雪莉·桑德伯格纪念她老公的文章
雪莉·桑德伯格，在我们这个领域是个人人皆知的名字。看她写的悼念文章，我感动、感慨。再想到长江的沉船事件，类似的事情都提醒着我，珍惜活着的好好一天，好好陪着那些爱我的、我爱的人们。英语原文和中文翻译都是转载的。
Today is the end of sheloshim for my beloved husband—the first thirty days. Judaism calls for a period of intense mourning known as shiva that lasts seven days after a loved one is buried. After shiva, most normal activities can be resumed, but it is the end of sheloshim that marks the completion of religious mourning for a spouse.
A childhood friend of mine who is now a rabbi recently told me that the most powerful one-line prayer he has ever read is: “Let me not die while I am still alive.” I would have never understood that prayer before losing Dave. Now I do.
I think when tragedy occurs, it presents a choice. You can give in to the void, the emptiness that fills your heart, your lungs, constricts your ability to think or even breathe. Or you can try to find meaning. These past thirty days, I have spent many of my moments lost in that void. And I know that many future moments will be consumed by the vast emptiness as well.
But when I can, I want to choose life and meaning.
And this is why I am writing: to mark the end of sheloshim and to give back some of what others have given to me. While the experience of grief is profoundly personal, the bravery of those who have shared their own experiences has helped pull me through. Some who opened their hearts were my closest friends. Others were total strangers who have shared wisdom and advice publicly. So I am sharing what I have learned in the hope that it helps someone else. In the hope that there can be some meaning from this tragedy.
I have lived thirty years in these thirty days. I am thirty years sadder. I feel like I am thirty years wiser.
I have gained a more profound understanding of what it is to be a mother, both through the depth of the agony I feel when my children scream and cry and from the connection my mother has to my pain. She has tried to fill the empty space in my bed, holding me each night until I cry myself to sleep. She has fought to hold back her own tears to make room for mine. She has explained to me that the anguish I am feeling is both my own and my children’s, and I understood that she was right as I saw the pain in her own eyes.
I have learned that I never really knew what to say to others in need. I think I got this all wrong before; I tried to assure people that it would be okay, thinking that hope was the most comforting thing I could offer. A friend of mine with late-stage cancer told me that the worst thing people could say to him was “It is going to be okay.” That voice in his head would scream, How do you know it is going to be okay? Do you not understand that I might die? I learned this past month what he was trying to teach me. Real empathy is sometimes not insisting that it will be okay but acknowledging that it is not. When people say to me, “You and your children will find happiness again,” my heart tells me, Yes, I believe that, but I know I will never feel pure joy again. Those who have said, “You will find a new normal, but it will never be as good” comfort me more because they know and speak the truth. Even a simple “How are you?”—almost always asked with the best of intentions—is better replaced with “How are you today?” When I am asked “How are you?” I stop myself from shouting, My husband died a month ago, how do you think I am? When I hear “How are you today?” I realize the person knows that the best I can do right now is to get through each day.
I have learned some practical stuff that matters. Although we now know that Dave died immediately, I didn’t know that in the ambulance. The trip to the hospital was unbearably slow. I still hate every car that did not move to the side, every person who cared more about arriving at their destination a few minutes earlier than making room for us to pass. I have noticed this while driving in many countries and cities. Let’s all move out of the way. Someone’s parent or partner or child might depend on it.
I have learned how ephemeral everything can feel—and maybe everything is. That whatever rug you are standing on can be pulled right out from under you with absolutely no warning. In the last thirty days, I have heard from too many women who lost a spouse and then had multiple rugs pulled out from under them. Some lack support networks and struggle alone as they face emotional distress and financial insecurity. It seems so wrong to me that we abandon these women and their families when they are in greatest need.
I have learned to ask for help—and I have learned how much help I need. Until now, I have been the older sister, the COO, the doer and the planner. I did not plan this, and when it happened, I was not capable of doing much of anything. Those closest to me took over. They planned. They arranged. They told me where to sit and reminded me to eat. They are still doing so much to support me and my children.
I have learned that resilience can be learned.Adam M. Grant taught me that three things are critical to resilience and that I can work on all three. Personalization—realizing it is not my fault. He told me to ban the word “sorry.” To tell myself over and over, This is not my fault. Permanence—remembering that I won’t feel like this forever. This will get better. Pervasiveness—this does not have to affect every area of my life; the ability to compartmentalize is healthy.
For me, starting the transition back to work has been a savior, a chance to feel useful and connected. But I quickly discovered that even those connections had changed. Many of my co-workers had a look of fear in their eyes as I approached. I knew why—they wanted to help but weren’t sure how. Should I mention it? Should I not mention it? If I mention it, what the hell do I say? I realized that to restore that closeness with my colleagues that has always been so important to me, I needed to let them in. And that meant being more open and vulnerable than I ever wanted to be. I told those I work with most closely that they could ask me their honest questions and I would answer. I also said it was okay for them to talk about how they felt. One colleague admitted she’d been driving by my house frequently, not sure if she should come in. Another said he was paralyzed when I was around, worried he might say the wrong thing. Speaking openly replaced the fear of doing and saying the wrong thing. One of my favorite cartoons of all time has an elephant in a room answering the phone, saying, “It’s the elephant.” Once I addressed the elephant, we were able to kick him out of the room.
At the same time, there are moments when I can’t let people in. I went to Portfolio Night at school where kids show their parents around the classroom to look at their work hung on the walls. So many of the parents—all of whom have been so kind—tried to make eye contact or say something they thought would be comforting. I looked down the entire time so no one could catch my eye for fear of breaking down. I hope they understood.
I have learned gratitude. Real gratitude for the things I took for granted before—like life. As heartbroken as I am, I look at my children each day and rejoice that they are alive. I appreciate every smile, every hug. I no longer take each day for granted. When a friend told me that he hates birthdays and so he was not celebrating his, I looked at him and said through tears, “Celebrate your birthday, goddammit. You are lucky to have each one.” My next birthday will be depressing as hell, but I am determined to celebrate it in my heart more than I have ever celebrated a birthday before.
I am truly grateful to the many who have offered their sympathy. A colleague told me that his wife, whom I have never met, decided to show her support by going back to school to get her degree—something she had been putting off for years. Yes! When the circumstances allow, I believe as much as ever in leaning in. And so many men—from those I know well to those I will likely never know—are honoring Dave’s life by spending more time with their families.
I can’t even express the gratitude I feel to my family and friends who have done so much and reassured me that they will continue to be there. In the brutal moments when I am overtaken by the void, when the months and years stretch out in front of me endless and empty, only their faces pull me out of the isolation and fear. My appreciation for them knows no bounds.
I was talking to one of these friends about a father-child activity that Dave is not here to do. We came up with a plan to fill in for Dave. I cried to him, “But I want Dave. I want option A.” He put his arm around me and said, “Option A is not available. So let’s just kick the shit out of option B.”
Dave, to honor your memory and raise your children as they deserve to be raised, I promise to do all I can to kick the shit out of option B. And even though sheloshim has ended, I still mourn for option A. I will always mourn for option A. As Bono sang, “There is no end to grief . . . and there is no end to love.” I love you, Dave.
今天是我挚爱的丈夫结束sheloshim (去世头三十天) 的日子。按照犹太教的传统，在挚爱的亲友去世之后，我们需要悼念七天，这段时间叫做shiva. 在shiva之后，我们可以继续大多数正常的活动，但是只有sheloshim结束之后，才意味着对伴侣的宗教悼念真正结束。
我的一个童年好友现在做了拉比，他最近告诉我说，他听到过的最有力量的一句话祷词是，“请不要让我在活着的时候死去。”在失去Dave之前，我根本不理解这句话。现在，我懂了。
我想，当悲剧发生时，人们会面临选择。你可以向那些填满你的心和肺的空洞和虚无屈服，听任它们让你无法思考甚至是呼吸，但是你也可以努力从中寻找意义。过去三十天里，有很多时候我陷入了那种空洞之中。我也知道，未来的日子里，我仍然会经历许多被无边的空虚吞噬的时刻。
但是，我想选择我的生活和其中的意义，在我能够这样做的时候。
这就是为什么我写下这篇文章的原因：为了纪念sheloshim的结束，为了把人们给我的那些东西回馈出去。悲痛是极其个人的体验，但是那些向我敞开心扉分享他们自己悲痛体验的人，他们的勇敢让我能够支撑下去。其中有些人是我最亲密的朋友，还有一些是我完全不认识的陌生人，他们和世界分享了自己的智慧和建议。所以我也想分享我从中学到的一些东西，希望能帮助到更多的人，希望这一起悲剧能够带来某些意义。
过去的三十天，我像是过了三十年，我多了三十年的悲伤，但也感觉自己多了三十年的智慧。
我更加深刻地理解了身为人母的意义，这部分来自我的孩子们哭叫时我感受到的深沉悲痛，部分则来自我的母亲对我所承受的痛苦的理解。每一天晚上，她都会躺在我身边填补我的空虚，搂着我，直到我哭累之后睡着。为了让我的泪水有释放的空间，她努力忍住自己的泪水。她对我说，我的痛既是我自己的，也是我孩子的痛。我看到她眼睛里的痛，明白了她的话。
我也知道了，原来我从来就不知道怎么去安慰那些需要帮助的人。我以前说的话都是错的；我一直对人们说，一切会好起来的，我以为希望是我能够给他们的最好的安慰。我的一位癌症晚期的朋友对我说，人们对他说的最糟糕的话就是“一切都会好起来的”。那句话会一直在他的脑海里尖叫。你怎么知道一切会好起来呢？你知道我可能会死吗？在过去一个月，我理解了他的这句话。真正的同情，不是坚持说一切会好起来的，而是承认一切不会好起来。当人们对我说，“你和你的孩子们会重新快乐起来的”，我的心告诉我，是的，我相信，可是我知道我永远也不可能感受到单纯的快乐了。
也有人对我说，“你的人生会恢复正常，可是再也不会像从前那样美好”，这样的话反而更能够安慰我，因为他们知道真相，并且告诉了我真相。
即使是那些经常是出于最大的善意而问出来的一句简单的“你过得怎么样”，也不如换成问我“你今天过得怎么样”。当人们问我“你过得怎么样”的时候，我几乎忍不住要吼出来，“我的丈夫一个月前死了，你觉得我现在过得怎么样了？” 可是当我听到“你今天过得怎么样”的时候，我知道，对方知道我现在能够做的，是努力度过今天。
我也有一些实际的体会。虽然我们现在都知道Dave是当场死亡的，可是在救护车里的时候我并不知道这一点。去医院的那段路慢得让我难以忍受，我到现在仍然恨不肯给我们让路的每一辆车，恨那些惦记着自己早几分钟到达目的地而不愿意给我们让路的每一个人。在很多国家和城市开车的时候我都发现了这个现象。让我们给救护车让路吧，因为有人的父亲母亲，有人的伴侣，有人的孩子，他们的生命可能依赖于此。
我也知道了世间万物看起来是何其短暂——或许，它们就是如此短暂。你脚下的那块地毯，随时都可能在完全没有警告的情况下被抽走。在过去的三十天里，我听到了太多的女人在失去伴侣之后的故事，她们脚下的许多块地毯都被抽走了。有些人缺乏帮助，只能独自面对情感上的悲痛和经济上的困境。在她们极其需要帮助的时候放弃这些女性和他们的家庭，在我看来是极不应该的。
我学会了寻求帮助——我还知道了我有多么需要帮助。我一直是个大姐姐，是COO，是做事情的人，是做计划的人。我没有预计到那件事的发生，当它发生的时候，我再也没办法做任何事。那些我最亲近的人接管了一切，他们帮我做计划，帮我做安排。他们告诉我坐在哪里，提醒我吃饭。直到现在他们仍然给我和我的孩子提供了极大的帮助。
我也知道了，坚韧是一项可以学习的技能。Adam M. Grant告诉我，我需要掌握三件对培养坚韧至关重要的事。首先是不把“自己”卷入其中(personalization)，要意识到这不是我的错，他告诉我要忘记“对不起”这个词，要一遍一遍地对自己说，这不是我的错。其次是不把“永远”卷入其中(permanence)，要记住我不会永远这样痛苦，事情会好起来的。最后是不让事情无止境扩大(pervasiveness)，这件事没有必要影响我生活中的每一个方面，学会作出区隔才是健康的做法。
对我来说，重新过渡到工作中是一个拯救自己、让自己觉得有用和与外界重建联系的机会。但是我很快发现，即使这样的联系也已经改变了。很多同事看到我走过来的时候眼睛里都出现了畏惧。我知道那是为什么——他们想帮我，却不知道该怎么帮。我应该提那件事吗？还是不应该提？如果我提起来的话，我到底要说些什么呢？和同事之间的亲密关系对我来说非常重要，我意识到我需要去重新建立起那样的关系。
所以，我需要让他们走进我的内心，而那意味着我需要比自己以往想要表现的样子更加开放、更加软弱。我告诉那些和我工作最紧密的同事，他们可以诚实地问我问题，我会回答。我还说，他们可以讨论自己的感受。其中一个同事对我承认，她曾经开车经过我家很多次，但是不知道是不是应该进来看看。另一个同事说，每次我在他旁边的时候他都会觉得窒息，因为担心自己会说错话。坦诚的交流从此代替了对说错话或者做错事的担心。
我一直很喜欢的一部卡通里有一头在房间里接电话的大象，它说：“我是大象。”当我承认了这头大象的存在，我们就能够把它从房间里面赶走。（Elephant in the room，房间里的大象，是一句英语谚语，指那些显而易见但是人们因为某种原因假装不存在的东西——假装在纽约译注。）
但是也有一些时候，我不能让别人进入我的内心。有一天我去学校参加Portfolio Night，在那里孩子们给家长展示挂在教室墙上的自己的作品。有很多很多的家长——他们全都出于好意——想要和我有眼神接触，想要对我说一些安慰的话。因为害怕自己会崩溃，我一直低着头，不让任何人看到我的眼睛。我希望他们能够理解。
我也学会了感激。对那些我从前习以为常的东西怀有的真正的感激——比如生命。虽然我如此心碎，但是每天看到我的孩子们，我都会为他们拥有生命而感到欣喜。我感激他们的每一个微笑和每一次拥抱。我不再对每一天习以为常。一个朋友告诉我他讨厌生日，所以不准备庆祝，我含着眼泪对他说：“好好庆祝生日吧，每一次过生日都是幸运的事。”我的下一个生日一定会像身陷地狱一样痛苦，但是我在心里比以往任何一个生日都更加坚定地想要庆祝。
我对许许多多给予我同情的人深怀感激。一个同事告诉我，他的太太——一个我从来没有见过的女性，为了表示对我的支持，决定回到学校去完成学业，这件事她已经拖了很多年。是的！我比以往更加相信只要条件允许，女性要挺身而进(原文是lean in，这是桑德伯格自传的书名——假装在纽约译注)。也有许许多多的男性——有些我非常熟悉，还有一些我可能永远也不可能认识——为了表达对Dave的纪念，开始抽出更多的时间陪伴家人。
为了让我相信他们会一直陪在我身边，我的家人和朋友们为我付出了那么多，我没办法表达我对他们有多感激。在我被空洞感吞没的最残酷的时刻，在我未来的人生中会被无尽的年年月月拉长的空虚之中，只有他们的脸能够带我走出孤独与恐惧。我对他们的感激之情难以言尽。
有一次，我和一个朋友谈到因为Dave不在而没办法完成一个需要父亲和孩子一起参加的活动。我们一起想了一个如何代替Dave角色的计划。我哭着对他说，“可是我想要Dave. 我想要选项A。”他伸出手臂搂着我说，“选项A已经不在了，让我们把选项B好好用起来吧。”
Dave，为了纪念你，为了好好抚养你的孩子们，我承诺我会好好地把选项B给用起来。虽然sheloshim已经结束了，我仍然会纪念选项A，我会一直纪念选项A。就像Bono唱过的，“悲伤没有尽头...爱没有尽头。”我爱你，Dave。
好感动!!不知道说什么,只有感动.
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