Mothering Without My Mom懷念母親，傳承母愛

莉茲·克里莫

10 years after my mom died， my daughter was born. I thought Id reached the bottom of my grief. I was wrong. 媽媽去世十年之后，我的女兒出生了。我本以為自己已走出了悲傷，然而我錯(cuò)了。

My mom died on her 50th birthday. She had been diagnosed with breast cancer a few years prior， and though she put up a tremendous fight， she just couldnt ever seem to get ahead of it. The day she left us， we sat in my parents bedroom， which was filled with flowers and balloons， and read her birthday cards out loud. She took her last breath， and my siblings and I each took turns saying goodbye.

When we were done， we all walked outside and sat looking at the creek that ran through my parents backyard. A hummingbird buzzed by， and someone， I think it was my sister， said， “I bet thats mom.” It was as if that boundless energy and charisma shed had when she was healthy had finally been given back to her after so many months confined to her bed， and had taken the form of this lively little bird. Its impossible for me to see one now without thinking of her.

My mom was the sort of person who didnt want a big fuss made over her—unless， of course， the fuss was actually a big party where everyone had a great time and talked about how much they liked her. So， per her request， everyone wore funny hats to her funeral. There was also an open bar， a dance floor， and a DJ who played songs like “Consider me Gone” by Sting. （She always thought that would be a funny song to play at a funeral.） My mom never took herself too seriously. She just wanted everyone to be happy， and we loved her for it.

Even when I was upset with her for not letting me get a hotel room with my friends on prom night， or when she expressed disappointment that I couldnt bring my grades up， I still loved her so much. She listened to me without judgement. She respected my privacy， yet left her door wide open if I ever needed to talk. She encouraged my strengths and dismissed my weaknesses with humor： “Who cares if you dont have a great singing voice？ That doesnt mean you cant still sing！ Sing your heart out！”

She left us too soon， but she left her children with the memory of being loved unconditionally. I realized the best way to honor her memory was to find a way to love myself that much， even in her absence. What an incredible gift that has been.

Ten years after she died， I welcomed my own child into the world. I thought Id reached the bottom of my grief， but found I was actually sitting on a mountain of1 feelings I didnt even realize were there. Initially， I was just angry. Angry that this new person would never get to know her wonderful grandmother. Angry that I couldnt pick up the phone and ask my mom how she handled this or that. I wanted her to say to me， “You used to do that， too！ You were such a pain in the ass.” I missed her levity2， I missed her love. I just missed her.

When I was done feeling sorry for myself， I started feeling something new： panic. How do I give my daughter what my mom managed to give me？ Can I？ My mom was so much fun. Shed sing with us， and dance with us， and bake with us， and laugh with us. Am I fun？ Sometimes I think I am. Im usually the first person on the dance floor， but Im also the first person to leave the party. I hate baking; its too messy. I hate a messy house and I cant cope with chaos. Our house growing up was the definition of chaos： always filled with people， and always a disaster. As a kid， I loved that. It felt so warm， easygoing and comfortable. Could I be easygoing like that， or does our house feel sterile3？ Do I have the warmth she had—the warmth that made me feel so loved？ Will my daughter feel as loved as I did？

One important thing Ive realized as a mom： My own mom wasnt perfect. I remember her as perfect， but not because she did everything right. Like all parents， shed have bad days when her patience was paper-thin and she would make her frustration known.

Like me， Im sure she had her doubts about whether she was going to screw her kids up somehow. Still， to me， she was perfect， and the reason for that was simple： She made a conscious choice to get to know me， to connect4 with me， and to always make me feel safe and loved. Thats it. In a way， its the easiest thing in the world to do as a parent， but on the other hand， its easy to forget since we put so much pressure on ourselves to do everything right all the time.

Im not sure if its having a child of my own or just getting older and learning more about myself， but every day I feel like Im getting to know my mom in a new way. I still miss her so much， but I feel like shes still here with me. When my daughter is kind， I know that in a way her kindness started with my mom. Shes always the first to notice when another person feels sad， or scared， or lonely， and makes sure that person feels seen， just like her grandma did.

When my daughter is sad， its easier for me to acknowledge what that sadness might feel like， because I had someone who always took the time to acknowledge my feelings. While my friends parents would write off the angsty5 music their kids loved， my mom would listen to it with me and try to understand why I loved it so much （and then insist on coming with me to the concert）. And when my daughter is silly， I can hear my mom saying “Shes just like you. God， you were so weird.”

I see all of these things in myself， and in my daughter—this lively， loving， charismatic little girl—and think to myself， “Thats mom.” I realize this， and I can almost see my mom smiling as if she were standing right there with me. And I smile too.? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ■

媽媽在她50歲生日那天去世。幾年前她確診乳腺癌，雖然她與病魔奮力搏斗，但似乎一直落于下風(fēng)。她離開我們的那一天，我們坐在爸媽擺滿鮮花與氣球的臥室里，朗讀她的生日賀卡。她臨終前，我和兄弟姐妹輪流跟她作最后道別。

告別結(jié)束后，我們?nèi)甲叩酵饷?，坐下來，看著流過爸媽后院的小溪。一只蜂鳥嗡嗡飛過，有人（我想是妹妹）說：“我敢肯定那是媽媽?！彼坪鯆寢尳】禃r(shí)擁有的無盡能量與魅力在她長期臥床之后又回到她身上，化身為這只活潑小鳥?，F(xiàn)在我每當(dāng)看見蜂鳥就會(huì)想起她。

媽媽是那種不愿意引起別人過分關(guān)注的人——當(dāng)然，如果這種關(guān)注是一個(gè)人人盡興的大派對，每個(gè)人都在討論他們有多喜歡她，則另當(dāng)別論。因此，根據(jù)她的要求，出席葬禮的每個(gè)人都戴了滑稽的帽子。葬禮還設(shè)有開放酒吧、舞池，還請了位DJ放著斯汀《就當(dāng)我走了》之類的歌。（她一直認(rèn)為這首歌在葬禮上放將會(huì)非常搞笑。）媽媽從來不會(huì)端著架子，她只是想讓所有人都開心，而我們正是愛她這一點(diǎn)。

就算是畢業(yè)舞會(huì)之夜她不讓我跟朋友們開房狂歡盡興讓我很生她的氣，抑或在我成績上不來時(shí)她表現(xiàn)出失望，我仍然非常愛她。她不帶評判之心地傾聽我的想法。她尊重我的隱私，但自己的房門總是敞開，以便我隨時(shí)可以找她談心。她鼓勵(lì)我發(fā)揚(yáng)優(yōu)點(diǎn)，又用幽默將我的缺點(diǎn)輕描淡寫：“就算你沒有副好嗓子，誰在乎呢？又不是不能唱！盡情唱唄！”

她過早地離開了我們，但是留給子女們無條件被愛的回憶。我認(rèn)識(shí)到，紀(jì)念她的最好方式就是同樣無條件地愛自己，即使她已不在。這真是一份最棒的禮物。

她去世十年之后，我迎來了自己的孩子。我本以為自己已走出了悲傷，卻發(fā)現(xiàn)我其實(shí)累積了很多情緒，而之前根本沒意識(shí)到這些情緒的存在。起初，我只是生氣，生氣這個(gè)娃娃不可能有機(jī)會(huì)認(rèn)識(shí)她有趣的外婆，生氣我在遇到種種情況時(shí)無法打電話給媽媽討教如何處理。我想讓她對我說：“你當(dāng)年也這樣！也是個(gè)難搞的娃?！蔽蚁肽钏呐e重若輕，我想念她的愛。我就是想她了。

等這一輪自怨自艾結(jié)束后，我又有了新的情緒：恐慌。我如何把媽媽所給予我的再傳給女兒？我能嗎？媽媽是如此地有趣。她會(huì)和我們一起唱歌跳舞做烘焙，和我們一起開懷大笑。我有趣嗎？有時(shí)候我覺得自己是個(gè)有趣的人。我通常頭一個(gè)跳進(jìn)舞池，但也是第一個(gè)離開聚會(huì)的。我討厭烘焙，因?yàn)闀?huì)把廚房搞得太亂。我討厭凌亂的家，我無法容忍混亂。我們從小長大的家就完美詮釋了混亂一詞：總是擠滿了人，總是災(zāi)難現(xiàn)場的樣子。孩提時(shí)我喜歡那種環(huán)境：溫暖、自在又舒適。我能有那么隨和嗎，還是說我們的家會(huì)了無生氣？我有她的溫暖天性嗎，那種讓我感覺被深深愛著的溫暖？我的女兒會(huì)像我一樣有那種被愛的感受嗎？

成為媽媽后我意識(shí)到重要的一點(diǎn)：我的媽媽并不完美。記憶中的她是完美的，但不是因?yàn)樗龅拿考露际钦_的。正如所有的父母一樣，她也有不順心的日子，那些日子里她的耐心有如紙一般薄，而且會(huì)把她的負(fù)面情緒寫在臉上。

像我一樣，我很確定她也曾懷疑自己是否會(huì)不知怎的就毀了孩子。然而對我來說，她仍是完美的，原因很簡單：她特意去了解我，與我溝通，而且總讓我感到安全與被愛。就是這樣。從某種角度上講，作為父母，這是世上最容易做到的，然而也是容易忘記的，因?yàn)槲覀兘o自己太大壓力，要一直把所有事情全做對才行。

我不確定這究竟是因?yàn)橛辛俗约旱暮⒆?，還是隨著年齡增長我對自己的認(rèn)識(shí)在加深，但是每天我都感到自己正以新的角度去了解媽媽。我還是那么想念她，但我感覺她就在我身邊。當(dāng)我的女兒展現(xiàn)出善良的品質(zhì)時(shí)，我知道，這種善良其實(shí)來自于我的媽媽。她總是頭一個(gè)注意到別人的悲傷、恐懼或孤單，并且會(huì)讓那個(gè)人知道自己受到關(guān)注。這正如她的外婆當(dāng)年所做的一樣。

當(dāng)我的女兒悲傷時(shí)，我更容易認(rèn)識(shí)到那種悲傷是什么感覺，因?yàn)樵?jīng)有人總是有耐心去了解我的感受。我朋友的父母鄙視孩子們喜歡的格調(diào)憂郁的音樂，而我的媽媽則會(huì)跟我一起聽，試著去理解我為什么如此喜歡這種音樂（然后還非要跟我一起去聽演唱會(huì)）。當(dāng)我的女兒犯傻時(shí)，我仿佛聽到媽媽說，“她跟你太像了。天哪，你那時(shí)候脾氣真是怪”。

這些品質(zhì)和情緒，我在自己身上，在我女兒這個(gè)活潑、有愛心又充滿魅力的小姑娘身上，都能看到。我會(huì)自己琢磨：“這隨媽媽?！币庾R(shí)到這一點(diǎn)后，我好像可以看到媽媽就站在我旁邊向我微笑。于是我也笑了。? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?□

（譯者為“《英語世界》杯”翻譯大賽獲獎(jiǎng)?wù)撸?/p>

1 a mountain of大量的。? 2 levity以幽默應(yīng)對嚴(yán)肅的事，打趣。? 3 sterile缺乏新意的;無生氣的。

4 connect與……建立良好關(guān)系。

5 angsty焦慮的，煩憂的。