記憶的珍愛源泉

At the same time my 44-year-old husband， Ed， was losing his life， my mother was losing her ability to remember. As Ed’s lungs filled with cancer， Mom’s brain was becoming tangled[紊亂的] in plaque[色斑]. She forgot how to start the car， whether or not she had eaten， and which family members had died—including my father.

I became afraid that one day I， too， would be unable

to recall my husband， not because of Alzheimer’s[老人癡呆癥]， but simply because my memory of him might fade. So from the day of Ed’s diagnosis[診斷] until his death a year later， I set out to memorize him: his crooked[不老實(shí)的] smile and vigorous[用力的] embrace， his woodsy[像樹林的] smell and the way he cleared his throat when he reached the top of the stairs. I knew I’d always be able to recite his qualities—kind， gentle， smart， funny—but I wanted to be able to conjure up[想象出] the physical man in my mind， as fully as possible， when he was gone.

Back then， I thought memory was a deliberate[蓄意的]， cognitive[認(rèn)知的] process， like remembering multiplication tables[乘法口訣表]， or lyrics， or where the keys were. Unable to rescue Ed from cancer， I was determined to save him from the only thing worse than dying: being forgotten.

正當(dāng)我44歲的丈夫埃德的生命不斷接近終點(diǎn)時，我的媽媽也漸漸記不起事來了。埃德患了肺癌，媽媽的大腦則成了混亂的斑塊。她不記得怎樣發(fā)動汽車，不記得自己吃過飯沒有，也不記得哪些家庭成員早已離世——包括我的父親。

我開始害怕有一天我也會不記得自己的丈夫，不是因?yàn)槔夏臧V呆癥，僅僅是因?yàn)槲覍λ挠洃浛赡軙u漸褪色。因此，從埃德確診那天開始，直到一年后他離世的這段時間里，我開始盡力記住他的一切：他那壞壞的笑容和有力的擁抱，他身上的林木氣息，以及他爬完樓梯總要清清嗓子的模樣。我知道自己總會記得他的品質(zhì)——和善、溫柔、聰明、風(fēng)趣——但我希望在他離去之后，自己還能盡可能全面地在腦海中重現(xiàn)他的實(shí)體。

那時，我以為記憶是一個刻意的認(rèn)知過程，就像背乘法表、記歌詞或是記住鑰匙在哪里那樣。我無法從癌魔手里救回埃德，但我決心將他從唯一比死亡更糟糕的事情中解救出來——那就是被遺忘。

Later I learned that memory has a will of its own. You can’t control it any more than you can influence the weather. When it springs up， a person loved and lost is found， if only for a few seconds.

Recently when I was driving， I had a deep and sudden sense of Ed and the way it felt to have him next to me in the car. My body softened as it used to when we were together seven years ago， living a shared life. I wasn’t remembering his face or the way he walked; the careful details I had stored had nothing to do with this moment in the car. Looking in the rearview mirror[后視鏡]， I recognized in my own face the same look I once saw on my mother’s face in the nursing home. I had asked her a question about my father， and she became confused about his identity. Yet， as she sat there， dressed in a shapeless polyester[滌綸] outfit， she briefly appeared young and radiant[發(fā)光的]. Her face filled with love， and her eyes misty. Her brain couldn’t label the man correctly， but that wasn’t important. It was clear to me that her husband was vivid in her heart， a memory even Alzheimer’s could not crush.

I believe there is a difference between memory and remembering. Remembering has to do with turning the oven off before leaving the house， but memory is nurtured by emotion. It springs from a deeper well， safe from dementia[癡呆] and the passage of time.

后來我才發(fā)現(xiàn)記憶并不以人的意志為轉(zhuǎn)移。你無法控制它，就像你無法影響天氣一樣。當(dāng)記憶之泉噴涌而出時，你就能找回業(yè)已失去的摯愛，哪怕只有短短幾秒鐘。

最近，我正在開車，突然很強(qiáng)烈地感覺到埃德，仿佛他就在車?yán)铮谖疑磉?。就像七年前我們一起生活時那樣，我的身體放松下來了。我并沒有在回憶他的模樣或者他走路的樣子；我細(xì)心珍藏的細(xì)節(jié)都與車中這一刻沒有一點(diǎn)關(guān)系。透過后視鏡，我在自己的臉上看到了媽媽的表情——有一次在療養(yǎng)院，我在媽媽臉上見過一模一樣的表情。我問了她一個關(guān)于父親的問題，她并不知道他是誰。但她坐在那里，穿著松垮的滌綸外套，那一瞬間卻顯得如此年輕，光彩照人，臉上飽含愛意，眼神夢幻迷離。她的大腦無法準(zhǔn)確識別這個人，但那并不重要。我知道她的丈夫鮮活地留在她的心里，這種記憶，即便是老年癡呆癥也無法磨滅。

我相信“記憶”和“記得”并不是一回事?！坝浀谩笔侵赋鲩T前要關(guān)掉爐灶之類的，而“記憶”則要靠感情滋養(yǎng)。它從更深的源泉噴涌而出，不會因?yàn)榘V呆癥或是時間的流逝而減退消亡。