English Original
The bustle of the hospital was a welcome distraction as I opened my new patient's chart. My son had brought home a disappointing report card, and my daughter and I had argued about her driver's license. For the next eight hours, I wanted to lose myself in helping people who had more to worry about than I did.
Rebekah was 32, admitted for chemotherapy after breast-cancer surgery. When I entered her room, it took a moment to spot her amid three giggling little girls. She introduced her husband, Warren, and their daughters: six-year-old Ruthie, four-year-old Hannah, and two-year-old Molly.
As I prepared her arm for the IV, Rebekah laughed nervously. "I'm terrified of needles." "It'll be over quickly," I reassured her. She shut her eyes, murmured a prayer, and then smiled, squeezing my hand. She asked for her Bible and inquired about my favorite verse. "Jesus wept. John 11:35," I said. "It makes me feel closer to Jesus, knowing he also experienced human sorrow." She nodded thoughtfully as I left.
Over the following months, I watched Rebekah struggle with chemotherapy. Her stays became frequent, and she worried about her children. I, meanwhile, contended with my own teenagers, who seemed distant. I missed the days when they were as attached to me as Rebekah's girls were to her.
One day, I found her speaking into a tape recorder. "I'm making tapes for my daughters," she said, showing me a list on a yellow pad: starting school, confirmation, turning 16, first date, graduation. While I worried about helping her face death, she was planning for her children's future. I often wondered what I would say in her place. My constant questions made my kids joke I was like an FBI agent. Where were my words of love?
After a period of hope, doctors found another malignant lump. The cancer spread to her lungs; it was terminal. Rebekah recorded the tapes in the early morning hours, filling them with family stories and advice, trying to cram a lifetime of love into a few hours. Finally, she entrusted the completed tapes to her husband.
One afternoon, I received an urgent call. Rebekah needed me to bring a blank tape immediately. She was flushed and breathing hard when I arrived. I slipped the tape in and held the microphone to her lips.
"Ruthie, Hannah, Molly—this is the most important tape," she began, holding my hand. "Someday your daddy will bring home a new mommy. Please make her feel special. Show her how to take care of you. Ruthie, help her get your Brownie uniform ready each Tuesday. Hannah, tell her you don't want meat sauce on your spaghetti; she won't know you like it separate. Molly, don't get mad if there's no apple juice; drink something else. It's okay to be sad, sweeties. Jesus cried too. He knows about sadness and will help you be happy again. Remember, I'll always love you."
I shut off the recorder. Rebekah sighed deeply. "Thank you," she said with a weak smile. "You'll give this one to them, won't you?" she murmured, sliding into sleep.
A time would come for the tape to be played. But right then, after smoothing her blanket, I hurried home. I thought of how my daughter Shannon also liked her sauce on the side—a quirk that had often annoyed me but now made her seem precious. That night, my kids didn't go out. Long after the spaghetti sauce had dried on the dishes, we sat and talked—without interrogations, without complaints—late into the night.
中文翻译
医院的繁忙喧嚣是一种受欢迎的消遣，当我打开新病人的病历走向她的病房时这样想着。我的儿子带回家一份令人失望的成绩单，而我和女儿又为她考驾照的事争吵了一番。接下来的八小时，我想全身心投入到帮助那些忧虑远胜于我的人们之中。
丽贝卡32岁，乳腺癌手术后入院接受化疗。我走进她的房间，一时之间才在三个咯咯笑的小女孩雀跃的身影中找到了她。她介绍了她的丈夫沃伦，以及他们的女儿：六岁的露西、四岁的汉娜和两岁的莫莉。
当我用酒精擦拭她的手臂准备打点滴时，丽贝卡紧张地笑了。“我得告诉你，我害怕打针。”“很快就会结束的，”我安慰她。她紧闭双眼，低声祈祷，结束后微笑着握了握我的手。她要了她的《圣经》，并问我最喜欢的经文。“耶稣哭了。约翰福音11:35，”我说。“这让我感觉更接近耶稣，知道他同样经历过人类的悲伤。”我离开时，她若有所思地点了点头。
接下来的几个月，我看着丽贝卡与化疗的摧残作斗争。她住院越来越频繁，并担心着她的孩子们。与此同时，我继续应对着自己正值青春期的孩子，他们似乎很疏远。我怀念他们像丽贝卡的小女儿们依恋她那样依恋我的日子。
一天，我发现她正对着录音机说话。“我在为我的女儿们录制磁带，”她说着，递给我一张黄色便签纸，上面列着清单：入学、坚信礼、16岁生日、第一次约会、毕业。当我还在担心如何帮助她面对死亡时，她却在为孩子们的未来做打算。我常想，如果我是她，我会说些什么。我不断的盘问让我的孩子们开玩笑说我像联邦调查局特工。我的爱与鼓励的话语在哪里？
经过一段时间的希望后，医生发现了另一个恶性肿瘤。癌症扩散到了她的肺部；已是晚期。丽贝卡在凌晨时分录制磁带，里面充满了家庭故事和建议，试图将一生的爱压缩进短短几小时。最后，她把完成的磁带托付给了丈夫。
一天下午，我接到一个紧急电话。丽贝卡需要我立刻带一盘空白磁带过去。我到达时，她脸色潮红，呼吸急促。我放入磁带，将麦克风举到她的唇边。
“露西，汉娜，莫莉——这是最重要的磁带，”她握着我的手开始说道。“总有一天，爸爸会带一位新妈妈回家。请让她感到特别。教她如何照顾你们。露西，亲爱的，每周二帮她准备好你的幼女童军制服。汉娜，告诉她你不想把肉酱浇在意大利面上；她不会知道你喜欢分开吃。莫莉，如果没有苹果汁，别生气；喝点别的。感到难过是可以的，宝贝们。耶稣也哭过。他懂得悲伤，也会帮助你们再次快乐起来。记住，我永远爱你们。”
我关掉录音机。丽贝卡深深地叹了口气。“谢谢你，”她虚弱地微笑着说。“你会把这盘磁带交给她们的，对吧？”她喃喃低语，渐渐入睡。
播放这盘磁带的时刻终会到来。但就在那时，我为她掖好毯子后，匆匆赶回家。我想起我的女儿香农也喜欢把酱汁放在一边——这个曾多次惹恼我的小癖好，此刻却让她显得如此珍贵。那天晚上，我的孩子们没有出门。意大利面酱汁在盘子上早已干涸，我们仍坐在一起交谈——没有盘问，没有抱怨——直到深夜。