生命中更為重要的一課

Warm， friendly， attractive， gifted. That described Julie， one of my all-time favorite students from human development courses I taught at the University of Nebraska. She was a delightful person and an ideal student.

I remember Julie coming to the front of the classroom after class one autumn day in September 1976. While most of the other students hurriedly left to enjoy the 1）balmy weather or to relax at the student union， Julie remained to ask questions about the next week’s exam. She had obviously already done some serious studying. Several other students overheard her questions and joined our conversation. Julie’s 2）winsome personality drew people to her.

Julie never made it to the exam. The day after our conversation， she was tragically struck by a large concrete truck as she biked through an intersection near campus. I was stunned to hear that Julie lay unconscious and motionless in a hospital across town from the campus where only hours before she was talking with friends， laughing， making plans for the future.

Only minutes before the accident， Julie and her mother had enjoyed one of their 3）customary daily telephone conversations. Her mother recalls their last conversation. “Julie was so 4）bubbly. At a store near the campus， she had seen an 5）outfit she wanted to wear on a special date the next day. I told her to go ahead and buy it. She didn’t take her car because she would lose her parking place on campus. Instead， she jumped on her bike to go buy the new outfit. The accident happened just a short distance from the 6）sorority house where she lived.” My thoughts cried out to Julie—You cannot die， Julie！ You’re every professor’s dream—and every parent’s. You have so much to offer， so much to live for.

Nurses silently came and went from Julie’s room. Her parents stood nearby in quiet desperation. Then the attending physician entered the room， cleared his throat， and said to Julie’s parents and two brothers， “Your Julie has only a few hours to live.”He felt the freedom to ask，“Would you consider donating some of Julie’s organs？”

At that same hour in a neighboring state， Mary leaned forward， struggling to see better in her small， cluttered living room. Her eyes followed every movement of her lively two-year-old. This devoted mother was storing up memories to 7）savor when she could no longer see her child. Mary was going blind.

Several states away， John had almost finished six hours on the dialysis machine. This young father was reading to his two sons while his immobilized body was connected to a life-giving “artificial kidney.”Doctors had given him a grim 8）prognosis of only weeks to live. His only hope was a kidney transplant.

At the same time in the Lincoln， Nebraska， hospital， Julie’s grief-stricken parents 9）pondered the finality of the physician’s question. Their pretty 10）brunette， brown-eyed daughter had once said she wanted to be an organ donor in the event of her death. The two parents looked at each other briefly， the 11）anguish in their hearts reflected in their eyes. Then they turned to the physician and responded， “Yes. Julie always gave to others while she was alive. She would want to give in death.”

Within twenty-four hours， Mary was notified that she would receive one of Julie’s eyes， and John was told to start preparing for a kidney transplant. Julie’s other organs would give life and sight to other waiting recipients.

“Julie died right after her twentieth birthday—twenty-four years ago. She left us with very happy memories，” says Julie’s mother， now in her seventies.“Nothing—absolutely nothing—could possibly be as heartbreaking as the death of your child，” she emphasizes， “for your heart breaks again and again. At each birthday. At each holiday. At each milestone： when she would’ve graduated； when she might’ve married； when she might’ve been having children.”Taking a slow and deliberate breath， Julie’s mother says， “But Julie’s life was a gift to us. Knowing that in her death， she gave the gift of life and sight to others is comforting to us， and remembering that we carried out her wishes has helped us cope with her death more than anything else.”

Her voice softening， Julie’s mother says， “You and Julie’s other friends and teachers were an important part of her life. Your teaching influenced her life tremendously， and you remind us that our love for Julie and Julie’s love for others are alive today.”

As one of Julie’s professors， I hold dear the thought that I may have had a small part in teaching Julie how to live. But she—and her family—are still teaching me an even greater lesson. How to die.

為人熱心、待人親切、富有魅力、天資聰穎—這說的就是朱莉。她是我在內(nèi)布拉斯加大學教授人類發(fā)展學多年來最喜歡的學生之一。她是個非常討人喜歡的人，也是一個理想的學生。

我記得，在1976年9月的一個秋日，下課后，朱莉走到了教室的前面。其他大多數(shù)的學生都匆匆離開，趕去享受外面溫和舒適的天氣，又或者去學生活動中心放松一番，但朱莉卻留了下來，詢問關(guān)于下周測驗的問題。她顯然作了一番認真的復(fù)習。其他幾個學生無意中聽到了她的問題，也加入了我們的對話。朱莉那迷人的個性讓人情不自禁地想要親近她。

朱莉沒能參加那場考試—永遠也不能參加了。那天，在我們對話過后，當她騎車經(jīng)過學校附近的一個十字路口時，她被一輛大型混凝土運送車無情地撞倒了。當我得知朱莉正躺在遠離校園的鎮(zhèn)外的一家醫(yī)院里，陷入昏迷，無法動彈時，我整個人驚呆了。就在幾個小時前，她還在學校里與朋友們聊天說笑，暢想未來。

就在意外發(fā)生的幾分鐘前，朱莉還和她母親進行了一次例行日常通話。她母親回憶起她們的最后一次對話：“朱莉當時是那么的快樂。她在學校附近的一間商店看中了一套衣服，想著第二天要穿上赴一個特別的約會。我讓她去買回來。她沒有開車去，因為那樣她在學校的停車位就會被別人占去。所以，她騎上單車去買那套新衣服。那場意外就發(fā)生在她所住的女生聯(lián)誼會所的不遠處。”我在腦子里向朱莉大喊—你不能死，朱莉！……