粉紅色的戰爭

By+Anonymous

Almost every night， I go into my parentsroom and tuck my mom into bed. Ill lie next to her until my father comes upstairs or until homeworkcalls.

Well sit there and talk， and Ill play with her hair， and poke fun at her. She pokes right back. Illturn out the light， kiss her forehead， pat hershoulder，andtellhergoodnight.

Her presencein mind and body is one of the mostpreciousthingsinmylife.

I remember it was an aberrantly warm day in February. The grass was especially green， and the sun was pleasantly golden， suspended in a cloudlesssky.

I skipped off the school bus to find her car in the driveway. I knew then that something was wrong. My chest throbbed； leaden feet eventually broughtmetothedoor.Shewascrying.

My mother looked at me through raw eyes and said，“I have breast cancer.”We cried， we hugged，andIsatonherlap.

I was in fifth grade， scared and confused， justleavingbehindtheyearsofbedtimecuddles.

Five years before， my grandmother had had the same cancer. Was that going to happen to my mom？

We cried a lot as my mom told relatives and arranged appointments and bought a wig for when chemo began. She stayed strong for us during this time and I have come to associate withtears.

It was March when Mom went to the hospital to have the tumor removed. I went to school， needing the distraction. Dad called my teacher during the morning with updates. Then， duringour silentreading time， my teacher smiled andsaid，“Shesoutofsurgery.”

When chemo began， the warrior scarves and the pink ribbons came to mean something more than“support the cause”and became“support my mom”. That was also the time that our family hairdresser， a close friend of Moms， came over with trimmers. In no time Moms hair wasahalfinchlong.

Soon that half inch of fuzz fell out too， and she was left with a smooth， shining， pale scalp. Around the house shed wear a wrap on her bald head. It took me a while before I could think of herbaldwithoutcrying.

She became distant， both in mind and body. I remember Dad telling my brother and me to playquietlybecause“Mommyneedstorest”.

I didnt feel like I had a mom that summer. Sheisabsentinthosememories； simplynotthere. She continued to work， despite the chemo and radiation，butshewasalwaysexhausted.

At home she was either asleep or on“chemo！brain”. Shed laugh off her new"found absentmindedness， saying she might even lose her head if it wasnt attached. Even though she would look at me and try to listen， she often wasntabletounderstandwhatIwassaying.

This spring， my mom is five years cancer free.Herhairhasgrownbackwavyandnotgray，as she had feared. She claims to still have“chemo# brain”somedays，butnowitreallyisjustajoke.

The wig is sitting on my shelf. Our warrior scarves are collecting dust. We still have pink ribbons everywhere. The remains of her war against cancer are spread throughout our lives like battle scars to bragabouttotheworld.

After that difficult year of tears， mymomis back and here to help me through the simple problems of high school.

So I dont fight with my mom. I dont ignore her intentionally， nor do I talk about her negatively. She is healthy and strong and present ineverysenseoftheword.Shesmymomagain.

Every night， I tuck her in， turn out the light， and kiss her cheek because I know that we are lucky； there are plenty of girls out there whose momsdidntfindtheirlumpsearlyenough.

Never before have I been so thankful for my motherandsogratefulthatsheisherewithme.

幾乎每天晚上，我都會走進父母的房間為媽媽蓋好被子，讓她安睡。我會躺在她旁邊，直到爸爸上樓來，或者我不得不去做家庭作業。

我們會坐在那兒聊天，我會撥弄她的頭發，開她的玩笑，她也會反過來調侃我。我會關掉燈，親親她的額頭，拍拍她的肩膀，和她說晚安。

無論心靈還是肉體，媽媽的存在都是我生命中特別珍貴的事情之一。

記得那是二月里異常暖和的一天，草特別綠，宜人的金色太陽懸掛在萬里無云的天空。

我跳下校車，發現媽媽的車停在家門前的車道上。我當時就知道有什么不對勁了。我的心臟怦怦直跳，灌了鉛似的雙腳終于把我帶到了門口。媽媽在哭。

媽媽用紅腫的雙眼看著我說：“我得了乳腺癌?！蔽易谒壬?，我們相擁而泣。

那時我上五年級，才剛剛告別睡前抱抱的歲月，因此感到恐懼和困惑。

五年前，姥姥就得了乳腺癌。那種事也會發生在我媽媽身上嗎？

媽媽通知了親戚們，安排了各種預約，還買了一頂假發以供化療開始時用。這段時間里，我們哭了好多次，但為了我們，她一直堅強地挺著，而我也漸漸習慣了與眼淚為伴。

三月的時候媽媽去醫院切除腫瘤。我需要分散一下注意力，于是去了學校。做手術那天的上午，爸爸打電話給我的老師，報告最新消息。接著在我們默讀時，老師微笑著告訴我：“她做完手術了?！?/p>

當化療開始時，勇士圍巾與粉紅絲帶就有了比“支持防治乳腺癌事業”更多的意義，變成“支持我媽媽”。也正是在那個時候，我們家的美發師———媽媽的一個密友———帶著理發器來到了我們家。轉眼間，媽媽的頭發就只有一厘米多長了。

很快那一厘米多長的頭發也掉落了，只留下平滑锃亮的蒼白頭皮。在家時，她會在光頭上戴個頭巾。我花了好長時間，才做到不會一想到她的光頭就哭。

她與我們漸漸疏遠，無論是心靈上，還是身體上。我記得爸爸告訴過我和弟弟要安安靜靜地玩，因為“媽媽需要休息”。

那年夏天，我感覺自己就像沒有媽媽一樣。那些記憶里沒有她，她就是不在那兒。她盡管要做化療和放療，但還是繼續工作，不過總是疲憊不堪。

在家的時候，她不是在睡覺，就是處于“化療腦”狀態（！"！#$%&（）*+，-./012345678 9）。對于她新發現的這個健忘癥，她總是一笑了之，還打趣說她的腦袋要不是長在身上，她可能都會把腦袋弄丟了。盡管她也會看著我努力傾聽，但她經常不能理解我在說什么。

到今年春天，媽媽擺脫癌癥有五年了。她的頭發已經長回來了，是卷發，而且沒有像她擔心的那樣變成灰白色。有些時候她聲稱自己仍有“化療腦”，但現在這真的只是個玩笑而已。

那頂假發就放在我的書架上，我們的勇士圍巾則不斷積聚著灰塵。我們家到處都還留著粉紅絲帶。她與癌癥作戰的這些殘跡如今遍布在我們的生活中，像我們借以向全世界炫耀的戰斗傷疤。

在那以淚洗面的艱難的一年后，我的媽媽回來了，在我身邊幫助我解決高中那些簡單的問題。

所以，我不會和媽媽爭吵，我不會故意不理她，也不會說她的不好。她現在身體健康、強壯，任何意義上都存在著。她又是我的媽媽了。

每天晚上，我會為她掖被子，關掉燈，親親她的臉頰，因為我知道我們是幸運的———世界上還有很多女孩，她們的媽媽沒能及早發現自己得了乳腺癌。

我從未對我的媽媽如此心存感激，從未對她就在我的身邊如此感恩。