介绍:
When I was a child, my mother often worried about her age and complained about growing older.
在我孩提时代，我的妈妈总是担心她的年龄，抱怨自己在变老。
I struggled to find answers as to why she lived in such fear.
我绞尽脑汁想弄明白她为什么生活在这种恐惧中。
When I first understood that I wouldn’t live forever, I went to Mama for answers and for comfort.
当我第一次明白自己无法永生时，我曾向妈妈寻求解答和安慰。
She provided the answers I feared, but instead of comforting me, she only added, “At least you have more time left than I do.”
她说出了那些令我恐惧的答案，但却没有安慰我，只是补充了一句：“至少你剩下的日子比我多。”
Her response didn’t comfort me then or in the years that followed.
她的回答在当时和之后的几年中并没有给我一丝安慰。
I worried about death and grieved, knowing that my life would eventually end.
知道了自己的生命必将终结，那时的我担忧着死亡的到来，心中满是悲伤。
At the age of thirty-six, Mama was diagnosed ) with lung cancer and was gone six months later.
在妈妈36岁那年，她被诊断患有肺癌，并在六个月之后撒手人寰。
It was years before I let myself read her diaries, but when I did, it was these two sentences that changed my perspective on life and all I believed:
几年之后，我允许自己去读她的日记，但在我读的时候，就是下面这两句话改变了我对生命和我所笃信的一切的看法：
“I don’t know why I spent my life worrying about my age. Now I just wish I could grow old.”
“我不明白自己为什么浪费生命去担忧年龄。我现在只希望自己能够变老。”
The one thing that Mama feared the most became the thing she most desired—simply to grow old.
妈妈最害怕的那件事情变成了她最深的渴望——只是想要变老。
I was fifteen when Mama died.
妈妈去世的时候，我15岁。
I went from a carefree teenager, whose greatest concerns were tests and basketball games, to the woman of the house.
我从一个只关心测验和篮球比赛的无忧少女变成了家里的女主人。
I planned meals and bought groceries ).
我负责做饭和买东西。
I washed and ironed Daddy’s shirts. My identity wasn’t dependent on numbers and milestones.
我给爸爸洗烫衬衫。我的身份不再取决于数字和大事记。
Time was no longer a thief stealing days from my life but was, instead, a reminder of how many days I’d been blessed to live.
时间不再是偷窃我生命中那些日子的小偷，而是一种提示，它提醒我已有幸度过了多少时日。
When I turned forty-five, I was asked if it bothered me to turn another year older.
当我45岁的时候，有人问我又老了一岁是否让我觉得困扰。
I responded, “Why would I be upset over the fact that I was allowed to turn forty-five?
我回答道：“我可以活到45岁，我为什么要对此感到困扰呢？I’m celebrating another year that I got to live and experience the things I enjoy and to be with the people I love.
我该庆祝在我可以活上又一年，体验我喜欢的事情，和我爱的人们在一起。
How could I ever be upset about that?”
我怎么可能会对此感到困扰呢？”
I now see each day as a continuation of the preceding ) one, separated by a moment of darkness.
我现在将每一天都看作前一天的延续，它们之间隔着一瞬间的黑暗。
Like the ever-seeing eye that for a second is hidden behind a heavy lid ), yearning ) for yet hurrying through the blink ), a day is hidden by darkness, only to be renewed by it.
正如永视的眼睛被沉重的眼睑遮蔽片刻却仍渴望着迅速结束眨眼一样，白日隐藏于黑暗，只为在黑暗中重生。
Although time is invisible, I once allowed it to define my life.
尽管时间藏于无形，我也曾令其界定过我的生命。
By putting it into neat little boxes called days, I learned to put too much emphasis on ever-changing numbers and lost sight of the only number that really mattered—one.
通过将它放进那些名为“日子”的整齐的小盒子里，我学会了过分重视那些不断变化的数字，而忽视唯一真正重要的数字，那就是“一”。
Although Mama left this world with hair that was yet to gray, she was given the same thing as those whose bodies were lined with age—one life.
尽管妈妈离开这个世界的时候头发尚未花白，但她与那些身体已被刻上岁月痕迹的人们被赐予的是同样的东西，那就是一生。
It wasn’t a life to be compared to that of another, but to be lived as if there was no such thing as yesterday or tomorrow—only today.
那不是要与他人的生活攀比的一生，而是要活得仿若没有昨日、更无来日、只有今朝的一生。
I believe that my life should not be defined by numbers but by what I have experienced and what I have given of myself.
我相信我的人生不应由数字界定，而是取决于我经历的事情和我自己的付出。
When I’m gone, the number of years attached to my life will not matter. What I have given of it to others will.
当我离开人世的时候，我的生命有多少年将不重要，我用我的生命为他人做出的贡献才会重要。
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