最后的欢笑

When they took Dad to the hospital that last time， he called me from his room. “Lizzy， the paramedics1） asked me if I was on any medications. I told them everything but Viagra2）. Then they put the oxygen mask on me.”

Those were the last actual words I heard him say.

It was my birthday and I was celebrating it at Coney Island with my sister Ann and her family. The cell phone service was crummy3） and the call went dead. I told the Viagra story to the group and we laughed. It was typical of Dad： dark， inappropriate， and funny.

Our sister Linda called me the following morning.

“You need to come home，” she said in a voice that sounded like a little girl who had snuck4） away from the babysitter and called her parents because she was scared. “Dad is dying.”

“How long does he have？” I said. I dont know where those words came from and couldnt believe I asked them as though I was talking about someone I didnt know.

“Maybe a day or two， so you need to come home now，” Linda instructed.

In his own way Dad， who had suffered from emphysema5） for years， had tried to prepare me for this day. A few months before his death he had sent me a card and had asked me not to open it “til after Im gone.”

Of course I opened it immediately.

When I opened it， it simply said， “I love you. You are my favorite. Please dont tell the others.”

The sentiment6） evoked a range of emotions in me at the time. It made me feel elated7） that I did something right. Then it made me feel bad for my brother and sisters. Finally， I felt horribly guilty for opening it. I taped it open inside my jewelry box so Id see it a lot.

Ann and I went straight to the hospital from the airport. As we approached Dads room， the sound of laughter got louder. When we walked in， Mom was sitting in the chair next to Dad， and my brother and two sisters and sister-in-law were all sitting in a row on the extra bed in his room. Tears streamed down everyones faces as they laughed.

Dad couldnt speak， but he could hear everything. His stomach8） was bouncing up and down， as he was laughing， too.

“What did we miss？” Ann asked the group desperately. “I hate when I miss any laughing.”

“The meat！ The gas station meat！” my brother said， choking through what I like to think of as dielarity9）.

Gas Station Meat

Ahh， the gas station meat. The crown jewel in the pantheon of Dads many “deal” stories. Dad loved driving around and looking for bargains. He usually found them in areas of the city where the only reason you would be there is if you were scoring10） crack11）. The merchandise was always stuff that no one wanted， never mind12） wanted to get a “deal” on. Which brings us to the gas station meat. We all took turns telling the tale of the bargain steaks hed brought home once.

“I will never forget being halfway through my steak when you told us the story of how you bought them，” I said， then continued in my best Dad baritone13） voice： “I was filling up the tank and notice this fellas got a station wagon there with the tailgate open. And the guy says， ‘You want to check out my meat？ And at first I thought， ‘Who is this weirdo who wants to show me his meat？”

Dad was so proud of that dumb joke14）. His belly was in full force. Then the story reached its climax with each of us chiming in15）.

“That guy had half a cow in an old cardboard box in the back of that station wagon.”

“That had come from God only knows where！”

“Or when！”

“And Dad bought all of it！”

“For 40 bucks！”

“We were all sitting around eating black market roadkill16）.”

Mom weighed in17）. “The ribs were really very good.”

We swapped stories for a few more hours until the dielarity had exhausted us all.

Dielarious laughter is different than regular laughter， as it drains you of every emotion. It is an exhausting release of all the pain， fear， love， and loss that you had been holding in. If I didnt laugh， I would have spent that energy reminding myself that my life was about to change forever.

Saying Goodbye

The next day was a long one. Dads stomach-bouncing was minimal. A hospice worker18） suggested we each take some time alone with him to share our private thoughts. Finally， it was my turn.

At first I felt a bit afraid of being alone with Dad. His breathing pattern started sounding finite. I climbed into bed with him and grabbed his hand. I put my lips right up to his ear， and spoke to him in my normal voice.

“Dad， squeeze my hand so I know you can hear me.” He squeezed back. I wanted him to squeeze it off.

I didnt know where to start， so I started with apologizing for opening the card.

“Dad， I opened your card. I couldnt wait. I hope youre not mad. It made me feel so special.”

He didnt squeeze my hand but his belly started to bounce. Right then， that felt better than a squeeze.

“You know I love you， and you are my inspiration to go out and make the world a funnier place.”

Squeeze.

I wanted to say every single thing I ever felt， but I was in a verbal free fall19）， so I just wanted him to laugh.

“Dad， I have to tell you， I am who I am because of you， and that includes the bad parts， Mister！”

There was a knock on the door. It was the hospice worker. “The priest is here for the sacrament20） of the sick.”

I kissed him on the forehead again and went to open the door for the priest and his last rites.

Afterward， everyone filed in21） and took their places. Then a nurse came in and checked on Dad again. “It is time，” she informed us. “Your dad will pass within the hour.”

The Favorite

By now， we were about 15 people gathered and sitting on Dads bed. His breathing became so shallow， so slow， that as a family we all tried to breathe for him. It was the worst 30 minutes of our lives. Each of us wanted his pain to end， and we took turns assuring him that he could go， that we would all be okay.

Finally he took his last breath. We didnt know what to do. We just sat there， wept and stared at our dead dad. Before I could even form my first thoughts， I looked over at Mom.

She was still holding his hand.

“He loved you kids so much； you were his world. He always hoped he told you enough. Its why he sent you kids the cards to open after he died， so you would always have a reminder.”

“I keep mine open in my jewelry case，” I said， in an attempt to let her know that we all knew just how much Dad loved us.

“Oh， you opened it？” Mom asked， knowingly.

“And did the rest of you open your cards too？” Mom asked.

Everyone nodded. They were all clearly ashamed， but you could read in each persons face how much Dads special words gave them peace.

“Dad wanted you to open those cards after he died， and since you all went against his wishes and already have， I would love to hear what he wrote to each of you，” Mom said. “Lizz， you start.”

This cannot be happening. My father has been dead for five minutes and I am about to make people feel worse than they already do？

I didnt know what to do. Should I lie？ Wait， I cant lie. The first thing I do after Dad is dead is to lie？ I dont think so. I havent even had a decent cry yet.

“Mom， maybe now is not the time，” Linda said， to my relief.

“Lets just focus on Dad and you，” Ann added.

“Lizz， you start，” Mom repeated. She was not letting this go.

The only person who could make this stop was lying there not doing anything. Finally， I started crying.

“The card said， ‘I love you. You were my favorite. Please dont—” And before Id finished， all my siblings had joined me in unison， “—tell the others.”

The room erupted with convulsions22） of dielarity. Dad had pulled off the greatest gotcha23） moment of his life. And at his death， no less.

He knew we all would open that card the second we got it. And he knew that we would all believe what he wrote. And relish24） it and find some smug25） superiority in it. But more than anything else， he knew how hard we would laugh when we found out， having to laugh at our own ridiculousness and remembering that he made us laugh， even after his death. He knew that this moment would be more precious than ever feeling like the favorite.

His greatest moment of hilarity and he couldnt even take a bow. Not physically， anyway. But in our minds， he graciously appreciated our standing ovation26）.

Bravo， Dad. Bravo.

那是他们最后一次送爸爸去医院，他从病房里打电话给我：“莉莎，医护人员问我有没有在吃什么药。除了伟哥，其他药我都告诉他们了。然后他们就把氧气面罩扣我脸上了。”

这是我最后一次听到他真正开口说话。

那一天是我的生日，我正和姐姐安以及她的家人在科尼岛庆祝。手机的信号很差，电话断了。我把这个“伟哥”的故事说给其他人听，我们都笑了。这就是爸爸的一贯作风：坏坏的，不注意场合，风趣。

第二天早上，我们的姐姐琳达打电话给我。

“你们得回家来，”她说道，声音听起来就像一个从保姆身边偷偷溜走、因为害怕而正在给父母打电话的小姑娘，“爸爸快不行了。”

“他还有多长时间？”我说。我不知道这几个字是从哪儿冒出来的，简直不敢相信我问了他们一个这样的问题，就好像我在谈论某个我不认识的人。

“可能一两天吧，所以你们必须现在就回来。”琳达下了命令。

爸爸受肺气肿的折磨已多年，他已经试图用自己的方式让我对这一天的到来有所准备。在他去世前几个月，他给我寄了一张卡片，并要求我“在我走之前不要打开”。

我当然是立刻打开了这张卡片。

我打开卡片，上面只有简单的几句话：“我爱你。你是我的最爱。请不要告诉其他人。”

当时，父亲的观点在我心里激起了千层浪。它让我觉得沾沾自喜，我在某些事情上做得很好。它又让我为我的哥哥和姐姐们感到难过。最后，我又为已打开卡片而深深地感到内疚。我把卡片展开，粘在我的首饰盒里，好让我可以时常看见它。

安和我从机场直接去了医院。当我们走近爸爸的病房时，里面传出的笑声更加响亮。我们走进病房，妈妈正坐在爸爸身边的椅子上，我的哥哥、两个姐姐和嫂子在房间里多出来的那张床上坐了一排。他们笑得泪流满面。

爸爸已经不能说话了，但他什么都能听见。他的肚子上下起伏，因为他也在笑。

“我们错过什么了？”安急切地问大家，“我可不喜欢错过任何好笑的事儿。”

“肉！在加油站买的肉！”我哥一边说，一边被这种我认为是临终前讲的黑色幽默逗得喘不过气来。

加油站买肉记

啊哈，加油站买肉那事儿。那是爸爸许许多多关于“交易”的故事中最精彩的一个。爸爸喜欢开着车到处转悠，看哪儿有便宜货买。他往往能在城市的犄角旮旯里找到这种便宜货，而一般人只有在要买强效可卡因时才会去那种地方。那些商品通常都是没人要的东西，更不用说想花钱买了。这就给我们带来了加油站买肉的话题。我们大伙儿轮番上阵，讲起了那次他把便宜牛排带回家的故事。

“我永远不会忘记当时我的牛排正吃了一半，你就给我们讲起你是怎么买到牛排的故事。”我说。然后，我尽力模仿爸爸的男中音继续讲道：“我当时正在给油箱加油，注意到那个小伙子将一辆旅行轿车停在那儿，后备箱开着。那小伙子说：‘您想看看我的肉吗？一开始我想：‘这个怪人是谁？竟然想让我看他的肉？”

这个冷笑话让爸爸十分得意，他的肚子起伏得更加厉害了。接着我们每个人都纷纷插话，将这个故事推向了高潮。

“那家伙的旅行轿车后备箱里放了个旧纸箱，里面装着半头牛。”

“只有上帝才知道这半头牛是从哪儿来的！”

“或是什么时候的肉！”

“结果爸爸全给买下来了！”

“只花了40美元！”

“我们都坐在一起吃着马路上被轧死的黑市牛肉。”

妈妈也参与进来了，说：“肋排的味道的确很不错。”

我们又聊了好几个小时的笑话，直到这些临终前的笑话把我们大家都笑得累坏了为止。

临终前的欢笑和平时的笑不一样，因为它会耗尽你所有的感情。通过这种笑你可以将一直压抑在心里的全部悲痛、恐惧、爱意和失落淋漓尽致地释放出来。我要是不笑，就会把那些精力用于提醒自己，我的生活将要永远改变了。

告别

第二天是漫长的一天。爸爸的肚子起伏幅度微乎其微。一位临终关怀工作者建议我们每个人都花点时间与他独处，和他说说我们的心里话。最后终于轮到我了。

一开始我有点害怕与爸爸独处。他的呼吸节奏开始听起来若有若无了。我爬上他的床，握住他的手。我把嘴唇凑到他的耳边，用正常的声音和他说话。

“爸，捏一下我的手，这样我就知道你能听见我说话了。”他捏了一下我的手。我真希望他把我的手捏断。

我不知道该从哪儿说起，所以我首先为打开卡片的事向他道歉。

“爸，我已经打开你寄的卡片了。我等不及。我希望你不要生气。卡片里的话让我觉得自己很特别。”

他没有捏我的手，但他的肚子开始上下起伏。在那时，这样比他捏我手的感觉好多了。

“你知道我爱你，是你激励着我走出去，让这个世界变得更加有趣。”

他捏了捏我的手。

我希望把我内心的每一点感受都说出来，但我的语言表达能力却在那一刻急速下降，因此我就只想逗他开心。

“爸，我必须告诉你，我现在这个样子都是拜你所赐，也包括我身上的缺点，先生！”

这时传来敲门声。是那位临终关怀工作者。“牧师来给病人行圣礼了。”

我又吻了一下他的额头，起身去给牧师开门，让他为爸爸做临终祈祷。

后来，大家都鱼贯而入，各就其位。一个护士走了进来，又检查了一下爸爸的情况。“到时候了，”她告诉我们，“你们的爸爸在一小时内就要走了。”

爸爸的最爱

到目前为止，我们有大概15个人围坐在爸爸床边。他的呼吸变得很弱、很慢，作为他的家人，我们都恨不得替他呼吸。这是我们生命中最难挨的30分钟。每个人都希望他的痛苦赶快结束，我们轮流告诉他可以放心走了，向他保证我们都会好好的。

终于，他咽下了最后一口气。我们不知道该做什么。我们就坐在那儿，哭泣着，眼睛盯着离去的爸爸。我脑海里还没理出个头绪，我就抬头看了看妈妈。

她还握着他的手。

“他非常爱你们这些孩子，你们就是他的世界。他总是希望自己能把对你们该说的话说到位。这就是为什么他给你们几个孩子都寄了卡片，让你们在他死后再打开，这样你们就能一直有个念想。”

“我把它打开放在我的首饰盒里了。”我说，试图让她了解我们都知道爸爸有多爱我们。

“噢，你已经打开卡片了？”妈妈故意问。

“其余的人也都打开卡片了吗？”妈妈问。

每个人都点了点头。显然他们都觉得很羞愧，但从每个人的脸上，你可以看出爸爸那些特别的话给了他们巨大的心灵慰藉。

“你们的爸爸本来希望你们在他死后再打开那些卡片的，那既然你们都违背了他的心愿，已经打开了卡片，我倒是想听听他给你们每一个人都写了点什么，”妈妈说，“莉莎，从你开始。”

这怎么可以呢？我爸才刚去世五分钟，他们已经很难受了，难道我还要让他们更难受吗？

我不知道该做什么。我该撒谎吗？等一下，我不能撒谎。难道爸爸死后我做的第一件事就是撒谎吗？我可不想那样做。我甚至还没有好好地大哭一场呢。

“妈，也许现在不是时候。”琳达说，这让我松了一口气。

“我们还是把注意力放在爸和你的身上吧。”安又加了一句。

“莉莎，从你开始。”妈妈重复了一遍。她不打算放过这件事。

那个唯一可以阻止这件事发生的人正躺在那儿，什么都没做。最后，我开始大哭起来。

“卡片上写着：‘我爱你。你是我的最爱。请不要——”我还没说完，我所有的兄弟姐妹们都异口同声地加入进来，“——告诉其他人。”

房间里又因黑色幽默爆发出一阵哄堂大笑。爸爸成功营造了他生命中最厉害的逗笑时刻，而且就在他离世时。

他知道我们都会在收到卡片后就立马打开。他知道我们都会对他写的话深信不疑，并感到开心，还会从中找到一些自以为是的优越感。但最重要的是，他知道当我们发现真相后会笑得多猛烈，我们不得不嘲笑自己的荒唐，并且记得是他让我们开怀大笑，即便他死后也是如此。他知道，这个时刻会比曾经觉得自己是爸爸最爱的孩子更加弥足珍贵。

这是他最精彩的搞笑时刻，但他甚至都不能鞠躬谢幕。无论如何，从身体的角度来说是不能了。但在我们的心里，他已优雅地接受了我们的起立鼓掌。

干得好，爸爸。干得太棒了！