漫长的告别
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“所谓父母子女一场，只不过意味着，你和他的缘分就是今生今世不断地在目送他的背影渐行渐远。”这是台湾作家龙应台在散文《目送》中说的一句话，也是天下所有母亲心里的话。是的，每个孩子成长的过程就是在空间上与母亲渐行渐远的过程，这也许令人伤感，却从来不曾改变。好在本文的母亲懂得，人生也是个角色转变的过程，当儿子渐渐走向独立，她也准备好重新寻找自己的定位和生活的意义。
It’s nearly the end of summer break and my son goes out with friends. Ten minutes after he leaves home, I receive his text: Here. It’s the same message I’ve received hundreds of times before―our agreed-upon shorthand to reassure me, and probably him that he has arrived safely at his destination. In a matter1) of days he’ll head to college, and this routine, along with many others that have framed our days and nights, will come to an end. Reading that text triggers images stored safely away in my memory, a tiny flip book2) of our lives together.
My constant companion of nine months emerges with his eyes wide open. He’s placed on my chest. I feel his heartbeat reverberating3) through mine. All I see are beginnings. Friends who visit caution that time is elusive4), that he’ll grow up faster than I can imagine, and to savor every moment. But I can’t hear them; it’s all too clichéd5) and my child has only just arrived. He’s intoxicating6): the beautiful bracelet-like creases in his wrists, the way he sounds like a little lamb when he cries. I’m filled with a renewed sense of purpose, of hope, of love. The first few months after he’s born are topsy-turvy7)―day is night, night is day. When sleep finally returns, so does work. My business suit is tight, my mind preoccupied. I pump milk in a cold, gray bathroom stall.
His teeth begin to appear. Baby bottles give way to solid foods. He points high above his chair to the clock on the wall. “Clock,” he says. It’s his first word, minus the “l,” and it makes me laugh. Soon he is walking, skipping, making angels in the snow.
I’m promoted at work. It becomes harder to find the time to make play dates and pediatrician8) appointments. At lunch I read books about nurturing, teaching, inspiring your child. He calls my office with the help of his babysitter. “Momma,” he says, “I’m making you a present.”
The tooth fairy9) arrives and leaves him handwritten notes. He discovers knock-knock jokes10) and learns how to add, subtract, and read. He builds giant castles with giant Legos11), rides his shiny bike down a country road with his feet off the pedals.
I quit my job to do freelance writing―everything from training programs to marketing brochures12) to essays―usually when the rest of the family is sleeping. There’s never enough money, but now at least we have time.
Saturday nights are always family nights, spent at home. There are countless sporting events. He tries baseball, soccer, and track, then falls head over heels for13) basketball. He swings from tree limbs, wears superhero costumes, develops crushes, friendships, and fevers.
I volunteer at his school: cut, paste, read, nourish, fund-raise, chaperone14). I like this job.
There are marathon bedtime story rituals, endless questions about how things work, and monsters under the bed. Lego pieces grow smaller and castles more intricate. He tries the guitar, plays the trombone15), saves quarters to buy video games, and collects trading cards16), which he keeps in a shoebox under his bed.
We get a dog. He loves this dog with all his heart. The dog loves him back.
One day his height surpasses mine and, seemingly the next, his father’s.
He reads an essay by a sportswriter. It lights a fire in him. He starts to write his own stuff, wandering into my office as I try to juggle17) freelance assignments.
I feel privileged to read his work.
Orthodontics18) are removed to reveal straight pearly whites. He earns his first paycheck as a baseball referee but wishes that it had been as a writer.
He learns to do the laundry, scrub19) the bathroom, and make pasta, though he often professes to forget how to do all three.
He turns 18.
On a cold and rainy Election Day we head out together to vote. After two hours waiting in line, he’s the only teen in sight. It is not lost on20) him―by the next morning he has written all about it.
He gets a job as a blogger, then starts his own website. And all the while there are macroeconomics, physics, and college applications.
The flip book’s down to its last pages.
I’ve defined myself as a mother for 18 years. Who am I now? I look in the mirror. In my quest to help him grow wings, I forgot to grow some of my own. Can I find a new sense of purpose, rechannel21) the love?
Before I was a mother I was a daughter, infused with energy and the reassurance that my parents would always be there. But I can’t be a daughter again. I’m on my own.
Does purpose―mine, yours, anyone’s―require someone to nurture it, or is it inherent in all of us?
I’ll soon be putting these competing theories to the test.
As I sit down to write this piece, I receive his text: Where are you?
Here, I text back.
For now.
暑假即将结束，儿子出门和朋友们玩。他离家十分钟后，我收到他的短信：到这儿啦。同样的短信我之前已经收过几百遍――这是我们之间默契的简短讯息，是为了让我放心，可能也让他自己安心，表明他已安全抵达目的地。几天之后，他将离家去上大学，而这一报平安的例行公事，还有我们之间的其他许多默契习惯，都将不复存在，那些习惯曾构成我们的日日夜夜。读着这条短信，我记忆中珍藏的许多不可磨灭的图像被一一唤醒，我们一起生活的那些点点滴滴像动画书一样跃然眼前。
陪我一起走过怀胎九月的他出生时睁着一双大眼睛。他被放在我的胸口上，我能感觉到他的心跳叠加在我的心跳上。我看到了无数崭新的开始。来访的朋友们都说时光易逝，说他成长得会比我想象中的快，所以我应该珍惜每一刻。但是我一句也没听进去。这些话听起来都太老生常谈了，我的孩子才刚刚出生嘛。他美得令人沉醉：他手腕上的褶皱像是美丽的手镯，他哭起来声音像只小羔羊。我的心中充满了决心、希望和关爱的全新感觉。他出生后的最初几个月，我们过着日夜颠倒的日子――白天像是黑夜，黑夜像是白天。当睡眠时间最终恢复正常时，我又开始上班了。我的西服套装变得紧绷了，脑子里惦记的全是他。我在冰凉、灰暗的洗手间隔间里挤母乳。
他开始长牙了。婴儿奶瓶换成了固体食物。他指着座椅上方高高挂在墙上的时钟，说：“Clock (钟)。”这是他会说的第一个词，说的时候还发不出“l”的音，这逗得我笑开了怀。很快他便会走路，会蹦来蹦去，也会躺在雪地里画天使了。
我在单位里升了职，更难抽出时间来陪他玩耍和看医生了。我会趁午饭时间阅读关于抚养、教育和激励孩子的书。他在保姆的帮助下给我的公司打电话。“妈妈，”他说，“我正在给你做礼物呢。”
牙仙也很快来访，并给他留下了手写的便条。他学会了“谁在敲门”的笑话，也学会了加法、减法和看书识字。他用大块的乐高玩具搭建高大的城堡，在乡间小道上骑锃亮的自行车，双脚还不踩在踏板上。
我辞了工作，开始做自由撰稿人――从培训项目材料到营销手册再到散文，我无所不写――而工作时间通常是在全家都上床睡觉之后。挣多少钱都永远不够花，但至少我们有充足的时间在一起了。
每个周六晚上，我们都在家共度家庭好时光。他爱玩无数种运动项目。他尝试了棒球、足球和赛跑，然后无可救药地迷上了篮球。他在树枝间飞来荡去；打扮成超级英雄的样子；开始迷恋女孩，择朋交友和体验狂热。
我在他的学校当志愿者：剪剪贴贴、读书抚育、募集资金、充当督导。我热爱这份工作。
睡前故事一讲起来就没个完，所有事儿他都要问十万个为什么，还老以为床底下藏着怪兽。他玩的乐高玩具的块头变小了，但是搭建的城堡结构却更加复杂精巧。他弹吉他，吹长号，攒零钱买电子游戏，收集交换卡片，并把它们存放在床底下的一个鞋盒子里。
我们养了一条狗。他全心全意地爱着它。它也一样爱着他。
有一天，他的个头超过了我，接着仿佛一眨眼的工夫又超过了他爸爸。
他读了一位体育专栏作家的一篇文章，这在他心中燃起了一把火。他开始自己写东西，在我同时为好几个撰稿任务忙得四脚朝天时，溜达进我的办公室请我阅读。
成为他的读者让我觉得很荣幸。
摘掉牙套，他的牙齿整齐洁白如珍珠。他人生的第一笔工资是当棒球裁判挣来的，虽然他希望那是一笔稿酬。
他学会了洗衣服、打扫浴室、做意大利面，虽然他经常口口声声说自己已把这三项技能忘得一干二净。
他长成了18岁的大小伙儿。
在一个选举日，天气很冷，又下着雨，我们一起出门去投票。排队等了两小时后，他是现场所能看到的唯一一个十几岁的年轻人。这一经历也让他有所收获――第二天清早他便已将见闻心得付诸笔端。
他得到了一份撰写博客的工作，后来又创建了自己的网站。与此同时，他学习宏观经济学、物理学，并完成了大学申请。
回忆的动画书翻到了最后几页。
在过去的18年中，我一直把自己定位为一个母亲。但现在我又是谁呢？我看着镜中的自己。在我摸索着帮助他丰满羽翼的时候，我忘了自己的那一双翅膀也需要丰满。我能为自己的人生找到新的目标，把爱转移到其他方向吗？
在成为母亲之前，我是一个女儿，内心充满着力量，还有那种确信总有父母守护而体会到的安心。但是我已经无法回到做女儿的时代了。我现在只能靠自己。
人生的目标――无论是我的、你的还是任何人的――到底是需要别人培养才会形成，还是本来就根植于我们的内心？
我很快就会把这两种相互对抗的理论放到实践中检验。
当我坐下来写这篇文章的时候，我收到了他的短信：你在哪儿？
“在这儿。”我回复道。
至少此刻还是这样。
1. matter [ˈmætə(r)] n. [表示数量]近似值，近似量
2. flip book：手翻书，又名动画手翻书，指包含多张连续动作图片的书，当快速翻动该书时，书里的图片就像变成了动画。
3. reverberate [rɪˈvɜːbəreɪt] vi. 发出回声
4. elusive [iˈluːsɪv] adj. 难以捉摸的，难以抓住的
5. clichéd [kliʃeɪd] adj. 陈腐的，陈词滥调的
6. intoxicating [ɪnˈtɒksɪkeɪtɪŋ] adj. 醉人的，迷人的
7. topsy-turvy [ˌtɒpsiˈtɜːvi] adj. 颠倒的，乱七八糟的
8. pediatrician [ˌpiːdiəˈtrɪʃn] n. 儿科医师
9. tooth fairy：牙仙，美国民间传说的人物。传说小孩掉乳牙后将之放在枕头底下，牙仙就会取走乳牙，并留下一定报酬给小孩。
10. knock-knock joke：西方小孩子经常玩的一种问答游戏。玩法大致如下：第一个人模仿有人敲门的样子，说：“Knock, knock.”第二个人则问：“Who’s there?”第一个人说出自己想好的一个单词(比如Wendy)；第二个人重复第一个人的单词并接着说who (比如Wendy who)；第一个人则利用自己之前说的单词的谐音来变换自己表述的意思(比如When did he go)，以达到让人感到意外的效果。
11. Lego：乐高，世界著名的儿童玩具品牌，其代表性产品为积木。此处用Lego指代乐高积木。
12. brochure [ˈbrəʊʃə(r)] n. 小册子
13. fall head over heels for：非常喜欢，着迷于
14. chaperone [ˈʃæpərəʊn] n. 在场监护的年长者，行为监督人
15. trombone [trɒmˈbəʊn] n. 长号
16. trading card：交换卡片，用卡纸或厚纸制成的小卡片。卡片上通常印着某个特定的人物、地方或事件，并配有相应的简短说明。
17. juggle [ˈdʒʌl] vt. 同时做(两件或两件以上的事情)
18. orthodontics [ˌɔːθəˈdɒntɪks] n. 畸齿矫正术，常在治疗过程中用到牙套。
19. scrub [skrʌb] vt. 清洗
20. be lost on：对……没有影响，对……不起作用
21. rechannel [ˌriːˈtʃænl] vt. 使转移，使改道