I Miss My Dad on Father’s Day, But California’s Rains Helped Wash My Pain Away雨润心田：父亲节的加州追忆

In March， my family reunited for a weekend in Sacramento1， where I grew up， to celebrate my mother’s 80th birthday. The city had turned green after a period of torrential rain and storms. In the fields around the airport， buttercups2 and poppies bloomed. The native grasses， usually torched stiff by the unrelenting sun， were a lush emerald.

3月，我们全家齐聚萨克拉门托共度周末，为我母亲庆祝80大寿。这座我生长于斯的城市在连日暴雨之后已然一片新绿。机场周边的原野上，毛茛与罂粟花竞相绽放，平日里被骄阳烤得干硬的野草也舒展为一片绒毯般的青翠。

I knew climate change caused this verdant hallelujah3， and yet， I was enraptured4. As I drove in my mother’s car along I-80， an unfamiliar feeling stirred in me—affection for a landscape that I’d long found bleak， especially after I’d lost my father here years ago. Seeing Sacramento anew made me see my memories of this place through fresh eyes， and， unexpectedly， I felt connected again to my father.

我知道，这般青翠欲滴的景象不过是气候变化使然，却仍为之沉醉。当我驾驶母亲的车行驶在80号州际公路时，一种陌生的情愫在胸中涌动——一直以来感觉这片土地荒凉，特别是多年前在此失去父亲后更觉萧索，此刻竟对它萌生眷恋。再次看到萨克拉门托，我对此地尘封的记忆焕然一新，猝不及防间，我又对父亲产生了亲近感。

Until I was 18， I lived on the edge of the city， near the foothills of the Sierra5， in a suburb that at the time slanted6 politically right while my parents slanted left， where most mothers stayed home while my mother worked. Families in our neighborhood， built on the remnants of orange orchards， had second houses on Lake Tahoe7.

18岁前，我住在内华达山脉山麓下的市郊。此处政治倾向偏右，而我父母偏左，当地主妇大多闲居家中，唯有母亲外出工作。我们的社区建在废弃的橙园，每家每户都在太浩湖畔置有度假屋。

My family saved its money for trips to the remote islands of Vanuatu8 in the Pacific， France and Ireland， voyages organized by my father. A history aficionado9， he rose every morning at 5 a.m. to read before my brother and I woke up. He was decades older than the other dads， an Irish-Catholic civil servant， and a devoted Democrat. The antithesis of California cool， he wore suit pants with tropical shirts and tennis shoes. When he wasn’t in his office in the state Capitol， he was with my brother and me. He took us on excursions to Gold Rush10 towns， bribed us with doughnuts to watch World War II newsreels at the local airbase， and pulled the car over whenever we passed a historic plaque.

我们全家省吃俭用，只为奔赴父亲精心策划的远行——前往太平洋深处的瓦努阿图群岛、法国与爱尔兰。这位历史迷每日清晨五点即起，赶在我和弟弟醒来前独享书香。他比其他孩子的父亲年长几十岁，是一名爱尔兰裔天主教公务员，也是民主党的忠实拥趸。与加州人的洒脱气质截然不同，他总是穿着西裤，配上热带风格的衬衫和网球鞋。不在州议会大厦办公时，他便陪着我们姐弟俩，带我们去那些淘金小镇游玩，用甜甜圈哄我们去当地空军基地观看二战新闻纪录片，但凡路过某个历史纪念牌，必定停车驻足一番。

Like him， probably because of him， my imagination favored the past. Summer afternoons， I dressed in an ankle-long skirt， slung a fake rifle over my shoulder， and headed into the backyard to hunt for dinner or navigate a raft over the treacherous waters of the swimming pool.

或许是受他熏陶，我也对往昔岁月情有独钟。夏日午后，我会身穿及踝长裙，肩挎玩具步枪，走进后院为晚餐“捕食”，或者在游泳池的“惊涛骇浪”中划着木筏探险。

As I grew， so did Sacramento. The suburbs bulldozed their way11 past our house， felling the oak trees， cluttering the foothills with strip malls， car dealerships and lookalike housing developments. This grieved my father， and it grieved me too. I remember a conversation in a restaurant near Truckee on a day trip to see the snow. “Soon enough，” my father said， “it’ll be one town from here to L.A.”

随着我的成长，萨克拉门托也在不断扩张。市郊的拓展势如破竹，推土机碾过我家门前的橡树林，在山麓间建起了鳞次栉比的商业街、汽车4S店与千篇一律的住宅区。这令父亲痛心不已，也让我感到难过。记得有一次去特拉基观雪，我们在附近一家餐馆聊了起来。他说道：“要不了多久，从这儿到洛杉矶就连成一座城镇了。”

Although he was 57 and I was 16， we shared the same nostalgia. This was also the year that my father’s health started to fail， months of strange physical symptoms and medical tests that showed nothing. I dreamed about his death over and over， and then it came. On his birthday， I drove over the hill to our house and saw an ambulance on the curb， my father on the lawn， ringed by paramedics. His heart had stopped. Over the next two years， my sadness over Sacramento became an ominous cloud. I left for college without looking back， and whenever I visited—alone， and later with my own family—I felt the ache of heartbreak.

尽管他已57岁，而我才16岁，我们却有着相同的怀旧之情。也正是那一年，父亲的健康状况开始恶化，数月间他出现了各种奇怪的身体症状，而各项医学检查却查不出任何问题。我反复梦见他的离世，直到噩梦成真。在他生日那天，我开车翻山越岭回到家中，看见救护车停在路边，父亲躺在草坪上，四周围着护理人员。他的心脏已经停止了跳动。在接下来的两年里，我对萨克拉门托的哀伤如同一片不祥的阴云。我头也不回地负笈他乡，每次独自归来或再后来携家带口重访故地，心口仍会泛起阵痛。

But this year， at 50 years old， I found myself in some gorgeous apocalyptic12 bloom， full of tenderness for everything I saw. Life blazed between the gas stations and driveways—the oleanders13 bursting， palm trees cutting into a brilliant， smog-free sky. From my mother and stepfather’s deck， the American River14， usually a trickle on my visits home， rolled hard and wide and deep. A week before， the redwoods along the side of the deck had been cut down after dangerous winds almost toppled them onto the house， and the view was surprisingly clear. I love it here， I thought， watching turkey buzzards15 circle in the sky， then wondered why.

而今年，50岁的我仿佛置身于一片绚烂的末日繁花之中，对眼前的一切都充满了温柔的情愫。加油站与车道之间，夹竹桃怒放，棕榈叶划破澄澈无霾的碧空。从母亲和继父家的露台上望去，美国河不再是我往日归家时所见的涓涓细流，变得汹涌澎湃、宽广深邃。露台旁的红杉树由于在狂风中差点砸到房屋，一周前被砍掉了，现在的视野出奇地开阔。看着美洲秃鹫在空中盘旋，我心想，我是深爱这里的，随后又不禁自问，为什么呢？

In over three decades， I hadn’t once experienced this sense of being home. It was as if after all those years of drought， the rain had washed my pain away. Transforming grief doesn’t happen overnight; and I still miss my dad every Father’s Day. But this year’s blooms created an opening for me to embrace him—and Sacramento—again after locking so much of that happiness away.