我妻子說你可能愿意嫁給我

那人是我。

A little over a year ago, my wife, Amy Krouse Rosenthal, published a Modern Love essay called “You May Want to Marry My Husband.” At 51, Amy was dying from ovarian cancer. She wrote her essay in the form of a personal ad. It was more like a love letter to me.

一年多前，我的妻子——艾米·克勞斯·羅森塔爾(Amy Krouse Rosenthal)在摩登情愛上發(fā)表了一篇文章，叫《你愿意嫁給我丈夫嗎?》。當(dāng)時51歲的艾米因?yàn)槁殉舶┮呀?jīng)時日無多。她的文章用了交友啟事的形式，但更像是一封給我的情書。

Those words would be the final ones Amy published. She died 10 days later.

那將是艾米發(fā)表的最后一篇文章。她于10天后去世。

Amy couldn’t have known that her essay would afford me an opportunity to fill this same column with words of my own for Father’s Day, telling you what has happened since. I don’t pretend to have Amy’s extraordinary gift with words and wordplay, but here goes.

艾米不會知道，她的文章會給我一個機(jī)會，讓我在父親節(jié)這天，在同一個專欄發(fā)表我自己的文字，讓我告訴你們后來發(fā)生的事情。我不會假裝自己擁有艾米在寫作和文字游戲上的非凡天賦，但總歸寫出來了。

During our life together, Amy was a prolific writer, publishing children’s books, memoirs and articles. Knowing she had only a short time to live, she wanted to finish one last project. We were engaged then in home hospice, a seemingly beautiful way to deal with the end of life, where you care for your loved one in familiar surroundings, away from the hospital with its beeping machines and frequent disruptions.

我們在一起的日子里，艾米是個高產(chǎn)作家，她出版了兒童書籍、回憶錄和許多文章。知道自己剩下的時間不多后，她想要完成最后一個項(xiàng)目。我們當(dāng)時選擇了居家療養(yǎng)，這似乎是面對生命終結(jié)的一個美好方式，你可以在熟悉的環(huán)境里照料你的愛人，遠(yuǎn)離醫(yī)院滴滴響的機(jī)器和經(jīng)常性的干擾。

I was posted up at the dining room table overlooking our living room, where Amy had established her workstation. From her spot on the couch, she worked away between micro-naps.

我在餐桌就位，遙望我們的客廳。她在那里搭起了自己的工作臺。她在屬于她的沙發(fā)座位上埋頭工作，時不時會打個小盹。

These brief moments of peace were induced by the morphine needed to control her symptoms. A tumor had created a complete bowel obstruction, making it impossible for her to eat solid food. She would flutter away on the keyboard, doze for a bit, then awake and repeat.

這片刻的安寧源自于為了讓她控制病癥必須使用的嗎啡。腫瘤導(dǎo)致了完全性的腸阻梗，讓她無法食用固體食物。她會在鍵盤上飛快打字，打一會盹，然后再醒來，繼續(xù)。

When Amy finished her essay, she gave it to me to read, as she had done with all of her writing. But this time was different. In her memoirs she had written about the children and me, but not like this. How was she able to combine such feelings of unbearable sadness, ironic humor and total honesty?

艾米把她寫完的文章拿給我看，她對待所有的文章都是如此。但這次不同。在她的回憶錄里，她寫到過孩子，寫過我，但不是這么寫的。她如何能把這種難以忍受的悲哀感情與反諷的幽默、絕對的坦誠結(jié)合起來?

When the essay was published, Amy was too sick to appreciate it. As the international reaction became overwhelming, I was torn up thinking how she was missing the profound impact her words were having. The reach of Amy’s article — and of her greater body of work — was so much deeper and richer than I knew.

文章發(fā)表時，艾米已經(jīng)病重到無法閱讀了。來自世界各地的反響將我淹沒，但是當(dāng)我想到她無法看見她的文字有著如此深刻的影響，我感到心碎。艾米的這篇文章——以及她大量的作品——所帶來的影響，都比我所意識到的更加深遠(yuǎn)、豐厚。

Letters poured in from around the world. They included notes of admiration, medical advice, commiseration and offers from women to meet me. I was too consumed with grief during Amy’s final days to engage with the responses. It was strange having any attention directed at me right then, but the outpouring did make me appreciate the significance of her work.

信件從世界各地涌來。它們之中，有表達(dá)敬佩的，有醫(yī)療建議，有慰問，還有一些女性主動提出想與我見面。在艾米最后的日子里，我深陷悲傷，以至于無暇理會這些回信。立即有這么多人關(guān)注我，讓我感到有些不可思議，但這大量的信件讓我明白了她的工作有多重要。

When people ask me to describe myself, I always start with “dad,” yet I spent a great deal of my adult life being known as “Amy’s husband.” People knew of Amy and her writing, while I had lived in relative anonymity. I had no social media presence and my profession, a lawyer, did not cast me into public view.

當(dāng)別人要我形容自己時，我總是會從“父親”這一身份說起。但我成年生活的大部分時光都以“艾米的丈夫”為人熟知。人們認(rèn)識艾米和她的作品，而我的生活相對默默無名。我從不在社交媒體上露臉，我的律師職業(yè)也并未讓我進(jìn)入公眾視野。

After Amy died, I faced countless decisions in my new role as a single father. As in any marriage or union of two people with children, we had a natural division of labor. Not anymore. People often assumed Amy was disorganized because she had list upon list: scattered Post-it notes, scraps of paper and even messages scrawled on her hand. But she was one of the most organized people I have ever met.

艾米去世后，身為單身父親這一新角色的我面對著無數(shù)的決定。和所有的婚姻或是任何兩個有孩子的人的結(jié)合一樣，我們有著自然的分工?，F(xiàn)在沒有了。人們往往會以為艾米是個雜亂無章的人，因?yàn)樗那鍐螌訉佣询B：四處都是便簽紙、小紙片，手上甚至還潦草記著幾句信息。但她卻是我見過最井井有條的人之一。

There are aspects of everyday life I have taken on that I never gave much consideration to in the past. How did Amy hold everything together so seamlessly? I am capable of doing many things on my own, but two people can accomplish so much more together and also support each other through life’s ups and downs.

我意識到了日常生活中過去我從未多想的有些方面。艾米是如何完美實(shí)現(xiàn)一切的?我一個人可以做很多事情，但兩個人一起可以做到更多，也可以在生活的起起落落中相互扶持。

Many women took Amy up on her offer, sending me a range of messages — overly forward, funny, wise, moving, sincere. In a six-page handwritten letter, one woman marketed her automotive knowledge, apparently in an effort to woo me: “I do know how to check the radiator in the vehicle to see if it may need a tad of water before the engine blows up.”

許多女士應(yīng)了艾米的邀約，給我發(fā)來了各式各樣的消息——過于直白的、幽默的、睿智的、感人的、真誠的。在一封六頁的手寫信中，一位女士推銷了她的汽車知識，顯然是為了吸引我：“我還真是知道如何檢查汽車水箱，能在引擎爆炸之前看看它是否需要加一點(diǎn)水。”

While I do not know much about reality TV, there was also this touching letter submitted by the child of a single mother, who wrote: “I’d like to submit an application for my mom, like friends and family can do for participants on ‘The Bachelor.’”

雖然我對真人秀節(jié)目了解不多，但一封來自單親媽媽的孩子的動人信件寫道：“我想為我的媽媽提交一份申請，就像《單身漢》(The Bachelor)節(jié)目里的朋友和親人為選手們做的那樣。”

And I appreciated the sentiment and style of the woman who wrote this: “I have this image of queues of hopeful women at the Green Mill Jazz Club on Thursday nights. Single mothers, elegant divorcées, spinster aunts, bored housewives, daughters, wilting violets … all in anxious anticipation as to whether the shoe will fit, fit them alone, that the prince from the fairy tale is meant for them. That they are the right person.”

我也十分欣賞這位女士的看法和風(fēng)格：“我想到的畫面是，一群滿懷希望的女人在周四的夜晚在綠磨坊爵士俱樂部(Green Mill Jazz Club)外排隊(duì)等候。單親媽媽、優(yōu)雅的離婚人士、未婚的老女人、無聊的家庭主婦、女兒們、害羞的女人……她們都焦急地期盼著看看誰能穿進(jìn)這雙鞋，這雙只有一人能穿進(jìn)的鞋，而童話里的王子就是她們的真命天子。她們就是對的人。”

I couldn’t digest any of these messages at the time, but I have since found solace and even laughter in many of them. One thing I have come to understand, though, is what a gift Amy gave me by emphasizing that I had a long life to fill with joy, happiness and love. Her edict to fill my own empty space with a new story has given me permission to make the most out of my remaining time on this planet.

當(dāng)時，這些信息都是我無法消化的，但后來我卻也能從中找到一些慰藉，甚至歡笑。不過我明白了一件事，那就是通過強(qiáng)調(diào)我還有漫長的一生需要用歡笑、幸福和愛來填滿，艾米給予我一個怎樣的禮物。她讓我用新的故事填滿空虛的旨意，是在允許我充分利用好我在這個星球余下的時間。

If I can convey a message I have learned from this bestowal, it would be this: Talk with your mate, your children and other loved ones about what you want for them when you are gone. By doing this, you give them liberty to live a full life and eventually find meaning again. There will be so much pain, and they will think of you daily. But they will carry on and make a new future, knowing you gave them permission and even encouragement to do so.

如果要說我從這份饋贈中學(xué)到了什么，那就是：請和你的伴侶、你的孩子和其他親人聊聊，在你離開之后你希望他們怎樣。通過這種方式，你就給了他們完滿度過一生的自由，并讓他們最終能夠重新尋回意義。這會十分痛苦，而他們也會每天思念你。但是當(dāng)他們知道自己有了你的允許，甚至有了你的鼓勵，他們就會繼續(xù)自己的生活，開始一個新的未來。

I want more time with Amy. I want more time picnicking and listening to music at Millennium Park. I want more Shabbat dinners with the five of us Rosies (as we Rosenthals are referred to by our family).

我希望有更多的時間與艾米在一起。我想有更多的時間去千禧年公園(Millennium Park)野餐、聽音樂。我想讓我們五個“小羅”(我們羅森塔爾家的人就是這么稱呼自己的)再一起多吃幾頓安息日晚餐。

I would even gladly put up with Amy taking as much time as she wants to say goodbye to everyone at our family gatherings, as she always used to do, even after we had been there for hours, had a long drive home ahead of us and likely would see them again in a few days.

我甚至還會欣然忍受艾米在家庭聚會上花太長時間跟每個人道別，之前她總是如此，哪怕我們已經(jīng)待了幾個小時，一會還要開很久的車才能回家，并且我們很可能在幾天之后又會與他們見面。

I wish I had more of all of those things, just as Amy had wished for more. But more wasn’t going to happen for her or us. Instead, as she described, we followed Plan “Be,” which was about being present in our lives because time was running short. So we did our best to live in the moment until we had no more moments left.

這些種種，我都希望擁有更多。就像艾米也曾希望擁有更多。但不論是她，還是我們，都不會再擁有更多了。相反，正如她所描述的那樣，我們按著“Be”(存在)計劃進(jìn)行，意思是活在當(dāng)下，因?yàn)槲覀兊臅r間已經(jīng)不夠。因此，我們盡己所能地活在此刻，直到我們不再擁有更多的時間。

The cruelest irony of my life is that it took me losing my best friend, my wife of 26 years and the mother of my three children, to truly appreciate each and every day. I know that sounds like a cliché, and it is, but it’s true.

生活殘酷的諷刺在于，要等到我失去了我最好的朋友、26年的妻子、以及三個孩子的母親，才讓我真正學(xué)會去感激每一天。我知道這聽起來像是陳詞濫調(diào)，沒錯，但是句實(shí)話。

Amy continues to open doors for me, to affect my choices, to send me off into the world to make the most of it. Recently I gave a TED Talk on the end of life and my grieving process that I hope will help others — not something I ever pictured myself doing, but I’m grateful for the chance to connect with people in a similar position. And of course I am writing to you now only because of her.

艾米還在為我開啟著一扇扇門，還在影響著我的選擇，在把我推向這個世界，讓我去領(lǐng)略更多。最近，我在TED上做了一個有關(guān)生命終結(jié)和哀痛過程的演講，希望能幫到他人——這并不是我曾想過我會做的事，但我很感激自己能有機(jī)會與處境相似的人們溝通。當(dāng)然，我現(xiàn)在為你們寫下這些，也只是因?yàn)樗?/p>

I am now aware, in a way I wish I never had to learn, that loss is loss is loss, whether it’s a divorce, losing a job, having a beloved pet die or enduring the death of a family member. In that respect, I am no different. But my wife gave me a gift at the end of her column when she left me that empty space, one I would like to offer you. A blank space to fill. The freedom and permission to write your own story.

我現(xiàn)在意識到了——雖然從某種程度上說，我希望自己永遠(yuǎn)不必知道——“失去就是失去就是失去”，不論是離婚還是丟了工作，是心愛的寵物死去，或是捱過一個親人的離世。在這個方面，我也一樣。但是在她專欄的最后，我的妻子送了我一個禮物，給我留下了一個空位，一個我愿意給你的空位。這是一個可以填滿的空白，一個寫下自己故事的自由和許可。

Here is your empty space. What will you do with your own fresh start?

這就是你的空位。而你，會如何對待自己的嶄新開始呢?