It’s eight o'clock on a cold spring night. Our apartment has been hit by a tornado. Every bit of furniture is draped with scissors and Scotch tape, modeling clay, and party favors. I’m so tired tonight.

The phone rings-for the sixth time in less than an hour. We know who it is. When my mother was 68,a stroke claimed her brain. She is haunted by paranoia (妄想症)—she thinks she has been kicked out of her assisted living facility; she thinks her daughters have not visited in months; she thinks that her friend Jimmy never wants to see her again.

Each time she calls, I play a game with myself called “How Good a Person Can I Be?” She has no idea that she has repeated the things she is about to say a million times today and a million times yesterday. She has no idea that I had surgery, nor can she recall her own granddaughter’s name. She is unaware of most of the past, and she is lonely.

“MOM!” I yell. “You are not being removed from your home!And we visited you two days ago!” “Mom, you have to believe me, and if you don’t, I cannot talk anymore! Everything is fine!”

Silence. Then: “I was only calling to say hi. But I also doubt about something; do you have a minute?”

“No, Mom, I don’t, I can’t have this again!”

“Why are you yelling?”

I flop(猛然坐下)on the couch, aware that my daughter is witnessing. She hears me complain my mother, lose my patience, announce that someone I love is an unwelcome burden. I have not only failed at being a good person; I have failed at being a good example to my daughter.

“Can I talk to Grandma Ellie?” My five-year-old reaches for the phone.

Wordlessly, I hand it over.

I listen to my daughter singing to her grandmother, caring for her with patience.

I was born into a big family. As the fifth of seven children, I went to the same public school as my three older sisters and brother. Every year, my mother went to the same scene and had parent/child interviews with the same teachers. The only thing different was the child. And every child participated in an old school tradition — the annual plant sale held in early May, just in time for Mother’s Day.

Third grade was the first time that I was allowed to take part in the plant sale. I wanted to surprise my mother, but I didn’t have any money. I went to my oldest sister and shared the secret, and she gave me some money. When I arrived at the plant sale, I carefully made my selection and spent a long time inspecting each plant to ensure that I had indeed found the best geranium (天竺葵). Once I had taken it secretly home, with the help of my sister, I hid it in the attic (阁楼). I was very nervous for fear that my mother would find it before Mother’s Day, but my sister assured me that she wouldn’t, and indeed she did not.

When Mother’s Day arrived, I got up very early, went into the attic on tiptoe and carried the carefully-selected geranium to the kitchen, where my mother was preparing breakfast. “It’s for you!” I gave the flower to mum and hugged her tightly.

The year I was fifteen, my younger sister reached third grade. In early May she came to me full of wonder and secrecy and told me that there was going to be a plant sale at school, and she wanted to surprise our mother. As my older sister did for me, I gave her some money and off she went.

She arrived home full of nervous excitement.

My mother noticed me watching, and she gave me a soft, secret smile.

My Parents and I had been planning my brother’s birthday party since the beginning of March. Johnny would be six years old in two weeks. My mom was going to bake her special chocolate cake with white icing. As I watched her, I thought, “I wonder what I can do to make my brother’s birthday special.”

I knew my parents had already bought a present for me to give to Johnny, but I wanted to buy him something I had chosen myself and with the money I had saved. After giving it some thought, I wanted to buy him the paint-by-number kit (数字涂色小套装) I had seen at the store around the comer.

I decided to empty my coin jar (存钱罐)   and see how much money I had saved. However, I was disappointed to find there was much less than I had imagined. “Oh, no, I only have about three dollars,” I muttered to myself. The set cost more than I had saved.

Suddenly a “great” idea occurred to me. I slid into my parents’ bedroom where my dad kept loose change (零钱) on top of the dresser (梳妆台). I stood on my tiptoes and saw some coins. I carefully counted out what I needed to make up the difference. “I'm sure Dad won't mind just this once,” I thought.

However, I was soon overcome by guilt (负罪感). Even though there was no one else in the bedroom, I felt like I was being watched. Mom was always telling us about the importance of honesty. Maybe my plan wasn't such a great idea after all. However, I still put all the change I found into my own pocket.

I slid out of my parents’ room and headed toward the door. “Where are you going, Arwen? ” Mom asked, “Oh, just up to the corner store,” I replied. “Well, don't stay out too long, Daddy will be home soon.” “Okay, Mom” I ran out of our house.

Once I got to the store, I took the paint-by-number kit from the shelf.

“Can I help you, young lady?” the saleswoman asked.

“No. I'm just looking, thank you,” I said.

“That's a really nice paint kit. We sell a lot of them and, as you can see, that's the last one.” she said.

I grew up in a small town where primary school was a ten-minute walk from my house. When the noon bell rang, I would race breathlessly home. My mother would be home to greet me with a smile.

Our lunch time when I was in the third grade will stay with me always. I had been picked to be the princess in the school play, and for weeks my mother had painstakingly practiced my lines with me. But no matter how easily I delivered them at home, as soon as I stepped onstage, every word disappeared from my head. Finally, my teacher took me aside. She explained patiently that she needed a narrator and had written a narrator’s part to the play, and asked me to switch roles. Her words, kindly expressed, still hurt me, especially when I saw my part go to another girl.

I didn’t tell my mother what had happened when I went home for lunch that day. But she sensed my unease, and instead of suggesting we practice my lines, she asked if I wanted to walk in the yard. It was a lovely spring day and the rose vine (藤) was turning green. Under the huge trees, we could see yellow dandelions (蒲公英) appearing unexpectedly through the grass in bunches, as if a painter had touched our landscape with small amounts of gold. I watched my mother casually bend down by one of the bushes. “I think I’m going to dig up all these weeds,” she said, pulling a blossom up by its roots. “From now on, we’ll have only roses in this garden.” I immediately protested, “But I like dandelions. All flowers are beautiful—even dandelions.”

“Do you mean that every flower has its own beauty?” asked my mother thoughtfully.

After the play, I went home with the flower.

The McDonnells lived in a small brick house in Larchmont, a suburb of New York City. Jim was foreman of mail carriers at the post office where he had worked for 25 years. Married in 1960, he and Anne were childless.

On the evening of the eleventh anniversary of their marriage, carrying out the garbage, Jim McDonnell slipped on icy steps, and struck his head. A few days later, driving to work, he lost control of the car, hit a telephone pole, and banged his forehead against the windshield. The following day he fell off the stairs, and again he banged his head. Found unconscious, he was hospitalized for three days with a cerebral concussion (脑震荡). One day in the same month, Jim borrowed a friend’s station wagon and drove to Kennedy Airport to pick up Anne’s brother and family. When he returned the borrowed car at 10 p.m., he was unaware that the wallet containing his identification had slipped out of his pocket onto the floor of the car. After that, he was never seen again.

So what really happened to Anne’s husband? During his walk home, Jim had indeed blacked out (昏厥), losing all ability to remember who he was and where he lived. What happened then is unclear. The next thing he knew was that he was in downtown Philadelphia, a city he had never visited before. Seeing signs advertising the services of a James Peters, a real estate broker, Jim adopted James Peters as his own name. He had no past; his only reality was the present. James Peters got a Social Security card, which could be obtained at that time without showing a birth certificate, and took a job in a health club. He next worked at a cancer research institute, cleaning out animal cages. He also got a night-shift job at the P&P luncheonette, where he became well known for his omelets (煎蛋卷), as well as his kindness and good humor.

About a month before Christmas 1985, colleagues noticed that Jim had grown unusually quiet and depressed.

Anne had just returned home from Christmas Mass, where she lit candles and prayed for Jim.