鏡子背后

When I was a little girl， we lived in New York City just down the block from my grandparents. Every evening my grandfather would go for his constitutional， and sometimes I would join him.

One evening when grandpa and I went for our walk， I asked how things were different when he was a little boy. He told me about outhouses instead of flush toilets， horses instead of cars， letters instead of telephones， and candles instead of electric lights. While he told me all the wonderful things I had never thought of， my little mind wandered. Then I asked him， “Grandpa， what was the hardest thing you ever had to do in your life?”

Grandpa stopped walking， stared at the horizon， and said nothing for a minute or so. Then he knelt down， took my hands， and with tears in his eyes began to speak:

“When your mom and her brothers were little children， grandma got very sick and in order to get well， she had to go to a place called a sanitarium for a long time. I had no one to take care of your mom and uncles while I worked， so they went to an orphanage. The nuns took care of them for me while I worked two and three jobs to get your grandma well and everyone home again.”

“The hardest thing I ever had to do was put them in there. I went every week to see them， but the nuns wouldn’t let me talk to them or hold them. I watched the three of them play from behind a one-way mirror. I brought them sweets every week， hoping they knew it was from me. I would keep both hands on the glass， hoping they would come and touch my hand.”

“I went a whole year without touching my children. I missed them very much. But I know it was a harder year for them. I will never forgive myself for not making the nuns let me hold them. But they said it would do them more harm than good and that they would have even more trouble living there. So I listened.”

I had never see my grandfather cry before. He held me close， and I told him I had the best grandfather ever and I loved him.

Fifteen years went by， and I never talked about that one special walk with grandpa. We continued our walks for years， until my family and grandparents moved to separate states.

After my grandmother passed away， my grandfather experienced periods of depression. I begged my mother to invite grandpa to come and live with us， but she refused.

I kept harping， “It’s our duty as a family to figure out what is best for him.

In a fit of rage， she snapped， “Why? He never cared about what happended to us!”

I knew what she was talking about. “He has always cared about and loved you，” I said. My mother replied，“You don’t know what you’ve talking about!”

“The hardest thing he ever did was put you and Uncles Eddie and Kevin in the orphanage.”“Who told you about that ?” she asked.

My mother had never discussed her days there with us.

“Mom， he came every week to see the three of you. He used to watch you play from behind the one-way mirror. He brought you sweets every time he visited. He never missed a week. He hated not being able to hold you for that year!”

“You’ve lying! He was never there. No one ever came to see us.”

“How would I know about the visits if he didn’t tell me? How would I know about the sweets he brought? He was there. He was always there. But the nuns wouldn’t let him be in the room with you， because they said it would be too hard when he had to leave. Mom， grandpa loves you， and he always has!”

Grandpa assumed that his children knew he was there behind the glass， but because they had not felt the warmth and strength of his arms， he thought they had forgotten his visits. Meanwhile， my mother and her brothers assumed grandpa had never come to visit. Telling my mother the truth changed her relationship with grandpa. She learned that her father had always loved her， and grandpa came to live with us for the rest of his life.

當我還是一個小女孩的時候，我們家住在紐約市里，和外公外婆家只相隔一個街區。外公每天晚上都會出去散步鍛煉身體，有時我也會跟著他去。

一天晚上，我和外公像往常一樣去散步，我問起他小時候的生活是怎樣的。他告訴我，那時候沒有抽水馬桶，人們要到戶外上廁所；沒有汽車，人們外出都要騎馬；沒有電話，人們靠寫信保持聯系；沒有電燈，人們都使用蠟燭。聽著這些我從沒想過的新鮮事情，我不禁浮想聯翩。過了一會，我問他：“外公，你一生中做過的最艱難的事情是什么？”

外公停住腳步，眼睛望著遠方，一句話也沒說，就這樣過了好一會兒。之后，他彎下腰，握著我的手，含著眼淚對我說：

“你媽媽和你的兩個舅舅還很小的時候，外婆病得很嚴重。為了治好外婆的病，她必須去一個叫療養院的地方養病一段很長的時間。我工作的時候就沒人照顧你媽媽和你的舅舅們，所以我只好把他們送到一個孤兒院，讓那里的修女幫我照顧他們。我做著兩三份工作，以便早點把外婆和你媽媽他們接回家。”

“我一生中最艱難的事情就是把他們留在孤兒院。每個星期我都去看他們，可是修女不讓我跟他們說話，也不讓我抱他們。我只能在一面單面透視鏡后面看著他們三個玩耍。每個星期我都給他們帶一些糖果，希望他們知道這是我買給他們的。我把兩只手放在鏡子上，盼著他們跑過來觸摸我的手。”

“就這樣過了一整年，我沒有抱過我的孩子，我很想念他們。不過我知道這種日子對他們來說更加艱難。我無法原諒我自己沒有說服修女讓我去抱他們。她們說那樣對小孩產生的負面影響會更大，令他們更難適應在孤兒院的生活。為了孩子，我只好聽她們的。”

我從沒見外公流過淚。他緊緊地抱著我，我告訴他，他是世界上最好的外公，我愛我的外公。

十五年過去了，我從沒跟別人提起那次和外公特別的散步。我們堅持散步了很多年，直到我們和外公外婆搬到不同的州居住。

外婆去世后，外公有一段時間很消沉。我請求媽媽接外公過來和我們一起住，但是她拒絕了。

于是我在她身邊不停地說：“作為親人我們有責任幫他安排最好的生活。”

媽媽勃然大怒，她厲聲說道：“憑什么？他根本就不在乎我們發生了什么事！”

我明白她的意思。“他一直都很在乎你，愛你。”我說。媽媽答道：“你根本就不知道發生了什么事！”

“最令他痛苦的事情就是把你、埃迪舅舅和凱文舅舅送到孤兒院。” “誰告訴你的？”媽媽問道。

媽媽從來沒有跟我們提起她在那里的生活。

“媽媽，外公每個星期都會去看你們三個。他站在鏡子后面看你們玩，他每次去還給你們帶糖果。他一個星期都沒落下。他至今還為那一年沒有抱過你們耿耿于懷！”

“你撒謊！他從來沒去過那里。沒有一個人去看過我們。”

“如果外公沒跟我說過，我怎么會知道呢？我又怎么知道他給你們帶了糖果？他在那里，他每次都在那里。只是修女不讓他和你們見面，因為這樣一來分別的場景會令大家都很難受。媽媽，外公是愛你的，一直以來都是如此！”

外公一直以為他的三個孩子知道他在鏡子后面，但是由于他們感受不到他溫暖有力的臂膀，他以為孩子們已經忘記了這件事情。而媽媽和她的兩個弟弟卻以為外公從來沒有去看望他們。我把這件事情告訴媽媽，改變了她和外公的關系。她明白到原來她的父親是一直愛著她的。她把外公接來和我們一起住，讓他安度余生。