"Somebody just died," my daughter Kathy begins. "Somebody was just born," I answer, smiling. "Somebody is 1," she replies.
"Somebody is laughing,"
This is our game. It's our secret way of being 2at the complexity (复杂性) of the world.
I was 3our game yesterday as Molly, my 15-year-old pet dog, lay beside me. Molly was 4a companion. She was part of me. But she was 5.
Molly was given to me as a puppy and has been my side ever since. But she started to walk slowly and then6when I took her out the other day.
"She is ready to go," I told my husband.
One day, I wandered down the stream to think. 7I looked around, I thought that the 8of a forest is not all about the green leaves or colorful plants. It is the decay(腐烂) that makes the color 9.
The10between me and Kathy rang in my mind. "Something is decaying," I thought, "Something is 11."
We chose to keep Molly at home, to spare her the anxiety of one 12trip to the vet. Our task was to keep her company and make sure she was 13.
I want to be 14her side. I took hold of Molly and placed my fingers over her beating heart. I kept them there, 15her pulse, until it stopped. I didn't beg her to 16. But that doesn't mean I didn't cry. The girls hugged me, more frightened by my 17than by the loss of the dog.
"Mommy! Say you'll be happy again," Kathy cried.
"Remember the game?" I whispered 18, "Where sometimes somebody is happy and 19is sad?" She nodded.
For now, I'm just somebody sad. Somebody who cries. Maybe tomorrow, or the day after, I'll be somebody who20.
