我們所知道最美麗的人，是那些曾經經歷失敗、痛苦、掙扎、失去，但最終能走出深淵的人。這些人對生命懷抱著感恩與理解，這使他們富有同情心、對身邊的人溫柔又充滿深切的關愛。美麗的人並不是理所當然的。
伊莉莎白・庫伯勒-羅斯
轉眼間，媽媽離開已經一年了。過去一年裡，我努力地讓自己走出傷痛、過著媽媽希望我過的生活。時間過得既緩慢又迅速，表面上我的生活已經回到正軌，繼續馬不停蹄地朝著自己的人生目標狂奔，但是我知道我心中那道哀慟的傷口只是結了一層薄薄的痂，稍有不慎，便又會被撕扯得鮮血淋漓、面目全非。
去年 10月19日早晨，我聽說醫生決定放棄對媽媽的治療，五雷轟頂之後，我生平第一次深刻的體會到什麼是「度日如年」。從等待四天後的班機、漫長又煎熬的航程、回到台灣隔離、申請採檢、等待結果，到最後終於見到病骨支離的媽媽，時間慢得彷彿是一頭垂垂老矣的毛驢拖著的一盤舊石磨，而我在石磨底下緩緩地被齏得粉身碎骨。媽媽離開以後，有好長一段時間，我每晚睡前都暗暗希望我就此一睡不醒，不需要再面對排山倒海而來的哀慟，但是每天清晨依然在淚水中失望地睜眼，再度被鋪天蓋地的悲傷吞沒。於是我開始在每天早晨數著日子，一天、兩天、三天，好不容易熬到了一週、兩週，我不知道自己究竟有沒有真正接受媽媽離開的事實，但是數著數著，我漸漸明白了無論我遭逢了什麼樣的巨變，每天太陽依舊照常升起，這個世界並不會因為我或任何其他事情而停止運轉，我彷彿有點明白了媽媽生前曾經跟我說的：「天塌下來了，也要想法子扛著。」於是我心中住著那隻悲哀的杜鵑，泣血的次數慢慢減少了，從一天數次到數天一次，再到現在大約一個月一次，雖然過程緩慢，但是我依然繼續一片一片地拼湊著我破碎的心。
有時候，時間又快得像是有人快馬加鞭地狂趕的一匹白駒，在我回過神之前就絕塵而去、不見蹤影。在台灣六週的喪假轉瞬即逝，雖然這是我自從 2013年上研究所以來，在台灣待得最久的一次，我還是恨不得把每一秒鐘都掰成兩半來花。回到美國之後，我馬上全心投入工作，兩週後先生也結束他的喪假回加州。我們一起過聖誕節、迎接新的一年、在各自的公司轉換跑道、買了房子搬了家、辦了婚禮、上了半穹頂、去了阿拉斯加。我又開始跑步（一月底時幫媽媽跑了一場半馬，完成她未竟的心願）、彈吉他、攀岩、爬山、看書、寫文章。我在公司接了新專案、考到了證照、升了職、開始規劃職涯的下一步，似乎已經完全回到了之前緊湊的生活節奏。我千辛萬苦地爬出了痛苦的深淵，雖然依舊一身悲傷的泥濘，向前奔跑時也依然跌跌撞撞，有時更會出其不意地又摔一跤、狼狽萬分，但是好歹我回到了一條正確的道路上、一條媽媽希望我走的路。從今以後，我會繼續努力把這條路走好。
我記得2015年我在研究所準備轉組、壓力最大時，媽媽每天都會傳一則心靈雞湯鼓勵我。我印象最深刻的一則是伊莉莎白・庫伯勒-羅斯的這段話：「我們所知道最美麗的人，是那些曾經經歷失敗、痛苦、掙扎、失去，但最終能走出深淵的人。這些人對生命懷抱著感恩與理解，這使他們富有同情心、對身邊的人溫柔又充滿深切的關愛。美麗的人並不是理所當然的。」媽媽藉著這段話鼓勵我要努力走出失敗和痛苦的深淵，把自己活成一個美麗的人。我後來才知道，庫伯勒-羅斯是研究死亡的專家，提出了著名的「哀傷的五個階段」。或許是冥冥之中自有天意，我覺得她的這段話用來支持失去媽媽的我似乎更貼切。現在沒有人會每天傳心靈雞湯給我了，但是我依然要繼續努力成為一個像媽媽一樣美麗的人。
The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.
Elisabeth Kübler-Ross
It has been a year since my mom passed away. In the past year, I have been trying very hard to overcome my grief and get my life back on track, to the life that my mom wanted me to live. Strangely, time passed by very slowly and quickly – from the outside, it seems like my life is indeed back on track, and I am running towards my life goals at full speed again. Yet I know within, the deep wound in my heart only formed a very thin scab; it might be torn and start to drip fresh blood anytime.
In the morning of October 19th last year, I heard my mom’s doctor gave up on curative care. After the lightning strike, I felt like my days had literally turned into years. From waiting for the flight four days later, the long and torturing flight itself, the quarantine when I arrived in Taiwan, petitioning for COVID testing so that I could visit my mom in the hospital, waiting for my test results, to finally seeing my mom on her deathbed, time passed by so slowly like an old stone mill dragged by a sluggish old donkey. My soul was ground into powder under that very mill. For a very long period of time after my mom passed away, before I went to bed every night, I wished that I would not wake up the next day. This way I would not have to deal with the overwhelming pain. However, I always woke up the next morning in tears and disappointment, and started another day engulfed with sorrow. So I started to count the days when I woke up in the morning – one day, two days, three days, and I finally made it to one week, two weeks. Up to this day, I am still not sure if I have fully accepted my mom’s death. However, as I count the days, I at least accepted that no matter what life strikes me with, the sun will still rise the next day. The world will not stop moving forward because of me, or anything else. I think I finally started to understand what my mom meant when she once told me, “If the sky falls, find a way to carry it on your shoulder.” Day by day, the sad cuckoos living in my heart cries blood less frequently, from several times a day, to once every several days, eventually to about once a month now. Although it has been an extremely slow process, I never stop trying to piece my broken heart back together.
Sometimes, time flies by so fast like a galloping white horse rushed by a hasty rider, leaving nothing but flying dust behind before I could realize what happened. My six weeks of bereavement leave in Taiwan went by in a snap. Even though it was the longest I ever stayed in Taiwan since I started graduate school in 2013, I still wished I could have broken every second into two seconds. After coming back to the US, I threw myself right back to work. Two weeks later, Steve came back to California from his own bereavement leave. We spent Christmas and New Year together, switching roles within our respective companies, bought a house, moved, had our wedding, hiked Half Dome again, visited Alaska, and did a whole bunch of other things together. I started to spend time on my hobbies again – running (I ran a half marathon for my mom in January, realizing her unfulfilled wish), playing the guitar, singing, baking, rock climbing, reading, and writing. I took on a new project at work, got a professional certification, got promoted, and started to think about my next steps. It does seem like I am back to my face-paced life before my mom passed away. Although I managed to crawl out of the swamp of grief, I am still covered with the mud of sadness. I still stumble a lot when I go down my path, and from time to time I even fall hard unexpectedly. But at least I am back on a right path, the path that my mom wanted me to walk on. I will keep working hard to walk this path well, just like what my mom had wished.
In 2015, when I was extremely stressed and desperate trying to switch research groups, my mom sent me an inspirational quote every morning to support me. The one that left the strongest impression is this quote from Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, “The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.” My mom used this quote to encourage me to find my way out of my defeats and suffering and become a beautiful person. I didn’t find out until much later that Elisabeth Kübler-Ross is a pioneer and expert in near-death studies, and she is famous for her “five stages of grief.” Perhaps it is a coincidence, but I think this quote is even more appropriate after I lost my mom. Now no one sends me inspirational quotes anymore, but I shall continue to strive to be a beautiful person, just like my mom.