夢(mèng)幻完美男友

Eight years ago， my mother received an unusual call from her mother.

“Have you got a minute？” my grandmother asked in her gentle drawl. She then claimed that my 60-year-old aunt， my mothers sister， was seeing someone.

My mother was incredulous. “Unless shes sneaking out of the window at night，” she said， “Im not sure how shes going on these dates. Shes living with me and Rickey.”

My aunt， having undergone double hip-replacement surgery， was recuperating under the care of my parents.

My grandmother continued： “Well， this new gentleman actually has been in love with your sister since kindergarten. Hes just been waiting for Ronnie to get out of the picture.”

Ronnie had been my aunts husband for 40 years. And he recently had left her， but not in the way anyone had expected.

Let me back up. The last few decades had not been kind to my aunt. She had wrestled with ending her long marriage to Ronnie， who was a troubled soul.

He wasnt a bad person， but he struggled with addiction， a condition that can mold you， with sticky hands， into someone else.

With the news of her impending surgery， my aunt knew he would be unable to care for her， so after much consideration， she promised to find him a new home， gathered up her courage and left.

Not long after， on the day my uncle was scheduled to check himself into a retirement community， he put a gun into his mouth and killed himself.

Now， on the phone with my grandmother， my mother said：“I really think youre imagining this. Youve been watching too much television.”

But my grandmother， a woman of biblical patience， grew ornery at my mothers refusal to believe that my aunt had a suitor.

While this may sound like a plot from daytime television， the story arc was not out of character for my grandmother. At this point in her life， she filled her days rereading books and watching television， marinating on these tales as if they were scandals plucked from her own life.

It was doubly difficult to know when her stories were true because of her Alzheimers. The disease preserved many of her old memories while stealing much of her ability to sustain new ones.

However strange her story of the make-believe man， it was remarkable that， so far into her disease， my grandmother remembered that my uncle was no longer “in the picture.” She had forgotten that my mother is a cancer survivor， that I live in New York and that my brother is married， despite the wedding photo on display in her room. Yet my uncles death was as fresh in her mind as if she had plotted it herself.

About a week later， my grandmother called with more about this wealthy businessman. He had a name now： Nick Stephanopoulos. He was Greek， a convenient parallel to my Lebanese grandfather.

She gushed that Nick was flying my aunt to Paris， Rome and London， and that he planned to buy her luxurious gifts. He was crazy about her， not to mention that he was an international man of romance.

There comes a time when the caretakers and family of Alzheimers patients may be advised to adopt the patients reality as their own. This can help establish a sense of normalcy for the patient， diminish potential confusion and temper agitation.

So we brought Nick into our lives. Soon my grandmother began asking us about him. At lunch， as we caught up on one another， she would address the table with great expectation： “Well， hows Nick？”

At first wed pause， shifting in our seats and wondering who would be the first to accept my grandmothers delusions as our reality. Eventually， my aunt would pipe up， “Nick is...great.”

We tried to keep our answers short， because to us they were lies. And even though we knew pretending was the best solution， we still werent comfortable making up a life for the man， though his life did seem exciting…

One afternoon when my aunt visited my grandmother in her assisted-living home， my grandmother spoke gravely， saying， “I need to tell you something about Nick.”

“What is it？” my aunt asked.

“On the train to New Orleans last week， he bumped into Mr. McDaniel， you know， the train conductor.”

“Mmm.”

“Mr. McDaniel thinks you should know that Nick is involved in some unscrupulous business deals，” she said， her eyes focused intently as she waited for a response.

“Im so happy you told me，” my aunt replied.“I dont want to be involved with someone untrustworthy， and Ill bring this up with him.”

My grandmother was pleased. Crisis avoided. Never mind that people mostly drive that route these days， and Mr. McDaniel—well， he had been dead for 40 years.

These wild stories continued month after month， each vignette becoming a source of amusement among us. We marveled at my grandmothers mind， which was restricted by memory but freed by imagination. When my mother and I spoke， I would always ask about Nick. She would giggle and say， “Oh， let me tell what Nick did this time.”

Nick Stephanopoulos offered us something to hold on to. He was the laughter born of our sorrow.

More than two years after inventing Nick， my grandmother took a fall and broke her arm. At 88， she couldnt recover and declined over the course of five weeks. But as she made her slow exit from the world， she continued to tell us stories about Nick.

And then， one afternoon at the hospital， near the end of my grandmothers life， my aunt was huddled behind a television， fumbling with cables when， suddenly， my grandmother said， “Im sorry to hear about Nick.”

My aunt stopped fidgeting with wires and peeked out from behind the television. “What about Nick？”

“I heard he only has three months to live，” my grandmother said. “Im sorry.”

My aunt， stunned and disappointed， sat quietly calculating what this meant. After two and a half years， was this really the end？

A couple of weeks later， my grandmother passed away at hospice with my mother and aunt by her side.

For victims of Alzheimers， whole lifetimes vanish. For their loved ones， faith is tested and perseverance tried.

But to see Nicks fictional life stretched before us like a partly painted canvas proved that even memory loss couldnt shatter my grandmothers hope that my aunt would receive all she deserved.

Playing along with my grandmother kept us close to her， even as she was being taken from us. It was easier for us to live a lie. But with Nicks death， we discovered our strength as a family. We were no longer pretenders. We were believers.

八年前，我母親接到她母親打來(lái)的一個(gè)不尋常的電話。

“有空和我說(shuō)句話嗎？”我外婆拖長(zhǎng)腔調(diào)柔聲問(wèn)道。隨后她聲稱我那位六十歲的姨母（我母親的姐姐）在和某人約會(huì)。

我母親不相信。“除非她晚上從窗戶溜出去?！彼f(shuō)，“不然我不知道她是怎么出去約會(huì)的。她跟我和里奇住在一起。”

當(dāng)時(shí)我姨母做了雙髖關(guān)節(jié)置換手術(shù)，在我父母的照顧下休養(yǎng)康復(fù)。

外婆接著說(shuō)：“嗯，這位新露臉的先生事實(shí)上自幼兒園時(shí)起就愛(ài)上你姐姐了。他只是在等著羅尼跟你姐姐分道揚(yáng)鑣。”

羅尼和我姨母維持了40年的婚姻。但最近他以出乎任何人意料的方式離開(kāi)了她。

讓我來(lái)解釋一下來(lái)龍去脈。我姨母過(guò)去幾十年可不好過(guò)。羅尼是個(gè)累贅的包袱，她費(fèi)了很大勁才結(jié)束了他倆的漫長(zhǎng)婚姻。

羅尼人不壞，但是個(gè)癮君子，這種狀況就像一雙黏糊糊糾纏不放的手，把人摧殘得面目全非。

姨母得知馬上要做手術(shù)，也知道丈夫沒(méi)法照顧她，因而經(jīng)過(guò)深思熟慮之后，她承諾給他找個(gè)新家，然后鼓起勇氣離開(kāi)了。

沒(méi)過(guò)多久，在姨父本該要去登記入住養(yǎng)老院那天，他吞槍自殺了。

當(dāng)時(shí)，母親在電話里跟我外婆說(shuō)：“我真的覺(jué)得這是你的幻想。你看電視看得太多了?！?/p>

外婆素來(lái)有著圣人般的耐心，這次卻因我母親拒絕相信有人在追求我姨母而變得暴躁起來(lái)。

雖然這個(gè)消息聽(tīng)起來(lái)像日間電視節(jié)目里的劇情，故事主線卻并非不符合外婆的性格。在那段日子里，她整天重讀書(shū)籍、看電視，浸泡在這類故事中，仿佛這些令人咋舌的事件出自她自己的生活。

她患了老年癡呆癥，因此要判斷她的哪個(gè)故事是真的，更是難上加難。這種病讓她的很多陳年記憶得以存留，卻又讓她喪失了不少保存新記憶的能力。

不管這個(gè)虛構(gòu)男人的故事有多么奇怪，了不起的是，外婆病到那種程度，依然記得我姨父跟姨媽再也沒(méi)有瓜葛了。她已經(jīng)忘記了我母親是個(gè)癌癥幸存者，忘記了我住在紐約以及我弟弟已經(jīng)結(jié)婚了，盡管他們的結(jié)婚照就擺在她的房間里。然而我姨父的死在她的記憶中卻嶄新得就像是她自己設(shè)計(jì)了這個(gè)情節(jié)。

大約一周之后，外婆打電話來(lái)，說(shuō)起更多關(guān)于這位富有商人的事。他開(kāi)始有名有姓了：尼克·斯特凡諾普洛斯。他是希臘人，與我外公是黎巴嫩人這點(diǎn)很相似。

她滔滔不絕地講起尼克帶我姨母飛遍了巴黎、羅馬和倫敦，并打算給她買奢侈禮物的事。他瘋狂地愛(ài)著她，更不要說(shuō)他本來(lái)就是個(gè)浪漫的、走遍全球的異國(guó)男子。

有段時(shí)間，護(hù)理員和老年癡呆癥患者的家人都知道應(yīng)當(dāng)認(rèn)可病人臆想的現(xiàn)實(shí)。這樣有利于幫助病人建立正常的意識(shí)，減少病人的潛在困惑和不安情緒。

所以我們接納了尼克進(jìn)入我們的生活。不久，外婆開(kāi)始向我們問(wèn)起他。午飯時(shí)，當(dāng)我們互相交流各自的近況，她會(huì)滿懷期望地問(wèn)在座的人：“嗯，尼克怎么樣了？”

一開(kāi)始我們會(huì)冷場(chǎng)，坐立不安，琢磨著誰(shuí)會(huì)第一個(gè)接受外婆的幻想作為我們的現(xiàn)實(shí)。最后，我姨母會(huì)接過(guò)話茬：“尼克……好極了?！?/p>

我們盡可能簡(jiǎn)短地回答，因?yàn)閷?duì)我們來(lái)說(shuō)，這些回答都是謊言。盡管我們知道假裝是最好的解決方法，但我們還是為杜撰一個(gè)人的生活感到不自在，雖然杜撰出來(lái)的生活看起來(lái)確實(shí)激動(dòng)人心……

一天下午，姨母去我外婆居住的陪助型老人之家看她，外婆憂愁地說(shuō)：“我得告訴你一些關(guān)于尼克的事。”

“什么事？”我姨母問(wèn)。

“在上周開(kāi)往新奧爾良的火車上，他碰見(jiàn)了麥克丹尼爾先生，你知道，那位列車長(zhǎng)?！?/p>

“嗯?！?/p>

“麥克丹尼爾先生覺(jué)得你應(yīng)當(dāng)知道尼克在不擇手段地做一些不道德的生意?！彼f(shuō)道，目不轉(zhuǎn)睛地等著回答。

“我真高興你告訴我了?！币棠富卮稹！拔也幌牒筒豢煽康娜擞惺裁垂细?，我會(huì)和他攤牌?！?/p>

外婆感到滿意了。危機(jī)避免了。先別說(shuō)那條路線如今人們都是開(kāi)車走公路而不坐火車的，而且麥克丹尼爾先生——嗯，他都去世40年了。

這些瘋狂的故事一個(gè)月又一個(gè)月地繼續(xù)著，每段小插曲都成了我們之間的笑料來(lái)源。外婆的頭腦受限于記憶，卻得以自由地發(fā)揮想象力，我們都為此感到驚嘆。當(dāng)輪到母親和我在飯桌上發(fā)言時(shí)，我總會(huì)問(wèn)起尼克。母親會(huì)咯咯地笑著說(shuō)：“噢，這次讓我來(lái)說(shuō)尼克做了什么?！?/p>

尼克·斯特凡諾普洛斯是我們的一段珍貴記憶。他是我們?cè)诒瘋姓业降臍g樂(lè)笑聲。

在杜撰了尼克的兩年多以后，外婆摔了一跤，手臂骨折了。八十八歲高齡的她，經(jīng)過(guò)了五周都不能恢復(fù)，健康狀況惡化了。但在她行將離世時(shí)，還繼續(xù)給我們說(shuō)著尼克的故事。

后來(lái)，一個(gè)下午，在醫(yī)院里，外婆即將走到生命的盡頭時(shí)，姨母擠在電視機(jī)后面，胡亂地摸索著線路，突然，外婆說(shuō)道：“我很遺憾得知尼克的消息?！?/p>

姨母停下折騰電線，從電視機(jī)后面探出頭來(lái)。“尼克怎么了？”

“我聽(tīng)說(shuō)他只能活三個(gè)月了?！蓖馄耪f(shuō)?！拔腋械胶苓z憾?！?/p>

姨母愕然，又失望，靜靜地坐著盤算這意味著什么。兩年半過(guò)去了，這真的要結(jié)束了嗎？

幾周以后，外婆在臨終安養(yǎng)院去世了，我母親和姨母守在她身邊。

老年癡呆癥患者一生的記憶都消失了。而愛(ài)他們的人的信心和毅力都受到了考驗(yàn)。

但像畫作未完成的一塊畫布那樣，尼克傳奇的一生在我們面前展開(kāi)，證明著，即使失去記憶也不能動(dòng)搖我外婆的期盼，她期盼姨母能夠得到她應(yīng)得的一切。

陪外婆玩“故事接龍”讓我們和她更親近，盡管死神正在把她從我們身邊帶走。對(duì)于我們而言，過(guò)欺騙人的生活并不難。但隨著尼克死去，我們找到了作為一家人的團(tuán)結(jié)力量。我們不再是偽裝者。我們是信仰者。