当告别的时刻来临，我要这样送你离开

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，總会与最亲的人经历生离死别。当告别的时刻来临，我们该怎样度过？

“我能看一下您的证件吗？”

我递上自己的驾照，看着那位身穿边疆航空公司制服的女人分别按着证件上的照片和名字，比对着我的脸和登机牌上的姓名。

她微笑着将证件递还给我，“您是去过周末的吗？”

啊，这么说她注意到了我的目的地，内华达州的拉斯维加斯。一个有无数狂野周末的去处，遍布疯狂的照片和传奇的故事。

要是那样就好了。

“不是，”我哽咽了一下，几乎是悄声说道，“我是去告别的。”

话音刚落，我就后悔自己太过坦白了，竟对一个可能并不懂我的陌生人毫无保留。这悲痛是我自己的，不是她的。

我无法停止倾诉。

“我的爸爸病了，现在到了临终的时刻，我要去陪他。”

她停了下来，没再往传送带上拖拽行李，也没再核对人们的证件、打印行李票。有那么一刻，她只关注着我。

“噢，亲爱的，我很抱歉。”她脸上的痛苦表明她能理解，“我了解去告别是怎样的感受。”

六天前——深刻而短暂的六天——我得知我的爸爸大限将至。最多一个月，医生这样说。把这些词敲出来很艰难，读起来也很艰难。你无法想象我为此有多么悲痛。

然而，尽管我不愿写一篇令人尴尬且充满情绪的博文，但这就是现实生活。我们用尽全力，也无人能逃脱。我们活得越久，就会面对越多的生离死别。

这就是我为什么必须、务必、一定要告诉你们下面这些事。

临终的过程是神圣的过程。当生命的美好遭遇死亡的现实，一切无聊琐碎的事情都会渐渐淡去，留下的只有神圣的东西。我的妈妈、兄弟和我现在所经历的无异于神迹。天堂已经俯下身来与我们见面，我们中有一个人要回家了，其他人将会留守。但我们所有人都将不再是从前的样子。endprint

因此，接下来的一个月里我不会再写太多博文（如果不是一篇都不写的话）。相反，我会尽我所能去做好道别。对于那个即将离开我们的人以及那些还在的人，我正在学习去爱，学习以一种能带来平和与欣喜的方式、一种难以道清的方式去放手。下面就是我们拥抱痛苦离别的方式。

我们痛哭。无须赘言，哭泣是道别过程中必不可少的。让我感到意外的是那突如其来的决堤。当我看到我的苹果平板电脑上“与朋友填字”的App图标，知道我们永远无法一起再玩一局的时候，当我想到9月雅各布（编注：作者的儿子）高中毕业典礼上那张空荡荡的椅子的时候，当我告诉我的孩子们外公有多么爱他们的时候，哦，是的，我哭了。因为爸爸的生命值得我们泪流成海。

我们大笑。从我记事起，我们家就一直用冰淇淋来庆祝假期、足球季和学业所成，尤其是會去吃Dairy Queen （DQ）冰淇淋。事实上，我们从来不需要理由。定期去吃DQ一直是我们家庭故事的一部分。这就是为什么爸爸在头脑清醒时让我们在他的葬礼上提供DQ的迪力棒雪糕时，我们都毫不吃惊。我们点头大笑，想着他的建议真是荒谬得完美。他可能即将离世，但是他拒绝停止微笑。我们不能不如他。

我们铭记。每一天早晚，在医院的家属陪护病房里，我们簇拥在爸爸的病床前。我们回忆起每次去明尼苏达州的垂钓之旅。我们聊起修剪圣诞树的情形，聊起许许多多个家庭游戏之夜，聊起那次去肯塔基湖的疯狂之旅，并亲切地称之为“史上最差家庭出游”。我们聊着那些美好的、糟糕的、快乐的、悲伤的事情，因为所有这些记忆都是黏合剂，让我们成为一个家庭。有趣的是，在回忆中，我们看到了祝福。所有这些痛苦都只是爱的证明。

我们歌唱。我们永远不想听到医生说出这句话：“我们已经无能为力了。”这话听起来很伤人。我曾经想尖叫，想用力扔东西。但是爸爸不是这样。当医生告知确诊结果时，他只是闭上双眼，开始唱歌：“当远方开始点名时，我会在那里报到！”没错，爸爸，面对生命中最糟糕的事情，我们仍然能够选择歌唱。

感谢大家允许我离开一段时间。几周之后，我会回来继续写作，一如既往。爸爸也不会希望我从此辍笔。

但是，目前，我需要和那个让我成为今天的我的男人一起痛哭、大笑、回忆和歌唱。临终需要这些。我想告别之后，在另一个世界生活也需要这些。

3. schlep [?lep] vt. （费力或不方便地）携带，搬运，拖曳

4. conveyor belt： 传送带

5. frivolous [?fr?v?l?s] adj. 无聊的；无用的

6. holy [?h??li] adj. 神圣的

7. nothing short of： 与……等同，相似

8. stoop [stu?p] vi. 弯腰；俯身

9. inexplicable [??n?k?spl?k?bl] adj. 无法说明的；费解的

10. Dairy Queen： 一个冰淇淋品牌，简称DQ。

11. lucid [?lu?s?d] adj. （病后或糊涂过后）清醒的，头脑清楚的，思路清晰的

12. Dilly Bar： 迪力棒，DQ的一款雪糕产品。

13. hurl [h??l] vt. 猛投；用力掷

14. verdict [?v??d?kt] n. （经过思考或调查后的）意见，结论

15. yonder [?j?nd?（r）] adv. （over there的过时或方言用语）那里，那边endprint