I felt cheated. All my life I had wondered whether my dad cared for me and loved me – I doubted it. Just as I got proof that he did, he passed away.
我有种受骗的感觉。迄今为止，我一直在质疑父亲是否关心我、爱我。而当我刚刚得到答案时，他却离我而去了。

My parents split up when I was two years old and, while I had monthly contact with my dad, my bitter stepmother and my father's old-fashioned stiff upper lip meant we never became close. In fact, I used to dread the visits to see him and count the hours until I could go home again.
在我两岁时父母离婚了，之后每个月我都会和父亲见次面，而我那位尖刻的后母以及父亲那老式而僵硬的话语注定了我们永远无法亲近彼此。事实上，我一直很怕跟父亲见面，每次都数着时间盼着能早点回家。

When I was very little the weekends at my father's house felt cold and unfriendly. During my teens the trips to a hostile house became a dread on the horizon for weeks beforehand. Each stay culminated in an uncomfortable peck on the cheek from Dad as he said goodbye – a moment I cringed about for hours in advance.
当我还很小的时候，那些在父亲家度过的周末让人感到冷淡而不友好。而在我青少年时期，去拜访那个不友好的家就意味着在那之前提早来临的几个礼拜的担心和恐惧。每次父亲和我道别时都会在我脸颊留下匆匆一吻，那让人不舒服，因而每每在此之前几小时我就开始害怕。

And yet standing beside the hospital bed watching the life ebb from my sleeping father was painful. I felt like a little girl at his bedside, unable to talk to him yet again. I became fixated with his fingers – fat and soft, lying gently curled beside him. Slowly they transformed from plump sausages to stone – white and immovable. It was his fingers that told me he had gone from this life, not the bleeping of monitors or the bustling of nursing staff.
然而，站在医院的病床边看着沉睡的父亲生命垂危，这让我痛苦不已。我觉得自己像个小姑娘，在他的床边，却无法再次和他说话。我注视着他的手指 - 肥厚而柔软，卷曲着放在他身旁。慢慢地，它们的颜色由红润转为苍白，并且不再动弹。这告诉我他已离开了人世，而此刻监视器的嘈杂声响和护士的忙乱已不能再说明什么。

Losing a father whom you have no recollection of ever living with is difficult. Grieving is tricky; I didn't have any obvious close father-daughter memories to cling to and mull and cry over. Most of my memories were of stilted meetings and uncomfortable times together. But I desperately missed him being alive.
若你连丝毫和父亲一起生活过的记忆都没有，那么失去他必定很煎熬。悲痛让人难以捉摸；父亲和我之间没有什么亲密相处的记忆让我留恋、冥想或恸哭。我的大多记忆是一些让人别扭的碰面和不自在的共处时光。然而现在我是多么怀念他在世的日子啊。