當告別的時刻來臨，我要這樣送你離開

By+Michele+Cushatt

"Can I see your ID？"

I handed over my driver's license， and watched as the woman in a Frontier Airlines uniform compared the photo and name to my face and boarding pass.

She smiled and returned my ID. "Are you going for a fun weekend？"

Ah， so she'd noticed my destination. Las Vegas， NV. The place of so many wild weekends. The stuff of crazy photos and legendary stories.

If only.

"No." I swallowed， almost whispered. "I'm going to say goodbye."

The minute the words were out， I regretted the confession， my raw disclosure1） to a stranger who couldn't possibly understand. The grief was mine， not hers.

I couldn't stop talking.

"My dad is sick. Hospice2） is coming. I'm going to be with him."

She stopped schlepping3） bags on the conveyor belt4）. Stopped checking IDs and printing baggage receipts. For just a moment， she saw only me.

"Oh， honey. I'm sorry." The pain on her face revealed evidence of understanding. "I know what it's like to say goodbye."

Six days ago—six profoundly short days—I found out my Dad is dying. A month， at most， the doctor said. These are tough words to type， tough words to read. You can't imagine how sorry I am for that.

But although I am unwilling to write an awkward and emotionally-charged post， this is real life. None of us can escape it， try as we might. The longer we live， the more we'll face our own goodbyes.

Which is why I must， must， must tell you this：

Dying space is sacred space. When the beauty of life meets the reality of death， all things frivolous5） fade and what is left is holy6）. What my mother， brother， and I are experiencing right now is nothing short of7） Divine. Heaven has stooped8） down to meet us. One of us will go home， the others will remain. But none of us will ever be the same.

Because of this， I won't be blogging much （if at all） over the next month. Instead， I'm doing my best to say goodbye. I'm learning to love and let go in a way that brings peace and joy， in inexplicable9） measure， to the one who leaves as well as the ones who remain. This is how we're embracing our painful goodbye：

We Cry. It goes without saying that weeping is part of the process. What surprises me is the unpredictability of the flood. When I saw the Words with Friends icon on my iPad and know we'll never share another game together. When I thought about the empty chair at Jacob's high school graduation in 9 months. When I tell my little ones how much their Grandpa loves them. Oh yes， I cry. Because daddy's life is worthy of an ocean.endprint

We Laugh. For as long as I can remember， my family celebrated every vacation， soccer season， academic accomplishment with ice cream. Dairy Queen10） （DQ）， in particular. In fact， we never needed a reason. Regular trips to DQ were always part of our family's story. Which is why we weren't surprised when， during a lucid11） moment， Dad told us to serve Dilly Bars12） at his funeral. We nodded and laughed， thinking how ridiculously perfect his suggestion was. He may be dying， but he refuses to stop smiling. We can do no less.

We Remember. Morning and night， we gather around the hospital bed in the family room. We remember all those fishing trips to Minnesota. We talk about Christmas-tree cutting， family game nights， that crazy trip to Kentucky Lake which we lovingly refer to as "the worst family vacation ever". We talk about the good and bad， the happy and sad， because all those memories are the glue that made us a family. Funny thing is， in the remembering we see the blessing. All this pain is simply proof of love.

We Sing. We never expected to hear the doctor say the words， "There's nothing more we can do." It hurt to hear. I wanted to scream and hurl13） something. But not dad. When the doctor delivered the verdict14）， he simply closed his eyes and started to sing： "When the roll is called up yonder15）， I'll be there！" Yes， Dad. When faced with the worst of life， we can still choose to sing.

Thank you for allowing me to withdraw for a time. In a couple weeks， I'll be back to writing， just as before. Dad wouldn't want it any other way.

But， for now， I need to cry， laugh， remember and sing with the man who helped make me the woman I am today. Death requires it. I think life on the other side of the goodbye requires it as well.

人生在世，總會與最親的人經歷生離死別。當告別的時刻來臨，我們該怎樣度過？

“我能看一下您的證件嗎？”

我遞上自己的駕照，看著那位身穿邊疆航空公司制服的女人分別按著證件上的照片和名字，比對著我的臉和登機牌上的姓名。

她微笑著將證件遞還給我，“您是去過周末的嗎？”

啊，這么說她注意到了我的目的地，內華達州的拉斯維加斯。一個有無數狂野周末的去處，遍布瘋狂的照片和傳奇的故事。

要是那樣就好了。

“不是，”我哽咽了一下，幾乎是悄聲說道，“我是去告別的?！?/p>

話音剛落，我就后悔自己太過坦白了，竟對一個可能并不懂我的陌生人毫無保留。這悲痛是我自己的，不是她的。

我無法停止傾訴。

“我的爸爸病了，現在到了臨終的時刻，我要去陪他?！?/p>

她停了下來，沒再往傳送帶上拖拽行李，也沒再核對人們的證件、打印行李票。有那么一刻，她只關注著我。

“噢，親愛的，我很抱歉?！彼樕系耐纯啾砻魉芾斫?，“我了解去告別是怎樣的感受?！?/p>

六天前——深刻而短暫的六天——我得知我的爸爸大限將至。最多一個月，醫生這樣說。把這些詞敲出來很艱難，讀起來也很艱難。你無法想象我為此有多么悲痛。

然而，盡管我不愿寫一篇令人尷尬且充滿情緒的博文，但這就是現實生活。我們用盡全力，也無人能逃脫。我們活得越久，就會面對越多的生離死別。

這就是我為什么必須、務必、一定要告訴你們下面這些事。

臨終的過程是神圣的過程。當生命的美好遭遇死亡的現實，一切無聊瑣碎的事情都會漸漸淡去，留下的只有神圣的東西。我的媽媽、兄弟和我現在所經歷的無異于神跡。天堂已經俯下身來與我們見面，我們中有一個人要回家了，其他人將會留守。但我們所有人都將不再是從前的樣子。endprint

因此，接下來的一個月里我不會再寫太多博文（如果不是一篇都不寫的話）。相反，我會盡我所能去做好道別。對于那個即將離開我們的人以及那些還在的人，我正在學習去愛，學習以一種能帶來平和與欣喜的方式、一種難以道清的方式去放手。下面就是我們擁抱痛苦離別的方式。

我們痛哭。無須贅言，哭泣是道別過程中必不可少的。讓我感到意外的是那突如其來的決堤。當我看到我的蘋果平板電腦上“與朋友填字”的App圖標，知道我們永遠無法一起再玩一局的時候，當我想到9月雅各布（編注：作者的兒子）高中畢業典禮上那張空蕩蕩的椅子的時候，當我告訴我的孩子們外公有多么愛他們的時候，哦，是的，我哭了。因為爸爸的生命值得我們淚流成海。

我們大笑。從我記事起，我們家就一直用冰淇淋來慶祝假期、足球季和學業所成，尤其是會去吃Dairy Queen （DQ）冰淇淋。事實上，我們從來不需要理由。定期去吃DQ一直是我們家庭故事的一部分。這就是為什么爸爸在頭腦清醒時讓我們在他的葬禮上提供DQ的迪力棒雪糕時，我們都毫不吃驚。我們點頭大笑，想著他的建議真是荒謬得完美。他可能即將離世，但是他拒絕停止微笑。我們不能不如他。

我們銘記。每一天早晚，在醫院的家屬陪護病房里，我們簇擁在爸爸的病床前。我們回憶起每次去明尼蘇達州的垂釣之旅。我們聊起修剪圣誕樹的情形，聊起許許多多個家庭游戲之夜，聊起那次去肯塔基湖的瘋狂之旅，并親切地稱之為“史上最差家庭出游”。我們聊著那些美好的、糟糕的、快樂的、悲傷的事情，因為所有這些記憶都是黏合劑，讓我們成為一個家庭。有趣的是，在回憶中，我們看到了祝福。所有這些痛苦都只是愛的證明。

我們歌唱。我們永遠不想聽到醫生說出這句話：“我們已經無能為力了?！边@話聽起來很傷人。我曾經想尖叫，想用力扔東西。但是爸爸不是這樣。當醫生告知確診結果時，他只是閉上雙眼，開始唱歌：“當遠方開始點名時，我會在那里報到！”沒錯，爸爸，面對生命中最糟糕的事情，我們仍然能夠選擇歌唱。

感謝大家允許我離開一段時間。幾周之后，我會回來繼續寫作，一如既往。爸爸也不會希望我從此輟筆。

但是，目前，我需要和那個讓我成為今天的我的男人一起痛哭、大笑、回憶和歌唱。臨終需要這些。我想告別之后，在另一個世界生活也需要這些。

3. schlep [?lep] vt. （費力或不方便地）攜帶，搬運，拖曳

4. conveyor belt： 傳送帶

5. frivolous [?fr?v?l?s] adj. 無聊的；無用的

6. holy [?h??li] adj. 神圣的

7. nothing short of： 與……等同，相似

8. stoop [stu?p] vi. 彎腰；俯身

9. inexplicable [??n?k?spl?k?bl] adj. 無法說明的；費解的

10. Dairy Queen： 一個冰淇淋品牌，簡稱DQ。

11. lucid [?lu?s?d] adj. （病后或糊涂過后）清醒的，頭腦清楚的，思路清晰的

12. Dilly Bar： 迪力棒，DQ的一款雪糕產品。

13. hurl [h??l] vt. 猛投；用力擲

14. verdict [?v??d?kt] n. （經過思考或調查后的）意見，結論

15. yonder [?j?nd?（r）] adv. （over there的過時或方言用語）那里，那邊endprint