每个人都有属于自己的记忆，不论美好或悲伤，那些已经逝去的时光都永远不再回来，随着岁月的流逝，成为颗颗璀璨的钻石在生命里熠熠生辉。
I became afraid that one day I, too, would be unable to recall my husband, not because of Alzheimer's, but simply because my memory of him might fade. So from the day of Ed's diagnosis until his death a year later, I set out to memorize him: his crooked smile and vigorous embrace, his woodsy smell and the way he cleared his throat when he reached the top of the stairs. I knew I'd always be able to recite his qualities: kind, gentle, smart, funny, but I wanted to be able to conjure up the physical man in my mind, as fully as possible, when he was gone. Back then, I thought memory was a deliberate, cognitive process, like remembering multiplication tables or lyrics or where the keys were. Unable to rescue Ed from cancer, I was determined to save him from the only thing worse than dying: being forgotten. Later I learned that memory has a will of its own. You can't control it any more than you can influence the weather. When it springs up, a person loved and lost is found, if only for a few seconds.
我开始害怕有一天，自己也会无法回忆起丈夫，不是因为患了早老性痴呆症，而仅仅是因为我对他的记忆可能会渐渐消退。因此，从埃德确诊的那一天开始到一年后他离去的这段时间里，我开始尽力去记住他的一切：他那坏坏的笑，那有力的拥抱，他身上那种木香，以及他爬上楼梯顶端之后清喉咙的样子。我知道我会一直记得他的一切品质：和善、温柔、聪明、风趣，但是我想在他离开之后，自己能够尽可能全面地将他完整而生动地呈现在脑海中。 那时，我以为记忆是一个需要细心思量的认知过程，就像记住乘法口诀表、歌词，或是钥匙放在什么地方那样。我无法将埃德从癌症的魔掌中拯救出来，但我决心牢牢记住他：被遗忘是唯一比死亡更糟糕的事。 后来，我认识到记忆本身是有自主意愿的。你无法控制它，就像你无法影响天气一样。记忆一旦涌现，已逝去的挚爱之人就会出现在你面前，即便只有几秒钟。