My dearest，

You’ve gone.And I can never get you back again——except by talking to you.It’s childish，I know.But perhaps it will give me some relief from the pent-up sorrow that makes me feel as if my heart will burst.

How often we gently scorned the people who used euphemisms for death!“She has left us.”“He has passed over.”Where was their strength，we wondered，that they could not acknowledge death for what it was，and speak of it as death?I understand them a little better now.But at least I will demand of myself the will to call death by itsown name.

I know what they were trying to do.They were attempting to conceal the ultimate finality……at least until they could bear it.Nature bestows a numbness on us at first，giving us time to adjust to the brutal truth.But the numbness does not last long enough，and the truth breaks through the veil and stabs us again and again.

Friends have been marvelous.They have surrounded me with affection and concern;they talk or fall silent as they perceive my mood;they bring gifts of flowers or themselves;they plan little outings and include me in their gatherings.They write letters that make the tears stream down my face，because they appreciated you so……they tell me，in warm words，how sweet you were，how brilliant，how witty，how talented，and how blessed they were to know you.It is a comfort to read of their appreciation，to realize that they were aware of all your wonderful qualities.But my loss，as I go over their words，grows greater and greater.I am utterly bereft.I have been abandoned;I feel as if apart of me has been amputated.For we were soclose，we knew each other so well，we were so attuned to each other’s moods——different though we were in a dozen respects.

There was one letter that helped me more than most.It came from an editor whom you never met.She told me something which has been a kind of bulwark，for she said，“No one truly dies who is remembered with love.”

And I know this is true.I remember you with love.I remember everything about you，with undying love.When I think I cannot stand the loneliness any more，something will come to mind，something that I loved in you and it gives me the courage，if only momentarily，to go on.

So that is what I will do，as I write to you.I will think of the things that made our life together the charmed experience it was.I will remember you with love.

我的唯一：

我幾乎不敢相信你已經離開我整整一年了。從一方面說，這是我生命中最漫長的一年，最可怕的一年，也是最黑暗的一年。但從另一方面說，似乎我們那次最后的相見就發生在昨天，你臉上帶著淡淡的、美麗的微笑，因為你終于找到了安寧。我站在病床前，注視著你，似乎永遠也看不夠……當我意識到我已失去了你的時候，由于悲傷我變得麻木了。

你在病痛中生活了那么久。你為此而寫的那首詩讓我心如刀絞，因為這來自于你的內心。你時常告訴我，你不懼怕死亡，當死亡來臨時你會愉快地迎接它。但你也曾許諾盡可能長久地與我待在一起，你的確如此做了，盡管你希望自己離去。現在死亡像朋友一樣到來了，你得到自由了。

而我如今卻被束縛住了。我被束縛在生活中、束縛在悲痛中，失去了你，我被迫獨自繼續生活下去。

我曾經努力地挽留你;我曾經回避那不可回避的事實，似乎只要我忽視它就可以戰勝它。當我站在你的身旁，我才最終知道我面對的是什么，這幾乎使我無法承受。

正是從那時起，我開始給你寫信，那些信使我明白我欠了你那么多，我從你那里得到了那么多。那些信拯救了我，也許現在我已能足夠堅強地生活下去——不是如我過去所認為的那樣失去了你，而是與你同在。如同那語言清晰完美的編輯所說的那樣，被人們滿懷愛戴之情回憶的人是不會真正死去的，而我正是滿懷愛戴之情回憶你，用我心里的全部的愛。

你與我同在。當我坐在你做的針繡花邊的椅子上時，你就在那兒。當我抬頭看看掛著你的畫的墻壁時，你就在那兒。當我坐在桌旁，凝視著你繡的小墊布時，當我躺在床上，蓋著你用鈞針編織的軟毛毯時，當我為參加晚宴著裝，戴上你為我做的金手鐲和耳環時，你就在那兒。你的書籍排列在書架上，你的詩歌被我讀了一遍又一遍，你那會說話的眼睛從我書桌上的照片里凝視著我。

我不會失去你，我最愛的人。我只能回憶我們共有的歡笑，我們一起度過的日子，你與病痛抗爭的勇氣，你對待生命的態度，我因此而得以充實和提高。現在我知道我不會失去你，因為我已滿懷愛戴之情回憶你，你將陪伴著我，直至我生命的最后一天。