那些“我老了以后一定要做到”的事

Soon after my 50th birthday, 10 years ago, I started keeping a list of “Things I will do/things I won’t do when I get old.”

十年前，就在我50歲生日剛過不久，我開始列一個“我老了以后會做的/不會做的事情”的清單。

It was a highly judgmental, and super secret, accounting of all the things I thought my parents were doing wrong. My dad lied chronically about taking his meds. He refused to get a hearing aid, telling others to “up their audio” (he had been a television producer). My mom smoked behind my back (she thought) until the day she was diagnosed with lung cancer. It was all too easy to call them out, and I recognized over and over just how awful it is to become feeble, sick and increasingly absent-minded, or worse.

這是一份極其苛刻、高度私密的清單，記下了所有我認為父母做得不對的事。我的父親在吃藥這件事上總是習慣性地撒謊。他拒絕配助聽器，還讓別人“把音頻提一提”(他之前是電視制片人)。我的母親(自以為)瞞著我偷偷抽煙，直到有一天被診斷出肺癌。要揭穿他們太容易了，我一次又一次地認識到，人的身體開始虛弱、患病，越來越健忘，或者有什么更大的毛病，是多么糟糕。

Over the next decade I accumulated many pages of dos and don’ts, even as I fretted about exactly when I’d be old enough to start following my own advice. Recently I heard a sociologist on the radio call people in their early 60s, “the young old.” I imagine that my “young adult” nieces might consider me “old, old” already, but I don’t feel ready yet to start taking my own advice. I’m still working on building my list, not implementing it.

接下來的十年里，我把“該做”和“不該做”的事積累了很多頁，即使我有時會苦惱，因為不知道自己何時才能開始遵守自己的建議。最近，我從電臺里聽到一個社會學家把60歲的人稱為“年輕老人”。我想，我的“年輕成年”外甥女或許已經(jīng)把我當成“老老人”了，但要開始聽從自己的建議，我覺得自己還沒準備好。我還在努力擴展我的清單，而不是在實踐它。

The entries on that list reflect my frustration of seeing the price my parents paid for their stubbornness. Take my mother’s terrifying driving, for instance. A growing number of fender benders, and worse, didn’t faze her, and she would not listen to any talk of her fading ability behind the wheel. In desperation, I reported Mom to the D.M.V. and they called her in for a road test. She failed it, and her license was revoked. It humiliated Mom, and tormented me.

清單上收錄的，反映了我的不滿——對那些在我看來是父母因為頑固而付出的代價的不滿。就拿我母親嚇人的車技舉例吧。小事故或更大一些的事故不斷增多，但對她毫無影響。她也聽不進任何有關(guān)她駕駛能力退化的勸告。走投無路之下，我向機動車輛管理局(D.M.V.)舉報了她，他們通知她去參加路考。她沒有通過，駕照被吊銷了。這讓她感到丟臉，也讓我感到折磨。

Here’s how it appears on my list:

我的清單上是這么寫的：

“If my driving capability is questioned, I will not reject the comment out of hand because I am afraid of losing my independence. I hope there will be self-driving cars by then. If nothing else works, I hope someone will turn me in.”

“如果有人質(zhì)疑我的駕駛能力，我不會因為害怕喪失獨立性而馬上拒絕別人的建議。我希望到時能有無人駕駛的汽車。如果別的辦法都不管用了，我希望有人可以去舉報我。”

My biggest worry as I watched my parents grow old was their increasing physical frailty. Who hasn’t heard that hip fractures from falls are a leading cause of death among the elderly? I know my father had, if only because we talked about it with him ad nauseam. I pointed out the consequences of his own mother’s pride in refusing a cane or walker: At age 84, Grandma fell while riding the New York City subway alone, and that fall led over the months that followed to her death.

看著父母變老，我最大的擔憂就是他們愈加虛弱的身體。誰沒聽說過老年人的主要死亡原因是摔倒導致的髖骨骨折?我知道我父親是聽過的，但不過也只是因為我們不厭其煩地和他說了又說。我指出了他的母親不愿使用拐杖或助行器的自尊心帶來的后果：祖母在獨自乘坐紐約地鐵時摔倒，導致她在幾個月后去世，終年84歲。

After literally hundreds of falls, none of which persuaded him to accept help or use a walker, Dad, at 87, finally came down hard and broke four ribs. That accident jump-started the slide that led to his death. I ask myself: Will my self-awareness triumph over my own (apparently genetic) stubbornness?

幾乎快上百次的摔倒都沒能說服父親同意接受幫助或使用助行器。87歲時，他終于重重地摔了一跤，四根肋骨骨折。自那場事故后，他的身體每況愈下，直到去世。我問自己：我的自我意識能否戰(zhàn)勝自己(顯然是遺傳)的固執(zhí)呢?

So on my list is what I told my dad time and again:

所以，清單上是我對我父親再三說過的話：

“I’ll try to remember that the best way to stay independent is to accept smaller degrees of dependence or assistance. I’ll use a walker rather than fall and break bones.”

“我會努力記住，保持獨立最好的方式便是接受輕度的依賴或幫助。我會使用助行器，而不是摔斷骨頭。”

A friend of mine put it this way: “I will use a walker so I won’t fall, even when it wrecks my outfit.” Designer walkers, anyone?

我的一個朋友這么寫：“我會使用助行器，才能避免跌倒，就算它會弄破我的衣服。”設計師款助行器，有人要嗎?

I’ll admit that vanity drives a number of my dos and don’ts. About eight years in I wrote:

我承認，其中一些“要做”和“不要做”事項是虛榮心所致。大概在第八年的時候，我寫道：

“I will not blame the family dog on my lap for my incontinence. I will choose the humiliation of wearing adult diapers over the humiliation of wetting my bed and having someone else clean the sheets.”

“我不會因為自己大小便失禁，就把過錯推給正趴在我腿上的家狗。我寧可接受穿成人尿布的羞恥，也不愿接受自己尿床后還要讓別人幫我收拾床單的羞恥。”

For years, my dad chose the latter. Heck, maybe I’ll even grow in my self-acceptance so that I won’t view incontinence as humiliation.

多年以來，我父親都選擇了后者。搞不好我都能培養(yǎng)起足夠的自我認同，不再把大小便失禁當成恥辱。

I also want to maintain some style. Right until the end my mother, who died earlier this year, continued to have her hair styled and colored, and her manicured nails painted her trademark Jungle Red. I wrote:

我也想保持一點兒時尚。今年去世的母親在最后的日子里也一直在染發(fā)、做發(fā)型，指甲也做成了她標志性的叢林紅色。我寫道：

“If I can’t take care of my personal grooming any more, I will find help. If I don’t care about my personal grooming any more, I will find different help.” At the very least I want to be clean — and smell fresh, like Mom — so people sit by me and hold my hand.

“如果我不能自己梳洗了，我會尋求幫助。如果我不再在意自己的梳妝打扮了，我會尋求別的幫助。至少我希望自己是干凈的——和母親一樣，聞起來要清新——這樣才有人愿意坐在我旁邊，拉我的手。”

“Whiten teeth” is also on my list. A friend of mine has this entry on her list: “Wear pants that touch the tops of my shoes at least.”

“潔牙”也在我的清單上。我的一個朋友在她的清單上寫了這一條：“至少要穿能碰到鞋面的褲子。”

My list also acknowledges my quickness to anger, which is a trait I shared with both parents. A year before Mom’s death her aide repeatedly asked her to do some post-surgical breathing exercises prescribed by the oncologist, but which she hated doing because they were challenging. One afternoon, Mom, in deep frustration, lashed out at the aide using language I’m too embarrassed to repeat, and I was the one who took the aide’s call of justified complaint. Onto my list went:

我的清單也承認了我易怒的特點，這是我和父母共有的。母親去世的一年前，她的護工再三地要求她進行腫瘤醫(yī)生要求的術(shù)后呼吸練習，但她討厭這么做，因為做起來很困難。一個下午，極度沮喪的母親沖護工大發(fā)脾氣，罵著一些我都不好意思重復的話，而那個護工打來的合理的投訴電話，接聽的人是我。我在清單上寫道：

“If I’m hurt or angry by what’s happening to me or my body, I will do my best not to take it out on those who are closest to me.”

“如果我因為一些發(fā)生在我身上的事情、或是我身體的問題感到受傷或者生氣，我會盡我所能不對與我最親近的人發(fā)脾氣。”

“I will be kind.” “我會友善。”

“I will apologize.” “我會道歉。”

As I march onward from 60, I continue to pay attention and maintain my list. But I remain mindful of what one friend told me: “The important thing is to remember no matter how much we tell ourselves we won’t be like our parents, no matter how hard and fast we run in the other direction, we become them.”

當我邁入60歲時，我仍然會留意、記錄清單。但我一直記著一個朋友對我說的：“重要的是要記住，不論我們?nèi)绾胃嬖V自己，不要變得像我們的父母一樣，不論我們朝著另一個方向跑得多用力、多快，我們都會變成他們。”

Please, no! 拜托，別這樣!

Ironically, I have some guidance on that as well. My grandmother, the one who fell on the subway, once made a similar list, which I found among my father’s papers. Hers included:

諷刺的是，我對此也有一些方法。我在父親的文件里發(fā)現(xiàn)，我那位在地鐵上摔倒的祖母也曾列過一個相似的清單。她的清單包括：

1. Do not fall.

1. 不要摔倒;

2. Work on controlling forgetfulness

2. 努力控制健忘;

3. Think before you speak

3. 思考過后再開口;

4. Eat moderately and no rich desserts

4. 適度飲食，不吃油膩的甜品;

5. Do the best you can. Learn by your errors.

5. 盡自己可能地做到最好，從錯誤中學習。

I certainly hope to learn from her errors, and my parents’, and avoid making too many of my own. Mostly I hope to be able to judge when to stop adding to the list, and start following its advice.

我當然希望能從她的、還有我的父母的錯誤中學習，也避免讓自己犯太多錯誤。我主要還是希望能判定自己何時能不再記錄清單，而是開始按這份清單的建議行事。