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我至今仍保留着奶奶为我织的毛衣。那是一件有着小花和小猫花纹的小毛衣，是我七八岁时奶奶一针一线织给我的，非常漂亮，也很温暖。尽管后来我已经穿不下了，它还是好好地待在衣柜里。这件毛衣是奶奶对我的爱，每次看到它，我都有种安定温暖的感觉。亲人的“遗物”或许不贵重，但对我们来说，总有着特别的意义。对于本文作者来说也是这样，丈夫斯图尔特留下的每一件遗物都是回忆，都是爱。
My husband， Stuart， died last June after a decadelong struggle with cancer. He was 77 years old， a former journalist and public relations executive[经理主管人员]， a marathon[马拉松赛跑] runner， and a man beloved and respected by family and friends.
In going through his belongings， I often find things that I have forgotten about， small things that taken together are not small.
In the back of a drawer[抽屉]， I discover a poem that he wrote when we were students together at New York University. It reads：
Think in the morn[破晓]
There will be no sorrow[悲伤].
Think what is today
Is not tomorrow.
He wrote that poem when he was 25 years old， in 1961， the year we were married. He was the ultimate[终极的] optimist[乐观主义者]， or so I thought. Yet now I read sadness in his words.
To my knowledge[知道]， he never wrote another poem. I wonder if he thought he would never write a better one.
Other things I find surprise me and make me smile. He bought in multiples[成倍的]. I count some 20 nail clippers[指甲钳]， perhaps 40 packs of dental floss[牙线]， 10 staplers[订书机]， 20 rolls of packing tape， and enough soap， toothpaste， mouthwash and cotton balls to take me through the next millennium.
I discover clothes that I bought him over the last years and note that the sizes drift downward[下降的] from large to small. Many of the smallest still have their price tags attached[附上].
Then， I spy[侦察，发现] a pair of jeans， mine， hanging to the side in his closet. I am a size eight. At the end， he wore my jeans， and they were too big.
In the midst of my rummaging[搜查]， I receive a computer message from Stuart. Before he died he’d set his computer， without my knowledge， to remind me to do certain chores[琐事].
The first message comes， shockingly， a few weeks after his death. “Please water the blueberry bushes.”
Then： “Please pick the tomatoes.”
In early September： “Time to turn the mattress[褥子] and change the water filter[过滤器] in the refrigerator. Thanks.”
Five days before our quarterly taxes are to be mailed， he reminds me to mail them. He has already filled out the forms and written and signed the checks. Even stamped the envelopes.
With him gone， our papers are no longer properly filed. In fact， my new filing system is an empty box from the grocery store[杂货店]. I find it， at least temporarily[临时地]， an efficient[高效的] arrangement， because every paper that passes through my hands is now located in one spot. Nevertheless， such laziness by me would be sinful[罪恶的] to Stuart， who kept detailed records on almost every item he touched. But then， I rationalize[使合理化]， in the filing department I have always been a disappointment. There can be no doubt that we were polar[两极的] opposites[对立].
Another thing Stuart left behind is the message on our phone. His welcoming voice greets callers. Several people have mentioned the message and suggested I change it.
But one male neighbor counseled[建议] against removing the message. “Good to have a male voice answering the phone，” he said. “Safer.”
Another friend， Dennis， a widower[鳏夫] from my bereavement[丧亲] group， said he would record Stuart’s voice for me in a file on my computer， so I would always have it. And then I could replace his message with my own.
Dennis is experienced in such matters. He did the same thing with the greeting by his wife， Hope. It’s been more than a year since Hope died， yet he often listens to her message. Dennis also sometimes carries a computer with him that has a video of Hope’s last conscious[神志清醒的] day in which she says goodbye to her family. He’s shown me the video several times； he tells me he has viewed it as many as five times a day.
A video of Stuart would be nice. But not on his last day. I’d like to see him in Central Park with our Labrador retriever[拉布拉多猎犬]， Belle. Or playing with one of our grandkids. Or maybe lifting weights at the gym. Or just sitting in his leather chair reading a favorite passage in a book that he simply wants to share with me.
Finally， I come across Stuart’s collection of stopwatches[秒表]. They are relics[遗物] from his running days. Eons ago[很久以前]， I accompanied him to Riverside Park， where he ran around a large field bordering[边缘] the Hudson River. My job was to time and record each loop[圈] with one of his stopwatches.
Without thinking， I recently gave one of the watches to a friend who also runs， and then instantly[立即地] regretted its loss. I cannot yet part with anything.
我丈夫斯图尔特与癌症斗争了十年，终于在去年六月离世，享年77岁。他当过记者，做过公关主管，跑过马拉松，深受亲朋好友的敬重与爱戴。
在整理他的遗物时，我常常会发现一些自己早已忘记的物事—都是些小玩意儿，凑在一起却是那么的重要。
我在抽屉后头找到一首诗歌，他写这首诗的时候，我们俩还在纽约大学念书。这首诗是这样的：
思之于拂晓
愿愁苦不再。
今日好光景
明日不复来。
他在25岁时写下这首诗，那是1961年，我们结婚的那一年。他是个无可救药的乐观主义者—我本以为是这样，但现在我从他的字里行间读出了一缕伤感。
据我所知，他再也没有写过别的诗歌，不知道是不是他觉得自己再也写不出更好的作品呢。
另一些发现则让我大吃一惊，忍不住笑了起来。他老是买一大堆东西。我数了数，差不多有20把指甲钳、大概40包牙线、10个订书机、20卷包装胶带，以及足够我用到下一个千禧年的肥皂、牙膏、漱口水和棉球。
我找到了自己在过去几年里给他买的衣物，发现这些衣服从大码逐渐“缩水”成了小码，许多最小号的衣服甚至连价格标签都还没撕掉。
我接着发现我的一条牛仔裤挂在他的衣柜边上。我穿八码，他最后只能穿我的裤子—就连我的裤子，对他来说也太大了。
当我翻箱倒柜的时候，我在电脑上收到一条来自斯图尔特的信息。他在去世之前瞒着我悄悄地在自己的电脑上做好了设置，以便提醒我做好各种家务杂事。 第一条信息是在他死后几周出现的，吓了我一跳：“麻烦给蓝莓树丛浇浇水。”
接下来的是：“麻烦采摘西红柿。”
到了九月初：“是时候翻翻褥子了，冰箱的滤水器也该换了，谢谢。”
早在季度税款寄送日的五天前，他就提醒我记得寄出去。他早已填妥表格，支票上也签了名，甚至将信封上的邮票都贴好了。
在他走后，我们的文件再也没办法好好归档了。事实上，我那个新的“归档系统”就是一个从杂货店买回来的空盒子。至少目前来说，我发现搞个盒子是个挺有效率的做法，因为我经手的每一份文件现在都能在一个地方找到。然而我这种惰性要是让斯图尔特看到一定觉得太作孽了—几乎每一件他经手的东西都会留下详尽记录。不过其实这也合情合理，我在归档方面向来就是那么糟糕。
毫无疑问，我们俩简直截然相反。
斯图尔特留下来的另外一样东西就是我们的电话留言。他用热情的语调向来电者致意。好几个人都和我提及这个留言，建议我把它换掉。
但是有个男性邻居则认为我不应该换留言。“有个男人的声音接电话总是好的，”他说，“安全些。”
我的另一个朋友—丹尼斯是个鳏夫，我们是在丧亲互助小组里认识的。丹尼斯说，他可以帮我录下斯图尔特的声音，将音频文件存到我的电脑里；这样我就能一直保存起来，然后就可以将斯图尔特的留言换成我自己的了。
丹尼斯可是这方面的行家，他就是这样处理妻子霍普的问候音。霍普过世已经一年多了，但丹尼斯依然经常重温她的留言。他有时还会随身带着电脑，里面有霍普在意识还清醒的最后那天所拍的视频，她在视频里向家人道别。丹尼斯给我播放了好几次，他说自己一天最多能看上五遍。
一段斯图尔特的视频也许是个不错的点子，但我可不要在他临终那天拍的东西。我希望看到的是他在中央公园里的样子，和我们的拉布拉多犬贝拉在一起；又或是他和其中一个孙辈玩耍的样子；又或是他在健身房举重的样子；又或是他坐在皮革椅子上朗读着书中一段他所喜欢的文字，希望和我分享的样子。
最后，我无意中找到了斯图尔特的那一堆秒表。那是他参加赛跑时的历史遗物。很久很久以前，我陪他一起去河滨公园。他绕着哈德逊河边的一个大操场跑步，我的任务则是给他计时—他每跑一圈，我就用一个秒表记录下时间。
我最近不假思索地将其中一个秒表送给了一个同样经常跑步的朋友，随即为此后悔莫及。我还不能舍弃任何一样东西。
My husband， Stuart， died last June after a decadelong struggle with cancer. He was 77 years old， a former journalist and public relations executive[经理主管人员]， a marathon[马拉松赛跑] runner， and a man beloved and respected by family and friends.
In going through his belongings， I often find things that I have forgotten about， small things that taken together are not small.
In the back of a drawer[抽屉]， I discover a poem that he wrote when we were students together at New York University. It reads：
Think in the morn[破晓]
There will be no sorrow[悲伤].
Think what is today
Is not tomorrow.
He wrote that poem when he was 25 years old， in 1961， the year we were married. He was the ultimate[终极的] optimist[乐观主义者]， or so I thought. Yet now I read sadness in his words.
To my knowledge[知道]， he never wrote another poem. I wonder if he thought he would never write a better one.
Other things I find surprise me and make me smile. He bought in multiples[成倍的]. I count some 20 nail clippers[指甲钳]， perhaps 40 packs of dental floss[牙线]， 10 staplers[订书机]， 20 rolls of packing tape， and enough soap， toothpaste， mouthwash and cotton balls to take me through the next millennium.
I discover clothes that I bought him over the last years and note that the sizes drift downward[下降的] from large to small. Many of the smallest still have their price tags attached[附上].
Then， I spy[侦察，发现] a pair of jeans， mine， hanging to the side in his closet. I am a size eight. At the end， he wore my jeans， and they were too big.
In the midst of my rummaging[搜查]， I receive a computer message from Stuart. Before he died he’d set his computer， without my knowledge， to remind me to do certain chores[琐事].
The first message comes， shockingly， a few weeks after his death. “Please water the blueberry bushes.”
Then： “Please pick the tomatoes.”
In early September： “Time to turn the mattress[褥子] and change the water filter[过滤器] in the refrigerator. Thanks.”
Five days before our quarterly taxes are to be mailed， he reminds me to mail them. He has already filled out the forms and written and signed the checks. Even stamped the envelopes.
With him gone， our papers are no longer properly filed. In fact， my new filing system is an empty box from the grocery store[杂货店]. I find it， at least temporarily[临时地]， an efficient[高效的] arrangement， because every paper that passes through my hands is now located in one spot. Nevertheless， such laziness by me would be sinful[罪恶的] to Stuart， who kept detailed records on almost every item he touched. But then， I rationalize[使合理化]， in the filing department I have always been a disappointment. There can be no doubt that we were polar[两极的] opposites[对立].
Another thing Stuart left behind is the message on our phone. His welcoming voice greets callers. Several people have mentioned the message and suggested I change it.
But one male neighbor counseled[建议] against removing the message. “Good to have a male voice answering the phone，” he said. “Safer.”
Another friend， Dennis， a widower[鳏夫] from my bereavement[丧亲] group， said he would record Stuart’s voice for me in a file on my computer， so I would always have it. And then I could replace his message with my own.
Dennis is experienced in such matters. He did the same thing with the greeting by his wife， Hope. It’s been more than a year since Hope died， yet he often listens to her message. Dennis also sometimes carries a computer with him that has a video of Hope’s last conscious[神志清醒的] day in which she says goodbye to her family. He’s shown me the video several times； he tells me he has viewed it as many as five times a day.
A video of Stuart would be nice. But not on his last day. I’d like to see him in Central Park with our Labrador retriever[拉布拉多猎犬]， Belle. Or playing with one of our grandkids. Or maybe lifting weights at the gym. Or just sitting in his leather chair reading a favorite passage in a book that he simply wants to share with me.
Finally， I come across Stuart’s collection of stopwatches[秒表]. They are relics[遗物] from his running days. Eons ago[很久以前]， I accompanied him to Riverside Park， where he ran around a large field bordering[边缘] the Hudson River. My job was to time and record each loop[圈] with one of his stopwatches.
Without thinking， I recently gave one of the watches to a friend who also runs， and then instantly[立即地] regretted its loss. I cannot yet part with anything.
我丈夫斯图尔特与癌症斗争了十年，终于在去年六月离世，享年77岁。他当过记者，做过公关主管，跑过马拉松，深受亲朋好友的敬重与爱戴。
在整理他的遗物时，我常常会发现一些自己早已忘记的物事—都是些小玩意儿，凑在一起却是那么的重要。
我在抽屉后头找到一首诗歌，他写这首诗的时候，我们俩还在纽约大学念书。这首诗是这样的：
思之于拂晓
愿愁苦不再。
今日好光景
明日不复来。
他在25岁时写下这首诗，那是1961年，我们结婚的那一年。他是个无可救药的乐观主义者—我本以为是这样，但现在我从他的字里行间读出了一缕伤感。
据我所知，他再也没有写过别的诗歌，不知道是不是他觉得自己再也写不出更好的作品呢。
另一些发现则让我大吃一惊，忍不住笑了起来。他老是买一大堆东西。我数了数，差不多有20把指甲钳、大概40包牙线、10个订书机、20卷包装胶带，以及足够我用到下一个千禧年的肥皂、牙膏、漱口水和棉球。
我找到了自己在过去几年里给他买的衣物，发现这些衣服从大码逐渐“缩水”成了小码，许多最小号的衣服甚至连价格标签都还没撕掉。
我接着发现我的一条牛仔裤挂在他的衣柜边上。我穿八码，他最后只能穿我的裤子—就连我的裤子，对他来说也太大了。
当我翻箱倒柜的时候，我在电脑上收到一条来自斯图尔特的信息。他在去世之前瞒着我悄悄地在自己的电脑上做好了设置，以便提醒我做好各种家务杂事。 第一条信息是在他死后几周出现的，吓了我一跳：“麻烦给蓝莓树丛浇浇水。”
接下来的是：“麻烦采摘西红柿。”
到了九月初：“是时候翻翻褥子了，冰箱的滤水器也该换了，谢谢。”
早在季度税款寄送日的五天前，他就提醒我记得寄出去。他早已填妥表格，支票上也签了名，甚至将信封上的邮票都贴好了。
在他走后，我们的文件再也没办法好好归档了。事实上，我那个新的“归档系统”就是一个从杂货店买回来的空盒子。至少目前来说，我发现搞个盒子是个挺有效率的做法，因为我经手的每一份文件现在都能在一个地方找到。然而我这种惰性要是让斯图尔特看到一定觉得太作孽了—几乎每一件他经手的东西都会留下详尽记录。不过其实这也合情合理，我在归档方面向来就是那么糟糕。
毫无疑问，我们俩简直截然相反。
斯图尔特留下来的另外一样东西就是我们的电话留言。他用热情的语调向来电者致意。好几个人都和我提及这个留言，建议我把它换掉。
但是有个男性邻居则认为我不应该换留言。“有个男人的声音接电话总是好的，”他说，“安全些。”
我的另一个朋友—丹尼斯是个鳏夫，我们是在丧亲互助小组里认识的。丹尼斯说，他可以帮我录下斯图尔特的声音，将音频文件存到我的电脑里；这样我就能一直保存起来，然后就可以将斯图尔特的留言换成我自己的了。
丹尼斯可是这方面的行家，他就是这样处理妻子霍普的问候音。霍普过世已经一年多了，但丹尼斯依然经常重温她的留言。他有时还会随身带着电脑，里面有霍普在意识还清醒的最后那天所拍的视频，她在视频里向家人道别。丹尼斯给我播放了好几次，他说自己一天最多能看上五遍。
一段斯图尔特的视频也许是个不错的点子，但我可不要在他临终那天拍的东西。我希望看到的是他在中央公园里的样子，和我们的拉布拉多犬贝拉在一起；又或是他和其中一个孙辈玩耍的样子；又或是他在健身房举重的样子；又或是他坐在皮革椅子上朗读着书中一段他所喜欢的文字，希望和我分享的样子。
最后，我无意中找到了斯图尔特的那一堆秒表。那是他参加赛跑时的历史遗物。很久很久以前，我陪他一起去河滨公园。他绕着哈德逊河边的一个大操场跑步，我的任务则是给他计时—他每跑一圈，我就用一个秒表记录下时间。
我最近不假思索地将其中一个秒表送给了一个同样经常跑步的朋友，随即为此后悔莫及。我还不能舍弃任何一样东西。