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我不知道樱花能开多久，是否值得去等待；我不知道流星能划多久，是否值得去追求。但我知道你一定是我最好最好的朋友，值得我用一生去挽留……
In the 1950s, local banks sent personalized checks to non-customers to try to generate1 new business. I was eight years old, proud of my new writing and spelling ability, so I begged for these checks from my parents.
My homemade cards, heavily colored and flowery with prose2 and poetry, with a bogus3 check inside, were made out to the honoree in the amount appropriate to the extent of my love. For my brothers, it was a dollar. For my parents, it was thousands. For my Uncle Howard, it was a million dollars.
In July of 1958, we held a Sunday dinner birthday celebration for my uncle. He opened the card I’d made, read the message inside and looked at the check enclosed for a long time. Smiling at me from across the dinner table, he thanked me for the card and check. Then he took his wallet out of his back pocket, folded and tucked4 the check away, saying, “I’ll just keep this with me until I need it.”
Thirty-five years later, I sat drinking coffee, early in the morning, at that same table, across from the same smile, hearing the same voice, sharing the same memories of those thirty-five years, with the same Uncle Howard? Probably for the last time. My uncle was dying of cancer. Radiation5 and chemotherapy6 had been administered without success. Sitting there talking about the good old days, I fooled myself into thinking this was a pleasure visit and there would be others to come. But deep down, I knew that this visit was for good-bye.
Putting down his coffee mug, he reached for his hip7 pocket. Unfolding his wallet, he reached inside and handed me a pale blue slip of paper, folded in half, saying, “Remember this?” That was the birthday check for a million dollars. He had kept it, carrying it with him, shifting it from old wallet to new wallet for thirty-five years.
“You never tried to cash it,” I joked.
“I never needed it,” he said. “I’ll just keep this with me a little longer in case I need it yet.” He put it away once more.
Four days later, he was gone.
Shortly after the funeral, I returned home from work and found a package on the kitchen table mailed to me. The handwritten return address was from my aunt. Inside was another small package with a short note in Uncle Howard’s handwriting. “Since I don’t need this anymore, I thought you might want it back. With love, Uncle Howard.” Enclosed was the check for a million dollars, mounted inside a frame. Thanks, Uncle Howard, for a million-dollar love that lasts longer than a lifetime.
20世纪50年代，地方银行把个人支票送给那些客户以外的人以开发新业务。那时候，我8岁，刚学会写字，对自己的拼写能力引以为豪，因此，我就恳求父母给我一些空白支票。
我在自制的卡片上涂上浓浓的色彩，画上绚丽的鲜花，写上散文和诗，里面装上一张伪造的支票，上面写上适当的数字以表达我对卡片的受赠者的爱。给我的兄弟们的支票上填的是一美元，给我父母的支票上填的则是数千美元。而送给爱德华叔叔的支票上填的则是100万美元。
1958年7月的一个星期天，我们为爱德华叔叔举办了一次生日庆祝晚宴。他打开我自制的生日卡片，看了里面的贺词，并在那张支票上盯了好长时间。然后，隔着餐桌冲我笑了笑，对我表示感谢。然后，他从裤子后面的口袋里掏出皮夹，把支票折起来，塞进皮夹里，说道：“我要一直保留着，等我需要的时候再拿出来用。”
35年之后的一天清早，我坐在同一张餐桌前，看着桌子对面同样的笑容，听着同样的声音，和爱德华叔叔喝着咖啡，共同分享着过去35年的同样的记忆——这也许是最后一次。我的叔叔就快被癌魔夺去生命了。放疗和化疗都已经做过了，但都没有成功。我坐在那里和他谈论着过去许多美好的日子，我骗自己去想这是一次愉快的拜访，以后还有的是机会来看他。但是在我内心深处，我知道这次拜访极有可能就是永别。
他放下手中的咖啡杯，手伸进裤子后面的口袋里，掏出皮夹，然后从里面拿出一张浅蓝色的半折着的纸，递给我，说：“还记得这个吗？”是那张100万美元的生日支票。在过去的35年中，他一直保留着它，把它带在身边，把它从旧皮夹换到了新皮夹里。
“你从来没有试着把它兑现吗？”我开玩笑地说。
“我从来不需要它，”他说。“但我还会将它保留更长一段时间，以防将来我还需要它。”他再一次把它珍藏在了皮夹里。
四天之后，他离开了我们。
葬礼之后不久，我下班回到家里，发现厨房的餐桌上有一个邮寄给我的包裹，我从手写的回信地址的笔迹上认出包裹是我的婶婶寄来的。里面还有一个小包裹，上面有一张简短的便条，笔迹是爱德华叔叔的。“因为我不再需要这个了，我想你可以把它收回去。爱你的爱德华叔叔。”这个小包裹里装的就是那张用画框裱好的100万美元的支票。谢谢你，爱德华叔叔，因为你让我的100万美元的爱伴随了你一生，直至永远。
紫藤花摘译自Memories in Life
In the 1950s, local banks sent personalized checks to non-customers to try to generate1 new business. I was eight years old, proud of my new writing and spelling ability, so I begged for these checks from my parents.
My homemade cards, heavily colored and flowery with prose2 and poetry, with a bogus3 check inside, were made out to the honoree in the amount appropriate to the extent of my love. For my brothers, it was a dollar. For my parents, it was thousands. For my Uncle Howard, it was a million dollars.
In July of 1958, we held a Sunday dinner birthday celebration for my uncle. He opened the card I’d made, read the message inside and looked at the check enclosed for a long time. Smiling at me from across the dinner table, he thanked me for the card and check. Then he took his wallet out of his back pocket, folded and tucked4 the check away, saying, “I’ll just keep this with me until I need it.”
Thirty-five years later, I sat drinking coffee, early in the morning, at that same table, across from the same smile, hearing the same voice, sharing the same memories of those thirty-five years, with the same Uncle Howard? Probably for the last time. My uncle was dying of cancer. Radiation5 and chemotherapy6 had been administered without success. Sitting there talking about the good old days, I fooled myself into thinking this was a pleasure visit and there would be others to come. But deep down, I knew that this visit was for good-bye.
Putting down his coffee mug, he reached for his hip7 pocket. Unfolding his wallet, he reached inside and handed me a pale blue slip of paper, folded in half, saying, “Remember this?” That was the birthday check for a million dollars. He had kept it, carrying it with him, shifting it from old wallet to new wallet for thirty-five years.
“You never tried to cash it,” I joked.
“I never needed it,” he said. “I’ll just keep this with me a little longer in case I need it yet.” He put it away once more.
Four days later, he was gone.
Shortly after the funeral, I returned home from work and found a package on the kitchen table mailed to me. The handwritten return address was from my aunt. Inside was another small package with a short note in Uncle Howard’s handwriting. “Since I don’t need this anymore, I thought you might want it back. With love, Uncle Howard.” Enclosed was the check for a million dollars, mounted inside a frame. Thanks, Uncle Howard, for a million-dollar love that lasts longer than a lifetime.
20世纪50年代，地方银行把个人支票送给那些客户以外的人以开发新业务。那时候，我8岁，刚学会写字，对自己的拼写能力引以为豪，因此，我就恳求父母给我一些空白支票。
我在自制的卡片上涂上浓浓的色彩，画上绚丽的鲜花，写上散文和诗，里面装上一张伪造的支票，上面写上适当的数字以表达我对卡片的受赠者的爱。给我的兄弟们的支票上填的是一美元，给我父母的支票上填的则是数千美元。而送给爱德华叔叔的支票上填的则是100万美元。
1958年7月的一个星期天，我们为爱德华叔叔举办了一次生日庆祝晚宴。他打开我自制的生日卡片，看了里面的贺词，并在那张支票上盯了好长时间。然后，隔着餐桌冲我笑了笑，对我表示感谢。然后，他从裤子后面的口袋里掏出皮夹，把支票折起来，塞进皮夹里，说道：“我要一直保留着，等我需要的时候再拿出来用。”
35年之后的一天清早，我坐在同一张餐桌前，看着桌子对面同样的笑容，听着同样的声音，和爱德华叔叔喝着咖啡，共同分享着过去35年的同样的记忆——这也许是最后一次。我的叔叔就快被癌魔夺去生命了。放疗和化疗都已经做过了，但都没有成功。我坐在那里和他谈论着过去许多美好的日子，我骗自己去想这是一次愉快的拜访，以后还有的是机会来看他。但是在我内心深处，我知道这次拜访极有可能就是永别。
他放下手中的咖啡杯，手伸进裤子后面的口袋里，掏出皮夹，然后从里面拿出一张浅蓝色的半折着的纸，递给我，说：“还记得这个吗？”是那张100万美元的生日支票。在过去的35年中，他一直保留着它，把它带在身边，把它从旧皮夹换到了新皮夹里。
“你从来没有试着把它兑现吗？”我开玩笑地说。
“我从来不需要它，”他说。“但我还会将它保留更长一段时间，以防将来我还需要它。”他再一次把它珍藏在了皮夹里。
四天之后，他离开了我们。
葬礼之后不久，我下班回到家里，发现厨房的餐桌上有一个邮寄给我的包裹，我从手写的回信地址的笔迹上认出包裹是我的婶婶寄来的。里面还有一个小包裹，上面有一张简短的便条，笔迹是爱德华叔叔的。“因为我不再需要这个了，我想你可以把它收回去。爱你的爱德华叔叔。”这个小包裹里装的就是那张用画框裱好的100万美元的支票。谢谢你，爱德华叔叔，因为你让我的100万美元的爱伴随了你一生，直至永远。
紫藤花摘译自Memories in Life