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[偵察，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 hed 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 Stuarts 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. Its 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 Hopes last conscious[神志清醒的] day in which she says goodbye to her family. Hes 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. Id 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 Stuarts 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事物——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——我本以为是這样，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。……