“Dancing at the Pity Party” is the first illustration I read in a very long time. A very good friend from high school recommended it to me earlier this month. I knew it would be hard to read, but I desperately needed someone or something that shares my feelings as a motherless daughter. Since my mom passed away last October, my family has been working extremely hard together to cope with our loss. Everyone, however, is experiencing something different – my father lost the love of his life, I lost my mother who also happens to be my best friend, and my brother, as the youngest one, did not get to spend as much time with my mother as the rest of us. I am truly thankful for the way we have been supporting each other, but there are some things that each of us is going through that no one else gets. Therefore, when I saw this book and a few excerpts — “part poignant cancer memoir and part humorous reflection on a motherless life, this debut graphic novel is extraordinarily comforting and engaging” – I bought it immediately. The author, Tyler Feder, is also a Northwestern alumna. She majored in RTVF and graduated in 2011 (we overlapped for two years), so I saw a lot of Northwestern elements in the book that warmed my heart: Northwestern hoodies, purple T-shirts, and the beautiful Lakefill. As I read through the book, I sometimes wonder if we ever actually crossed paths on campus when we were both there. Her mother was diagnosed with phase IV cancer during her freshman year summer and passed away the following spring, and I found what she went through before, during, and after her mom’s passing extremely relatable. Even though I don’t know her, her book brought me a sense of comfort by showing me that I am not the only daughter losing my beloved mother at a young age, and someone out there just gets it.
I have made quite a bit of progress since last year. I went from needing someone to remind me to eat to getting myself back to my routine. I landed a big new project at work, I started to play the guitar again, and I ran a half marathon. My breakdowns don’t happen as often as they used to (although sometimes they still sneak up at the most unexpected time, such as when I saw Häagen-Dazs ice cream in Safeway). Everyone told me that things will get better over time, and by all objective standards, I AM getting better over time. However, almost every morning when I wake up, the first thought that came to mind is, “It has been X days, why am I still feeling so sad?” I guess I have been expecting myself to get back to my “normal” self before last October, but there was an analogy in the book that captures it all. It is about a Jewish mourning tradition called “Kriah,” where people will tear a black ribbon and pin it over their hearts —
Even if we ever tried to mend the tears in our Kriah ribbons, they could never truly return to their pre-torn states, just as our hearts could never return to how they were before my mom died.
Perhaps this is something I will slowly accept over time. Although my routine is mostly normal at this point, I probably should not expect myself to feel the same ever again. I have been working hard to piece my shattered heart back together, but it is like trying to fix a piece of shattered porcelain – even if I glue every piece back, the cracks will always be there, just like the tear in a Kriah ribbon even after you sew It back.
The hardest part for me to read is the first few chapters that depict how the author’s mother was first diagnosed with phase IV cancer, went through chemotherapy, and eventually passed away. I could not stop crying as I read and I had to take a break every few pages because it was all too real. I have felt literally everything that the author portraited at some point in my life: the denial and devastation when I first learned about the diagnosis, the glimpse of hope every time when my mom’s treatment worked, the fear of what update I would get whenever I got a phone call or Line message from home, the shocking and piercing pain when the doctors gave up on curative care, the breakdown I had when I touched her soft hands for the first time since she left…etc. The author’s depiction of the contrast of her mom before and after chemotherapy also hit me really hard. It was too real – I have seen the process, TWICE, and I have written about this in my articles myself. While I tried hard to keep how my mom looked post-chemo out of my mind (because I am sure that is not how she prefers to be remembered), the illustrations reminded me of the constant agony that became part of my daily life during the last few years of my mom’s life. While this part of the book was very difficult to read (I had to be very careful not to let my tears wet the pages), it brought an odd sense of relief because it assured me that I am not the only daughter in the world that had to go through such a heartbreaking process. Also, no matter much pain I was in last year, the hardest part is over (I hope), and I am already making progress towards recovering and adapting.
The second half of the book provided some really good perspectives on what could happen afterwards – immediately after my mom left, the funeral, a few months later, going through important occasions (ex. graduation, holidays, birthdays…etc.) without her for the first time, and eventually what things might look like ten years later. I have already gone through the first few phases, but since I still wake up every morning counting the days and wondering when I will feel “normal” again, knowing that eventually I will get used to it and continue to live a meaningful life even when my mom is not around is comforting. Many friends told me that my mom never really left me. While I appreciate their intention, I used to have some internal rebut, “I saw her dead body and her bone ashes. She is gone. It’s easy to say things like ‘she has never left,’ but what do you really know?” Now, however, I finally started to understand what they meant every time I channel my mom directly. Just like what the author said, “I’ve always had a lot in common with my mom, but as an adult, I feel like I’m turning into her (which is honestly fine by me.)” I see her in me when I wear her cloths or jewelry; I feel her when I am doing things we used to do together (such as jogging and baking); I hear her cheering me on when I have to overcome a big challenge or do something with great determination and perseverance. Every time when someone says I remind them of my mom, it feels like the biggest compliment in the world. My mom was the one who taught me to always keep my promises since I was a kid. I promised her that I will continue to live a meaningful and fulfilling life and take good care of our loved ones just like she did. The thought that I am starting to deliver on my promise to her (and also becoming more and more like her) makes me feel strong.
By the end of the book, the author said,
Long before my mom ever got sick, her death felt like the number one scariest thing that could happen. And then it happened. And it was the scariest thing that could ever happen. But I survived. Ten years later, I am still here, trying to turn the crap into something sweet, just like she would.
This is exactly how I feel. Cancer and chemotherapy are probably some of the crappies situations that one can encounter, but my mom still turned her life into something sweet by making good use of every minute she had, spending quality time with her loved ones, and leaving a very positive impact on those around her. I don’t know what things will be like ten years later, but it is comforting to know that someone else survived (and therefore I should too). And what I know for sure is I will never break my promise to her and will continue to “turn the crap into something sweet, just like she would.” That way whenever she is watching over me, she will smile because she knows her spirits continue to live in me.
《妳離開之後》是高中的好友羽婷推薦給我的，也是多年以來我看的第一本繪本。我知道這本書讀起來會很艱難苦澀，但是我迫切地需要有人了解一個年紀輕輕就失去母親的女兒的心境。自從媽媽離開後，我們全家都很努力地走出傷痛，但是我們每個人的經歷都不一樣——爸爸痛失原本要牽手一生的摯愛、我失去了我的媽媽和我最親密的朋友、而年紀最小的弟弟和媽媽相處的時間比我們都短暫。我們三個一路互相扶持，我對此也滿懷感恩，但是我們各自都有一些只屬於自己、別人無法完全了解的心境，只能獨自面對。當我看到這本書的簡介——「不管幾歲，成為『沒有媽媽的孩子』都是巨大而緩慢的傷痛，這本書，陪伴最終只能一個人面對的你。」——我立刻買了。
本書的作者泰勒・費德爾跟我一樣是西北大學的校友。她唸的是傳播系，2011年畢業（我們有兩年重疊），所以我在書中看到了很多溫暖熟悉的元素：西北大學的帽T、紫色的上衣、美麗的密西根湖畔。我一邊讀著這本書，一邊不禁猜想我們是否曾經在校園裡擦肩而過。她的媽媽在她唸完大一的暑假被診斷出末期癌症，隔年春天便過世了。我發現她在她媽媽被診斷出罹癌後和過世前後的心路歷程跟我的經歷出奇地相似。雖然我不認識她，但是透過她的書，我卻奇妙地感到她或許是世界上最了解我的感受的人之一。她讓我明瞭我並不孤單，我不是唯一一個年紀輕輕就失去母親的女兒，在世界的某個角落，至少有一個人曾經有過和我相似的經歷、明白我深沉的悲傷。
我覺得從去年十月以來，我在復原方面取得了很大的進展。我從需要有人天天提醒我吃飯到現在工作生活基本上正常、我最近新接了一個公司最大客戶的重要專案、我重新開始彈吉他、我還跑了一個半馬。我情緒崩潰的頻率也降低不少（雖然這還是會在我最意想不到的時候發生，比方說我在超市裡看到哈根達斯冰淇淋的時候）。大家都告訴我，隨著時間的流逝，我會越來越好。從外界看來，以客觀的標準來說，我的確是越來越好，但是每天早晨起床時，腦海中第一個閃過的想法常常是：「已經第幾天了，我為什麼還這麼難過？」我一直期待著自己能完全回到媽媽離開之前「正常」的樣子，但是這本書中有一個比喻貼切地反映了我的情況：猶太人有一個哀悼的傳統叫「Kriah」，失去至親的人會撕裂一條黑色緞帶，並將這條緞帶別在心口，以表達心中的哀痛。
即使我們試圖縫補這條撕裂的緞帶，它永遠不會回到撕裂前的樣子，就像我們的心，永遠都不會回到我媽媽死前的樣子。
或許我也會慢慢接受這個現實。即使我現在的生活已經恢復正常了，期待自己能回到媽媽離開以前的樣子或許是不切實際的。我很努力地在修補我碎裂的心，就像在修補一件摔碎的瓷器，但是即使我把每一片碎片都黏回去，那些裂痕將永遠存在，一如猶太人撕裂的黑緞帶，即使將緞帶縫合，撕裂的痕跡將永遠無法消除。
對我來說最困難的是這本書的開頭的幾個章節，描述作者的媽媽被診斷出癌症、進行化療，到最後抗癌失敗過世的過程。我止不住我的淚水，每看幾頁就要停下來休息一下，因為書裡的一切對我來說都太真實了。作者描繪的每一個階段每一種感受，我在某個時間點都曾經經歷過：媽媽最初診斷出癌症轉移時我內心的抗拒、每次治療有一些效果時希望的微光、每次跟家裡講電話或收到Line訊息時不知道會聽到什麼消息的提心吊膽、醫生放棄治療時的絕望和椎心劇痛、媽媽過世後我第一次握著她柔軟的手時的心碎……等等。作者對於她母親在化療前後對比的描述更是狠狠地擊中了我的心，因為對我來說太真實了——我看著我自己的媽媽經歷同樣的變化，整整兩次，而且我自己也曾經在我的文章裡寫過相似的感受。雖然我盡量不去回想媽媽做化療之後的形象（因為我相信她一定不希望那是她在我們回憶中的樣子），書中的插圖喚醒了我心底揮之不去的痛苦和憂懼——在媽媽生命的最後幾年，這些痛苦和憂懼已經融入我的骨血，成為了我日常生活的一部分。雖然這幾個章節對我來說非常艱難（我還要很小心地不讓淚水打濕書頁），它們卻帶給我一種古怪的解脫感：我再次感受到了我並不是唯一經歷這種哀慟的人，而且不管去年我是如何地椎心泣血，最艱難的部分已經過去了（至少我希望如次），我相信自己已經準備好繼續前進，好好地恢復適應。
這本書的後半部提供了一些很好的觀點，幫助我了解媽媽離開後會發生的各種情況——媽媽過世的當下、告別式、幾個月之後、沒有她的重要日子（節日或生日等等）、到十年後心境可能的轉變。我已經經歷過前面幾個階段了，但是現在我每天起床時還是會數著日子納悶著我什麼時候才能恢復「正常」，所以當作者用她的插畫告訴我我有朝一日終會習慣沒有媽媽的生活、繼續讓每一天都過得有意義時，我彷彿打了一劑強心針。好多朋友都告訴我，媽媽不曾真正離去。我感激他們的好意，但是一開始我心裡是很牴觸的，每次有人對我這麼說，我心底都會有一個倔強的聲音反駁道：「我看見她冰冷的屍體和火化後的骨灰了。她已經走了。你們嘴上說什麼『她不曾離去』說得容易，但是你們根本不懂！」但是現在我好像慢慢開始明白他們要告訴我的是什麼了。就像作者說的：「我一直以來就跟我媽有很多共通點，但是長大以後，我覺得我根本要變成她了（坦白說，我一點都不在意）。」當我穿著她的衣服或是戴著她的首飾時，我在鏡中看見了她；當我做一些我們曾經一起做的事情時（比方說是慢跑或是烘焙），我感到她就在我身邊；當我努力克服困難、或是在做一些需要很大的決心和毅力的事時，我聽得見她在我耳邊幫我加油打氣。每次有人說我讓他們想到媽媽時，我都感到特別驕傲和欣慰。媽媽從小就教我做人一定要言而有信，我在她離開前答應她我一定會繼續好好過生活、好好照顧我們摯愛的家人，就像她一輩子一直在做的一樣。當我看見自己開始實踐對她的承諾（也變得越來越像她）時，我感到自己正在變得越來越堅強。
遠在我媽媽被診斷出罹癌之前，我就覺得她的死亡是全世界頭號可怕的事。它終究發生了，而那的確是全世界最可怕的事，但是我挺過來了。十年之後，我還在這裡，試圖將我痛苦的經歷變得有意義，就像她常做的一樣。
作者在書末的這段話完全說出了我的心聲：癌症和化療大概是一個人能面對的最痛苦的經歷了，但是媽媽依然將生活過得很有意義——她從來不浪費她在這個世上的任何一寸光陰、她把握和家人相處的時光留下了許多珍貴的回憶、帶給了她身邊所有人正面的影響和希望的光輝。我不知道十年之後我的心境究竟會如何，但是知道其他人能挺過來還是帶給我很大的安慰（因為這代表我也能）。我知道的是，我永遠不會違背我對她的承諾。我會繼續「將我痛苦的經歷變得有意義」，就像她一輩字都在做的一樣。希望如此一來，她在看著我時臉上總是能掛著微笑，因為她的精神和典範在我身上永遠活了下來。
