再見(jiàn)，我的“野蠻”婆婆

As she lay there in the hospital bed， I stared at her 1)gaunt， 2)sunken face and willed her to open her eyes. Her 3)blistered mouth hung open allowing a 4)shallow moan to escape 5)every so often—she looked like a 6)shrunken version of herself. An old woman well beyond her 71 years.

In four months this is what she has become—this 7)feisty， daily exercising， overly 8)opinionated， strong willed， world traveling woman has been eaten from the inside out by cancer. Four months! It is a shock that’s difficult for me to 9)wrap my brain around. It makes me want to tell everyone I love that I love them.

I study her face and will her to open her eyes. What will I say if she does? In the 20 years I have known this woman， I have struggled to understand her， battled her opinions， endured her criticisms， and loved her son 10)beyond measure. I think of all the times I have wanted to make her disappear. All the times I thought about what I would feel when she was gone. Relief， joy， guilt， nothing?

I think of my children who saved me from truly hating her. Earlier that day， I watched my 12-year-old who has 11)autism， whom she loved fiercely， almost obsessively. He sat on the edge of her bed and studied her face searching for his beloved “Bubbe” and wondering if she’d ever return. Austin caught her awake and looked her right in the eye—not an easy task for him. A boy of few words he said without 12)prompt， “I love you Bubbe， I hope you get better.” His words pierced my heart for I know she is not getting better.

Would she hear my silent plea and open her eyes? She is so stubborn and never cares what others think—always doing whatever she wants regardless of what others think or feel. I know this is how she is and how she will be until she takes her last breath. Will she grant me this wish and let me see what I’ll do， how I’ll feel， what I’ll say? Not yet. She decides to leave me to my thoughts.

My mind 13)meanders through the past twenty years. I realize how fragile she was when we first met only one month after her husband had died suddenly. Remembering a story she told me about her husband bringing her daffodils makes me see her through his eyes. I think of the love and attention she 14)showers on my sons and I see her through their eyes. Her stories of her childhood and her father’s unstable income makes me see why she pushes my husband to make more money. I remember her anger when we initially kept Austin’s diagnosis from her—she could not see that we needed time to adjust. 15)Blinded by her hurt of not feeling needed， she yelled “My son thinks I’m stupid!” at me in the middle of the mall that day.

All those years of feeling inadequate in her eyes. All those years of thinking her opinions and criticisms made her strong melt away in my realization that she is human. Flawed and vulnerable and 16)needy and now dying. I stare at this woman I hardly recognize and will her to open her eyes. She does and we stare at each other， the rest of the room 17)falls away.

What do I feel in this moment I’ve imagined?

Gratitude...and so I thank her. I thank her for raising a son who is the most wonderful husband and father. I thank her for her generosity that made it possible for us to begin our marriage debt free， buy our first home， and enjoy trips of a lifetime with our children. I thank her for loving my sons fiercely and unconditionally. I thank her for taking the time to learn about autism and for becoming one of a select few who have truly connected with Austin. I thank her for teaching me how to care a little less about what others think. I thank her for loving me for I know that she does even if she doesn’t always know how to show it. I thank her for teaching me that life is precious and short. I thank her for helping me realize it is good that I 18)wear my heart on my sleeve and know each day that I make sure my husband and children feel that I am proud of them and that they are loved—things that were not easy for her to do.

She thanks me for taking care of her， for loving her son， and for being a good mother to her grandsons. She tells me she hopes she’ll die soon and be at peace and thanks me for being the person to whom this can be revealed. I leave her with a kiss and a deep sadness I never expected.

她躺在醫(yī)院的病床上，我凝視著她憔悴而凹陷的臉龐，期望她能睜開(kāi)眼睛。她腫脹的嘴微張著，不時(shí)發(fā)出一絲微弱的呻吟——此時(shí)的她看上去就像是健康時(shí)的她的縮小版。71歲的她看上去比實(shí)際年齡老多了。

只不過(guò)四個(gè)月時(shí)間，她就變成了這副模樣——這個(gè)原本個(gè)性強(qiáng)悍、天天運(yùn)動(dòng)、極度固執(zhí)、意志堅(jiān)強(qiáng)且已走遍世界的女人卻已被癌癥由內(nèi)到外啃噬殆盡。四個(gè)月而已!這帶給我的震驚讓我難以接受。這讓我想要對(duì)每一個(gè)我愛(ài)的人說(shuō)，我愛(ài)他們。

我仔細(xì)看著她的臉，期望她能睜開(kāi)眼睛。可如果她真的醒了，我會(huì)說(shuō)些什么呢?在與這個(gè)女人相識(shí)的這20年里，我一直努力去理解她，與她的意見(jiàn)相抗衡，忍受她的批評(píng)，并無(wú)比深?lèi)?ài)著她的兒子。我想到所有那些我希望她消失的時(shí)刻，所有那些我思考著如果她離開(kāi)了我會(huì)有什么感受的時(shí)刻。如釋重負(fù)?高興?內(nèi)疚?還是沒(méi)感覺(jué)?

我想起了我的孩子們，是他們令我不至于真的去恨她。那天的早些時(shí)候，我看見(jiàn)我那12歲的孩子，他患有自閉癥，可她極其溺愛(ài)他，甚至寵他寵得不能自已。他坐在她的床邊，端詳著她的臉龐，尋找他心愛(ài)的“布比”，想知道她到底會(huì)不會(huì)回來(lái)。奧斯丁發(fā)現(xiàn)她醒了，于是直視著她的眼睛——這對(duì)他來(lái)說(shuō)并不容易。作為一個(gè)寡言少語(yǔ)的男孩，他不待提醒就立刻說(shuō)道:“我愛(ài)你，布比，我希望你能好起來(lái)。”他的話刺痛了我的心，因?yàn)槲抑浪僖膊粫?huì)好起來(lái)了。

她是否能聽(tīng)到我無(wú)聲的祈求，并睜開(kāi)她的眼睛呢?她總是如此固執(zhí)，從不關(guān)心他人的想法——總是做她想做的事情，不顧他人的想法或感受。……