有几篇令人宽慰的日记摘录，一篇描述柯南在母亲节打电话给我的事情，还有他在圣诞节给我的一朵漂亮的白色一品红。我珍视这些旧照片带回的记忆--做他最爱吃的菜，得到他可爱的拥抱--或者仅仅给他洗熨衣服就得到他的吻。虽然这些事情给了我安慰，但是它们还不够。
一个美好的春日，他去世后差不多一年的时候，我轻抚着采自他墓前，后来被我夹在《圣经》里面，已经压扁了的玫瑰。突然，我觉得不由自主，要独自前往他的坟墓。我以前从未那样做过，但是我极力想要找到一些答案。
来到墓边，我记起查克提到永久墓碑最近运到这里了。查克请柯南的妈妈按照她的意愿去挑选。当我俯视发亮的大理石表面时，我注意到她选择了青铜运动徽章，伴随着永久嵌入厚玻璃层的柯南的照片。
我弯下腰，用手指轻抚着雕刻在墓碑上的他的名字和纪念他短暂人生的日子。泪水模糊了我的双眼，记忆中那个任性好玩的小男孩的形象填满了我的脑海。这个我帮助照顾多年的孩子虽然不是我生的，但是上帝选择了我在他的人生中给予母爱。不是替代他母亲的位置，而是只在“一步”之外给予关爱。我突然非常骄傲自己被这样选中。
“成为你的继母是一种殊荣。”我低低地说出声来，同时弯腰亲吻他的照片。
最后，一种平和感出现。我长叹一声，准备离开。但是当我转身要走的时候，太阳照亮了墓碑的边缘，吸引我回头看。
“噢，天哪！我之前怎么没注意到它？”墓碑的整个边缘用金色麦穗装饰……和柯南几年前送给我的一枚金色麦穗别针一模一样。我的身上感到阵阵寒意。我已经好几年没看到这枚别针了。
不知怎的，我预感它就是那寻找答案的过程中缺失的环节。我必须找到那枚别针。
驾车回家的路上我的知觉一片模糊。我太兴奋了。最后，我在楼上自己的卧室里狂乱地打开了首饰盒。它在哪里呢？我把首饰都倒在床上，疯狂地来回乱扔耳环和别针。
没找到。上帝，这枚别针很重要。请帮我找到它，我祈祷。
离开床，我觉得被驱使着去翻看梳妆台。挨个抽屉翻，一无所获，直到最后，我在最后一个抽屉，在抽屉最后面摸到了它。这是一个白色小盒子，上面用孩子的笔迹写着我的名字。打开盒子，我立刻回到了过去的时光。
那时柯南大约十岁，是去佛罗里达度假的前一天晚上。他要和我们一起去，我正在自己房间里收拾行李，突然听到有人敲我的房门。柯南站在门口，他的眼睛低垂，双手背在身后。
“怎么了，儿子？”我问，我好奇这个未预料到的来访。他移了移脚，飞快地说：“我不知道为什么我不经常称呼你‘妈妈’，虽然我称呼继父‘爸爸’。”
我抱住他，再次向他保证他可以用任何他觉得舒服的称谓称呼我。然后突然，他丰满的脸上露出诡异的一笑，递给我这个白色的小盒子。
“你选择吧。”他说，然后离开了房间。猜想着可能会在盒子里发现两种东西，我打开了它。但不是两种东西，我看到的是他用自己的钱从宅前销售中心购买的一枚金色麦穗别针。
盒盖里面写着：“我爱你。给妈妈或者康妮。”这差不多是十年前的事情了，但是当我把首饰盒里的大量饰品扫到一边，慢慢坐在床边的时候，感觉这就像昨天发生的事情一样。谢谢你，上帝，让我找到这枚别针，找回它背后的故事。擦干脸上的泪水，我感觉到了一个天使般的小男孩，他的心跳是那么接近我的心跳。我仍然选择“妈妈”。
Last Dance... Last Chance... 最后的舞蹈……最后的机会……Tracy AndersonMy father was a gruff man. I couldn‘t remember the last time he had tenderly stroked my cheek tousled my hair or used a term of endearment when calling my name. His diabetes had given him a short temper and he screamed a lot. I was envious when I saw other fathers plant gentle kisses on their daughters’foreheads or impulsively give them a big bear hug. I knew that he loved me and that his love was deep. He just didn‘t know how to express it.
It was hard to say“I love you”to someone who didn’t say it back. After so many disappointing times when I would flinch from his sharp rebuff I began to withdraw my own warm displays of affection. I stopped reaching out or hugging or kissing him. At first， this act of self-restraint was conscious. Later it would become automatic and finally it was ingrained. The love between us ran strong but silent.
One rare evening out when my mother had successfully coaxing myusually asocial father to join us for a night in town， we were sitting in an elegant restaurant that boasted a small but lively band. When it struck up a familiar waltz tune I glanced at my father. He suddenly appeared small and shrunken to me not powerful and intimidating as I had always perceived him.
All the old hurts welled up inside but I decided to dare one last time. “Dad you know I‘ve never ever danced with you. Even when I wasa little girl I begged you， but you never wanted to. How about right now？”
I waited for the usual brusque reply that would once again slice my heart into ribbons. But instead he considered it thoughtfully and then a surprising twinkle appeared in his eye.“I have been remiss in my dutiesas a father then，”he uncharacteristically joked“.
Let’s hit the floor and I‘ll
show you just what kind of moves an old geezer like me still can make.”
My father took me in his arms. Since earliest childhood I hadn’t been enfolded in his embrace. I felt overcome by emotion.
As we danced， I looked up at my father intently， but he avoided my gaze. His eyes swept the dance floor， the other diners and the members of the band. His scrutiny took in everyone and everything but me. I felt that he must already be regretting his decision to join me for a dance that he seemed uncomfortable being physically close to me.
