美丽的英语：Words from the Heart
很多人都期待能听到那“三个字”——我爱你。我在康妮住进病房的那天见到了她，我在那儿当义工。……Most people need to hear those "three little words"- I love you. Once in a
while, they hear them just in time.
I met Connie the day she was admitted to the hospice ward, where I worked
as a volunteer. Her husband, Bill, stood nervously nearby as she was transferred
from the gurney to the hospital bed. Although Connie was in the final stages of
her fight against cancer, she was alert and cheerful. We got her settled in. I
finished marking her name on all the hospital supplies she would be using, then
asked if she needed anything.
"Oh, yes," she said, "Would you please show me how to use the TV? I enjoy
the soaps so much and I don't want to get behind on what's happening." Connie
was a romantic. She loved soap operas, romance novels and movies with a good
love story. As we became acquainted, she confided how frustrating it was to be
married 32 years to a man who often called her "a silly woman".
"Oh, I know Bill loves me," she said, "but he has never been one to say he
loves me, or send cards to me."She sighed and looked out the window at the trees
in the courtyard. "I’d give anything if he'd say 'I love you,' but it's just not
in his nature."
Bill visited Connie every day. In the beginning, he sat next to the bed
while she watched the soaps. Later, when she began sleeping more, he paced up
and down the hallway outside her room. Soon, when she no longer watched
television and had fewer waking moments, I began spending more of my volunteer
time with Bill.
He talked about having worked as a carpenter and how he liked to go
fishing. He and Connie had no children, but they'd been enjoying retirement by
traveling, until Connie got sick. Bill could not express his feelings about the
fact that his wife was dying.
One day, over coffee in the cafeteria, I got him on the subject of women
and how we need romance in our lives; how we love to get sentimental1 cards and
love letters.
"Do you tell Connie you love her?" I asked (knowing his answer), and he
looked at me as if I was crazy.
"I don't have to," he said. "She knows I do!"
"I'm sure she knows," I said, reaching over and touching his hands rough,
carpenter's hands that were gripping the cup as if it were the only thing he had
to hang onto "but she needs to hear it, Bill. She needs to hear what she has
meant to you all these years. Please think about it."
We walked back to Connie"s room. Bill disappeared inside, and I left to
visit another patient. Later, I saw Bill sitting by the bed. He was holding
Connie's hand as she slept. The date was February 12.
Two days later I walked down the hospice ward at noon. There stood Bill,
leaning up against the wall in the hallway, staring at the floor. I already knew
from the head nurse that Connie had died at 11 A.M.
When Bill saw me, he allowed himself to come into my arms for a long time.
His face was wet with tears and he was trembling. Finally, he leaned back
against the wall and took a deep breath.
"I have to say something," he said. "I have to say how good I feel about
telling her." He stopped to blow his nose. "I thought a lot about what you said,
and this morning I told her how much I loved her... and loved being married to
her. You should have seen her smile!"
I went into the room to say my own good bye to Connie. There, on the
bedside table, was a large Valentine card from Bill. You know, the sentimental
kind that says, "To my wonderful wife... I love you."
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