每個(gè)人都有屬于自己的記憶，不論美好或悲傷，那些已經(jīng)逝去的時(shí)光都永遠(yuǎn)不再回來，隨著歲月的流逝，成為顆顆璀璨的鉆石在生命里熠熠生輝。
I became afraid that one day I, too, would be unable to recall my husband, not because of Alzheimer's, but simply because my memory of him might fade. So from the day of Ed's diagnosis until his death a year later, I set out to memorize him: his crooked smile and vigorous embrace, his woodsy smell and the way he cleared his throat when he reached the top of the stairs. I knew I'd always be able to recite his qualities: kind, gentle, smart, funny, but I wanted to be able to conjure up the physical man in my mind, as fully as possible, when he was gone. Back then, I thought memory was a deliberate, cognitive process, like remembering multiplication tables or lyrics or where the keys were. Unable to rescue Ed from cancer, I was determined to save him from the only thing worse than dying: being forgotten. Later I learned that memory has a will of its own. You can't control it any more than you can influence the weather. When it springs up, a person loved and lost is found, if only for a few seconds.
我開始害怕有一天，自己也會(huì)無法回憶起丈夫，不是因?yàn)榛剂嗽缋闲园V呆癥，而僅僅是因?yàn)槲覍λ挠洃浛赡軙?huì)漸漸消退。因此，從埃德確診的那一天開始到一年后他離去的這段時(shí)間里，我開始盡力去記住他的一切：他那壞壞的笑，那有力的擁抱，他身上那種木香，以及他爬上樓梯頂端之后清喉嚨的樣子。我知道我會(huì)一直記得他的一切品質(zhì)：和善、溫柔、聰明、風(fēng)趣，但是我想在他離開之后，自己能夠盡可能全面地將他完整而生動(dòng)地呈現(xiàn)在腦海中。 那時(shí)，我以為記憶是一個(gè)需要細(xì)心思量的認(rèn)知過程，就像記住乘法口訣表、歌詞，或是鑰匙放在什么地方那樣。我無法將埃德從癌癥的魔掌中拯救出來，但我決心牢牢記住他：被遺忘是唯一比死亡更糟糕的事。 后來，我認(rèn)識(shí)到記憶本身是有自主意愿的。你無法控制它，就像你無法影響天氣一樣。記憶一旦涌現(xiàn)，已逝去的摯愛之人就會(huì)出現(xiàn)在你面前，即便只有幾秒鐘。