但是每逢周日，他就会穿上灰色西装，戴上礼帽；奶奶则穿上酒红色的连衣裙，戴上象牙珠链，两人一起去做礼拜。爷爷和奶奶都是宁静平和，感情从不外露的人。
护士向我道歉，说不得不这么快就请我把爷爷的物品从房间里搬走，其实搬东西也用不了很久，爷爷身无长物。搬东西时，我在他的床头几最上面的抽屉里发现了一样东西。那看起来像是一张旧的自制的情人卡，以前应该是红色的纸现在退色了，变成了带有斑纹的粉红色，红心的中央用胶水粘着一张白纸，上面是奶奶用钢笔写下的一段文字，内容是这样的：
哈丽特致李：
你是真实的、活生生的吗？难道说你是我这么多年来最美丽的梦？你是一个天使吗？——或者你只是我想象中的幻影，为了填补空虚，为了抚平创伤臆造出来的人物？你是从哪里找到时间来听我诉说的？你又为何总能理解我呢？
我的心痛哭时，你带给我欢笑。我还没学会舞步，你就带我去了舞会。我迷茫时，你却帮我设立了新的目标。你给我看那清新的露珠，我就拥有了璀璨的钻石；你给我摘来野花，我就拥有了幽兰；你给我唱一首歌，天使们就开始了合唱。你握住我的手，我的整个人都爱上了你；你给我一枚戒指，我全部属于了你；我属于你之后，就体验了世间的全部。
全身心地爱你。
1895年2月14日
我读着这些话，泪水扑面而下。我想象着一直以来就认识的这对老夫妇。要把爷爷奶奶想象成其他角色是那样的困难。我读到的字句却是如此美丽而神圣。爷爷这些年一直保存着这张卡，而现在，我把它装上镜框，放在梳妆台上。它成了一份弥足珍贵的家族历史。
For Moms写给妈妈们……
This is for all the mothers who DIDN’T win Mother of the Year last year， all the runners-up and all the wannabes， including the mothers too tired to enter or too busy to care.
This is for all the mothers who froze their buns off on metal bleachers at soccer games on Friday night， instead of watching from cars. So that when their kids asked， “Did you see my goal？” They could say， “Of course， wouldn’t have missed it for the world，” and mean it.
This is for all the mothers who have sat up all night with sick toddlers in their arms， wiping up barf laced with Oscar Mayer wieners and cherry Kool-Aid saying， “It’s OK honey， Mommy’s here.”
This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they’ll never see， and the mothers who took those babies and made them homes.
This is for all the mothers of the victims of school shootings， and the mothers of the murderers. For the mothers of the survivors， and the mothers who sat in front of their TVs in horror， hugging their child who just came home from school， safely.
This is for all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies and sew Halloween costumes， and all the mothers who DON’T.
What makes a good mother anyway？ Is it patience？ Compassion？ Broad hips？
Is it the ability to nurse a baby， cook dinner， and sew a button on a shirt， all at the same time？ Or is it heart？
Is it the ache you feel when you watch your son or daughter disappear down the street， walking to school alone for the very first time？
Is it the jolt that takes you from sleep to dread， as you bound from bed to crib at 2 a.m. to put your hand on the back of a sleeping baby？
Is it the need to flee from wherever you are and hug your child when you hear news of a school shooting， a fire， a car accident， or a baby dying？
I think so.
So this is for all the mothers who sat down with their children and explained all about making babies， and for all the mothers who wanted to but just couldn’t.
This is for reading “Good night， Moon” twice a night for a year. And then reading it again. “Just one more time.”
This is for all the mothers who mess up， who yell at their kids in the grocery store and swat them in despair and stomp their feet like a tired 2-year-old who wants ice cream before dinner.
This is for all the mothers who taught their daughters to tie their shoelaces before they started school. And for all the mothers who opted for Velcro instead.
This is for all the mothers who bite their lips—sometimes until they bleed—when their 14 year olds dye their hair green. Who lock themselves in the bathroom when babies keep crying and won’t stop.
This is for all the mothers who show up at work with spit-up in their hair and milk stains on their blouses and diapers in their purse.
This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to cook and their daughters to sink a jump shot.
This is for all mothers whose heads turn automatically when a little voice calls “Mom？” in a crowd， even though they know their own offspring are at home.
This is for mothers who put pinwheels and teddy bears on their children’s graves.
This is for mothers whose children have gone astray， who can’t find the words to reach them.
This is for all the mothers who sent their sons to school with stomachaches， assuring them they’d be just FINE once they got there， only to get calls from the school nurse and hour later asking them to please pick them up， right away.
This is for young mothers stumbling through diaper changes and sleep deprivation， and mature mothers learning to let go.
This is for working mothers and stay-at-home mothers， single mothers and married mothers， mothers with money， and mothers without.
This is for you all. So hang in there！
本文谨献给所有未能获得去年“年度母亲”的妈妈们，所有的亚军和希望超越她们的人们，还包括那些太过牢累没能参加或是太过忙碌而无暇顾及的母亲们。
这是写给所有会在周五晚上到露天球场观看足球赛的母亲们，她们会坐在冰凉的看台上，而不是从汽车里面观看。因此，当她们的孩子问：“你看到我得分了吗？”她们就能回答：“当然，我怎么会错过你的比赛啊。”事实确实是这样。
这是写给所有整晚紧抱生病的孩子，擦掉那些有Oscar Mayer香肠的呕吐物，并温柔地说：“好了，宝贝，妈妈在这里。”
这是写给这些未能见孩子一面而逝去的母亲们。也送给那些收养了这些孩子，并给了他们一个家的母亲们。
这是写给这些母亲们。她们的孩子成了学校枪击事件的受害者；她们是杀人犯的母亲；她们是烈士的母亲；她们坐在电视前心神不宁，满怀恐惧，孩子一放学安全回家就拥抱孩子的母亲们。
这是写给这些合伙使用汽车，会做饼干，缝制万圣节衣服的母亲们，也写给那些不做这些事情的母亲们。
是什么能成就一个好母亲呢？是耐心？同情？还是博大的胸怀？
是同时都具有抚养孩子，做饭，订纽扣的能力？还是有充满挚爱的心？
是你看着儿子或女儿消失在街头，第一次走进校园时的那种失落吗？
是你从梦中惊醒，在午夜两点从床上跳起来到婴儿床边，轻拍熟睡的宝贝时的那种震撼吗？
还是不论身在何处，只要听到有关校园枪击案、火灾、车祸，或者有孩子死亡的消息时，渴望拥抱自己孩子的那种迫切哪？
我是这样认为的。
因此，这是写给所有的母亲，她们抱着孩子坐下，解释说养孩子的不易；这也是写给那些心有余而力不足的母亲们。
这是写给每个晚上都要读两遍“晚安，月亮”，之后却又读一遍，说“再来一遍”的母亲们。
这是写给所有心情糟糕的母亲，她们在商店里责骂她们的孩子，朝死里打他们，甚至像一个两岁的小孩想在饭前吃根冰激凌一样，气得跺脚。
这是写给所有这样的母亲，她们在女儿开始上学前就教孩子学系鞋带，还有那些选择维可牢尼龙搭扣而不是鞋带的母亲。
这是写给这些母亲们，她们看见自己14岁的孩子把头发染成绿色，会气得把嘴唇咬出血，当孩子不停地哭喊的时候，她们会绝望地躲在浴室里。
这是写给这些母亲，她们上班的时候，头发上有唾液，上衣上有奶渍，包里有小孩尿布。
这是写给这样的母亲，她们教儿子做饭，教女儿跳投篮球。
这是写给这样的母亲，当她们在拥挤的人群里哪怕听到一个很小的叫“妈妈？”的声音，她们就会马上转过头来，即使她们知道孩子在家里。
这是写给那些在她们孩子的墓前放上风车和泰迪熊的母亲们。
这是写给那些母亲们，她们的孩子误入歧途，母亲又不能找到合适的话来教导他们。
这是写给这样的母亲们，她们把胃痛的儿子送到学校，而且还对孩子说他们一到学校就好了，结果却从学校护士那里接到电话，一小时后叫她们去接孩子。
这是写给年轻母亲的，她们忙于给孩子换尿布上，几乎没有了睡眠时间。而成熟的母亲学着放任他们。
这是写给所有工作的母亲与呆在家的母亲，单身的母亲与已婚的母亲，有钱的母亲与没有钱的母亲。
就这些，到此止笔！
