When my mother died, my father helped carry the coffin. As he walked down the aisle, I saw that he had cut his hand on a rivet in the wood. A tiny trickle of blood ran down his wrist and into his shirtsleeve. I was so grateful to see that blood. The blood told me that the pain was real.
学生译稿：
我母亲去世的时候，父亲帮忙抬棺材。他走下过道时，我看到棺木上的铆钉割破了他的手。一小滴血沿着他的手腕，流进了衬衫袖子里。我很庆幸我能看到血，它告诉我，痛感清晰地存在着。
定稿：
记得我母亲过世时，我父亲帮着抬棺材。当他沿着教堂的过道走过我身边时，我注意到他的手被棺材板上的铆钉划伤了，鲜红的血顺着手腕流进了他的衬衣袖口。看到那鲜血，我大为感动。那血告诉我，父亲的痛苦是真实的。
When my father himself died, there was no physical injury. But I had a little boy standing next to me by then. I had Robert, my Foss, bleary-eyed as the coffin went past. His tears made the grief tangible.
学生译稿：
我父亲去世的时候，没有人伤着。但那时有一个小男孩站在我身边。罗伯特，我的小福，泪眼朦胧地看着经过的棺木。他的眼泪使这痛苦变得真实。
定稿：
等到我父亲自己过世的时候，倒是没有谁身体上受到什么伤害。但我有个小男孩站在旁边，我有罗伯特，我的福斯。当棺材经过我们时，泪水模糊了他的双眼。他的眼泪让悲痛变得实实在在。
But with Alice, the grief cannot be expressed or located. There is just shame, and silence. It has been in the air I have breathed for the last half a century. There is a maddening loneliness: not the dramatic, tear-filled solitude I imagined, just loneliness. I expected visceral horrors like those that seemed to haunt your nights, but it is not like that; it is just a quiet, invisible sadness. There is no doctor writing you a prescription and telling you that there will be a period of mourning, that you will "come out the other side". There is no "why don't you take up a new interest" - perhaps lawn bowls, perhaps bingo, God forbid. There are not people telling you that if you would like to talk about it, they will not be embarrassed listening to your snotty outpourings. There is not even the pre-ordained language of grief to fall back on, the nonsense of expensive cards: my deepest sympathies, my condolences, my thoughts and prayers. I have come to accept that there are a limited amount of thoughts and prayers available for me.
学生译稿：
但把爱丽丝送走时，我的悲伤既不能表达，也说不清，只有遗憾和沉默。这种感觉弥漫在我呼吸了半个世纪的空气中。这是一种令人抓狂的孤独。不是我想象中那种夸张的，满眼泪水的孤单，仅仅是孤独。我原以为这发自内心的恐惧就像那些萦绕在夜晚的噩梦，但它并不是那样；仅仅是一种安静的，无形的忧伤。没有一个医生会为你写好处方，告诉你将会有一段痛苦的时期，然后你会“向好的方向发展”；也没有人对你说：“为什么不培养个新爱好呢？”——或许是草地滚球游戏，或许是宾哥游戏，甚至是上帝不允许的事情。也没有人会跟你说，如果你想谈谈，他们不会介意听你涕泗横流地倾诉。甚至也没有适用于悲伤的套话，就像精美卡片上写的废话：我深切的同情，我的吊唁，我的想法和祷告。我开始相信只有一些想法和祷告对于我来说是可行的。
定稿：
但是对于爱丽丝，悲痛是难以表达、无从诉说的，有的只是羞愧和寂寞。在这过去的半个世纪，我无时不刻不是活在这样的世界里。我经历的是一种令人疯狂的孤独——不是我原本想象的那种戏剧性的、泪水陪伴的孤寂难当，只是孤独而已。我原本期待的是那种源自内心的恐惧，那种让你噩梦缠身、夜夜不得安宁的恐惧，但事实并非如此，我体验到的只是一种静静的、别人无法察觉的凄伤。没有什么医生会给你开个药方，告诉你总会有那么一段哀伤期，你总会“走出情绪低谷”的；没有什么“为什么不去培养一个新的爱好”之类的建议，比如去玩一玩草地滚球、宾果游戏等等，但愿这样的事不会发生；没有什么人过来对你说，如果你愿意就把心中的苦水倒出来，哪怕是一把鼻涕一把泪地诉说，他们也会听着，也不会感到尴尬；甚至也没有什么预先规定好的语言——比如那些写在昂贵的悼念卡上的废话：致以我最深切的同情、致以我的哀悼、致以我的哀思和祈祷——来表达自己的凄楚。我已经逐渐接受了这个现实：能够让我用以表达哀思和祈祷的语言是非常有限的。
（编辑：哈文婷）