When We Give Thanks We always celebrated Dad’s November birthday on Thanksgiving Day, even after he entered a nursing home. As years went on, these events took on a double meaning for me—a traditional birthday party for Dad, and a personal thanking for all he had been to me in my life. When we knew that it might be his last birthday, the whole family decided to rearrange Thanksgiving plans and come together for a huge Grandpa Simon birthday celebration at the nursing home. It was a crowded party with lots of noise and abundant food. Dad was having the time of his life. He was a marvelous storyteller, and here was the biggest captive audience he’d ever had. The party crackled around him. During a quiet moment, I announced that it was now Dad’s turn to listen to some stories for a change. I wanted everyone to tell Grandpa Simon what we loved about him. The room became still, and even Dad was quiet as his family crowded around him, like subjects around the throne. One after another, people told stories from their hearts, while Dad listened with wet, flashing blue eyes. People recalled all kinds of lost memories—stories about when they were little, stories about when Dad was young, stories that are shared family treasures. Then someone told the story of Mother and the vase…… My mother was a short stocky woman, who always bent over the table to read the newspaper. One night, Dad placed her precious gold plated vase, a family heirloom, right on her fanny at her body’s angle. She couldn’t move, couldn’t stop from laughing, and screamed for help through her tears, while the vase teetered precariously. We all rolled on the floor laughing until Dad finally rescued the vase. The stories flowed. Each one seemed to trigger the memory of two more. Even the littlest grandchildren couldn’t wait to tell Dad why they loved him. For a man who had been kind to so many hundreds of people in his life, here was our chance to celebrate him. A few months later, at Dad’s memorial service, we more fully realized what we had given Dad that night. Those were the stories people normally tell at a funeral, after a loved one is no longer around to hear the words. They are told, then, full of tears, with the hope that the departed will somehow hear the outpouring of love. But we had given those loving memories to Dad in life, told through laughter, accompanied by hugs and joy. He had them to hold and roll over in his mind during his last months and days. Words do matter, and they are enough. We just need to say them, to speak them publicly to the ones we love, for everyone else to hear. That’s the way to give back love, and our chance to celebrate a person in life. 感恩的机会 我们总是选择在11月感恩节的那天为父亲庆祝生日，即便是父亲进了疗养院也一如既往。很多年就这样过去了，对于我而言，它代表着双重含义——其一是为父亲举办的传统生日聚会，其二则是为父亲在生命中所给予我的一切表达感激之情。 这或许是父亲最后一个生日了，我们决定重新安排一个特别的感恩节，全家人聚在一起，在疗养院举办一个盛大的西蒙祖父生日庆典。聚会真是人声鼎沸、热闹非凡，美味佳肴，应有尽有，寿星更是喜笑颜开。父亲真不愧是个绝妙的故事家，这次全神贯注地听他讲故事的听众恐怕也是有史以来最多的了。整个生日聚会一片生机盎然。 在片刻的安宁中，我宣布该轮到父亲听我们讲故事了。我让每一个人告诉西蒙祖父，我们都爱他什么。屋子骤然静了下来，父亲也静了下来，家人们围簇在他周围，犹如臣民们簇拥着皇帝一般。 一个又一个，大家讲述着各自内心的故事，父亲默默地听着，湿润的眼睛里闪烁着晶莹的泪光。我们回忆着那些被淡忘了的各种记忆——童年的记忆、父亲年少的记忆、家人们共同珍藏着的那些记忆。然后有人讲到了母亲和花瓶的故事…… 母亲矮矮胖胖的，总爱俯身于桌上看报。那天晚上，父亲把她珍爱的传家宝——一个金底花瓶放在她屁股上。母亲动弹不得，却又咯咯笑个不停，直到笑出了眼泪，不停尖呼着救命，而花瓶在她身上晃晃悠悠，摇摇欲坠。我们见她这副模样，都笑得在地上打滚，最后还是父亲救了那个花瓶。 整个房间里霎时间充满了故事。每个人似乎都被勾起了两三个回忆。甚至小孙儿们也迫不及待地要告诉他们的爷爷，他们为什么爱爷爷。父亲这辈子把自己的慈爱给予了这么多人，现在正是我们向他表达感恩的好机会。 几个月以后，在父亲的追悼会上，我们才清楚地意识到那天晚上我们给予了父亲什么。人们一般在葬礼上才会去讲述那些故事，而所爱的人却永远无法听到他们的心声。人们眼里噙满了泪水，心里期望着离去的人能够听到他们爱的倾诉。可是我们将这些爱的记忆在父亲有生之年就给予了他，在笑声中、在拥抱中、在欢乐中，我们向父亲讲述了我们对他的爱，让他在人生最后的日子里和记忆中拥有并充满了爱的思绪。 语言就是这样重要，它们足以表达我们的爱。我们只需要说出来，开口把爱告诉所爱的人，让其他每一个人听见。这是回报爱的方式，也是我们向活着的人表达感恩的机会。 ……
展开
★他（杰克·伦敦）是我童年喜欢的一个作家，因为他对于狼有那么公正的见解。
——严歌苓