrent. I fell forward, my tears streaming. I felt breathless with release. I could continue to love him. I would love him in a new way.
他的話像是打開了我感情的閘門。我向前摔倒，眼淚奔涌而出，因?yàn)獒尫哦鵁o法呼吸。我可以繼續(xù)愛他。我將以一種新的方式愛他。
It was harder to do than I expected. I would see him everywhere, in every full moon, in each brilliant day. My spirits would soar. But there were days when a weight in my heart made each breath shallow and every step an effort.
實(shí)際做起來比我想象中要難。我會(huì)隨時(shí)隨地看見他，在每一個(gè)月圓的夜晚，在每一個(gè)陽光明媚的白天。我的精神會(huì)為之一振。但在某些日子里，我的內(nèi)心又無比沉重，每一次呼吸都微弱不堪，每一步都難以邁出。
On the worst days I sit before my laptop and pour out my feelings to the only person who can take in my sorrow and remain unbowed. The keyboard is damp when the final refrain leaves my fingertips: I love you, Daniel, I love you. I miss you. I miss you. And then I press “send.”
感覺最糟糕的時(shí)候，我坐在筆記本電腦前，向唯一一個(gè)可以把我的悲傷照單全收而不被擊垮的人發(fā)泄我的情感。當(dāng)我用指尖敲出最后的疊句時(shí)，淚水打濕了鍵盤：我愛你，丹尼爾，我愛你。我想你。我想你。然后，我按下“發(fā)送”按鈕。
Daniel’s friends continue to visit us. It is a pilgrimage of sorts. My heart tightens when I see them. Their presence illuminates our immeasurable loss.
丹尼爾的朋友們?nèi)匀粫?huì)來看望我。帶著點(diǎn)兒朝覲的意味。每當(dāng)看到他們，我的心都會(huì)猛地收緊。他們的存在時(shí)刻提醒著我們，我們的損失是多么無可估量。
His friends reveal to me how much Daniel meant to them. Now there will be a missing groomsman at the wedding and empty air in the place of a steadfast friend. At the end of one visit, a young man asks, “Recognize this sweater?” I don’t. “It’s Daniel’s,” he explains. I suddenly recognize Daniel’s old cotton sweater stretched to fit his friend. The young man folds forward to touch the sleeves of the sweater, hugging himself. He is tall and blond and athletic. He and Daniel were opposites in looks and temperament, best friends since nursery school. He had just returned from Moscow where he was working. “I wear this when I travel,” he says, touching the arm of the sweater again. “It’s so soft.”
丹尼爾的朋友告訴我，他對(duì)他們來說非常重要。現(xiàn)在，一場(chǎng)即將舉辦的婚禮會(huì)缺少一名伴郎，原本留給一個(gè)鐵哥們的位置會(huì)空空如也。有一次，一個(gè)年輕人在拜訪即將結(jié)束的時(shí)候問我，“認(rèn)出這件毛衫了嗎?”“沒有。”“是丹尼爾的，”他解釋道。我突然認(rèn)出，他身上那件有些緊繃的棉毛衫是丹尼爾的。那個(gè)年輕人俯身抱緊了自己，兩手撫摸著毛衫的袖子。他個(gè)子高高的，一頭金發(fā)，很健壯。他和丹尼爾不論在外貌上還是性格上都截然不同，但自打上幼兒園起就是最好的朋友。他在莫斯科工作，剛剛回國。“我旅行的時(shí)候會(huì)穿上這件衣服，”他一邊說，一邊再度觸摸毛衫的袖子。“它非常柔軟。”
I encourage Daniel’s friends to tell me about their work and their plans for the future. At first they are self-conscious, and their voices are tender. They don’t want to hurt me with their future plans when there is no future for Daniel. But as they speak of the things they will do and the places they will go, their excitement breaks free. I smile into the glow of their unlined, earnest faces and I feel my son. I think they feel him too. For a moment we are all reunited.
我鼓勵(lì)丹尼爾的朋友們告訴我他們的工作情況以及他們對(duì)未來的打算。起初，他們有些難為情，聲音也很輕。在丹尼爾已經(jīng)沒有未來可言之際，他們不想讓自己對(duì)未來的打算傷害到我。但當(dāng)談及要做的事情和要去的地方時(shí)，他們逐漸興奮起來。他們那光潔而又懇切的臉龐上綻放的神采讓我禁不住微笑，我仿佛感受到了兒子的存在。我想他們也感受到了他的存在。有一瞬間，我們?nèi)贾鼐墼谝黄稹?/p>
I will carry this child for the rest of my life. He lives within me, forever a young man of 22. Others will carry him as they move forward in their lives. He will be with them when they look out to the world with compassion, when they act with determination and kindness, when they are brave enough to contemplate all the things in life that remain unknown.
這個(gè)孩子會(huì)伴我走過余生。他會(huì)活在我的心里，永遠(yuǎn)都是一個(gè)22歲的年輕人。在其他人繼續(xù)自己的生活之際，他也會(huì)陪伴著他們。當(dāng)他們以憐憫之心看著這個(gè)世界的時(shí)候，當(dāng)他們果決而又滿懷善意地行事的時(shí)候，當(dāng)他們鼓足勇氣去迎接生命中所有未知的時(shí)候，他與他們同在。
I still search for him, but without desperation. I look for him in others. My search is lifted by his words: “Just love me. I’m here.”
我仍然在尋找他，但已不再絕望。我在其他人身上尋找他的影子。我的尋找因?yàn)樗脑挾駣^了起來：“只管愛我。我在這里。”
