For my grandmother, who left this world on October 6th, 2023
獻給我的外婆蔡陳美容
Toward the end of her life, grandma sometimes seemed awake to the world. In those brief periods, she appeared most like herself to me: her eyes were utterly clear, and she had a look of surprise as she lifted one eyebrow. I cannot tell you how much I adore that expression; it’s the one she used to make—sometimes playfully, mixed with exaggerated disbelief—as she listened to our stories.
Despite all that grandma had seen in a life which was too often rife with hardship, she never lost the sparkle in her eyes. There was always light to be found in the darkness, and lightness still, under backbreaking burdens. That look of surprise brought me much comfort as grandma’s breaths grew feeble in her final days. I would like to think she was seeing wonders.
In a sense, I have been afraid of losing her my whole life.
One of my earliest memories involves stepping out of a car and running tearfully toward grandma. She had shockingly aged beyond recognition in just a few months. I remember clinging to her tightly and sobbing.
Why had her hair suddenly turned white?
Why was her face now lined with hard wrinkles?
Why did she look like an entirely different person in so little time?
The answers to my confusion would become clear as soon as I lifted my head and saw grandma—just as I remembered her—laughing while she approached us. As it turned out, I was crying in the embrace of one of her best friends. I guess you could say that I was afraid of losing her even before I really knew her face, and certainly, before I could fully grasp the concept of aging.
That fear never really went away, but from grandma, I learned to find light and lightness in spite of its rattles.
As a devout Christian, grandma never shied away from the topic of death. One time, she asked if I would miss her after she passed away. My first instinct was to recoil; I did not like the question at all, but she was patient. In retrospect, I am grateful I had the chance to tell her, on that sunny afternoon in her bedroom, how much—just how much I would miss her.
Since the end was always on our mind, grandma took every opportunity to tell me how much she loved me. Eventually, even words became insufficient. The last time I saw her in a conscious state, she held my hand to her face and just looked at me lovingly for a long while. We had always had an endless amount to talk about, but on that occasion, only the silence could say it all.
“We die with the dying: See, they depart, and we go with them. We are born with the dead: See, they return, and bring us with them.” —T.S. Eliot
接近臨終時，外婆時不時會看起來彷彿完全清醒。這些短暫片刻的她，特別符合阿嬤在我心目中的樣子：眼睛無限清澈、一邊的眉毛挑起，彷彿驚訝。我難以形容我有多麼喜愛這神情，她過去聽我們說話時，臉上常會出現這表情，有時她還會調皮地誇大演出非常懷疑、難以置信的樣子。
即使她的人生充滿太多的驚濤駭浪，阿嬤從未失去眼裡那股閃耀，總能在黑暗中找到光明、在艱苦重擔裡尋得輕快。在她氣息日漸微弱的這些時間裡，那看似驚訝的神情帶給我許多安慰，我願相信她當時正目睹著各種奇觀。
就某種程度而言，我這一輩子都深怕失去她。
小時候最早的一個記憶，是我下車後淚眼汪汪地跑向阿嬤。她不可思議地在短短幾個月內看起來蒼老許多！記得我當時整個人哭著緊緊抱住她。
「阿嬤的頭髮怎麼瞬間都白了？」
「臉上怎麼佈滿了深深的皺紋？」
「為什麼會在這麼短的時間裡，整個人看起來不一樣了？」
在我抬起頭、看見阿嬤一如我記憶中的那樣笑著向我走來時，所有困惑頓時消散。原來，我抱著哭的人並不是是阿嬤，而是她最要好的一位朋友。基本上，我在年幼、尚未熟悉她的臉龐之前，在還無法真正理解「老去」的概念之前，我就已經害怕失去她了。
而這股恐懼從未真正消逝，不過還好有阿嬤的帶領，我學會如何在恐懼的紛亂不安中仍能尋找到光明與輕快。
身為一個虔誠的基督徒， 阿嬤從不迴避談論死亡。 有一次她問我：在她過世之後，會不會想念她。 我第一個反應是退縮，因為我一點也不喜歡這個問題，然而她對我相當有耐心。現在回想起來，我很感恩，在阿嬤房間裡、那個陽光照耀的午後，我有機會親口告訴她，我將會多麼、多麼想念她。
正因為我們始終惦記離別將至，阿嬤總是抓住每個機會告訴我她有多愛我。最終，連話語也不足以表達了。我最後一次見到意識清醒的她時，她拿起我的手貼著她的臉、慈愛地看著我好長一會兒。我們永遠有說不完的話，但在那個當下，只有寧靜足以表達一切。
「我們與垂死者一起死去：看，他們離去，我們與之同行。
我們伴著死者再生：看，他們歸來，攜我們一起返回。」
—T·S·艾略特