經(jīng)歷一次失敗的婚姻后，我認識了現(xiàn)在的老伴。在一起生活了14年之后，他在醫(yī)院的急救室向我求婚。這讓我感動不已：我們互相理解，關(guān)心彼此，無私付出，這就是愛。

By Barbara Simmons

We should not have been surprised to end up in a hospital on that blustery[1] night, as my partner and I were both in our 60s and hospitals had all too frequently become destinations. The tally had been fairly even: him—quintuple bypass surgery; me—major thoracic surgery; his turn again.[2]

But, in between the melodrama[3], we were having a great life together. Both divorced since our 30s, we’d been living together for 14 years, our faith restored in the idea that just the right person could exist, and that fits of hysterical laughter could be part of every day.[4] We were two productive[5] people enjoying days filled with work, family and friends.

Yet, that night driving down snowy streets to the hospital, it seemed, well, like the perfect ice storm had come to finally freeze our happy home. It began when the phone rang at 12:30 a.m. “Get to the hospital immediately,” my partner’s new doctor told him. “I just reviewed the EKG[6] you took 12 hours ago and it reveals a heart attack has occurred—you need to go to hospital, now.”

The emergency room doctor, a woman who looked pubescent, hooked my partner up to some formidable-looking cardiac equipment, drew blood, and said with authority, “It will be a while before we know anything definitive.”[7]

The two of us settled[8] into our area and talked softly. We talked about the need to cancel this and that plan, and about how to tell the kids that there was yet another health emergency.

Night turned into day. The ER was now busy with pastel uniforms coming and going.[9] A beige plastic breakfast tray left for hours, more needles, more tests, and specialists and nurses poking here and there.[10] We should have become used to the antiseptic[11] hospital smell by then, but it stayed as a reminder of where we were. No news. So we did what we do best—we chatted, read, held hands and waited.

And then, around two in the afternoon, my partner said: “If I were to die, would you be happier if we had been married—because I would.” I really did not have to think, so I just smiled and said “yes.” And he said, “Would you marry me?” And I said “yes.” What an unusual sight we must have made—seniors looking so happy and laughing loudly in an ER.

Just after four, a new shift arrived and a doctor we had not seen before introduced himself and said: “There is nothing wrong—you have not had a heart attack.” Not knowing whether to be furious with the original misdiagnosis, or grateful with the outcome, we chose grateful.[12] And here we were, engaged: It might have been a death-bed proposal—but we were giddy with our decision.[13]

We settled on a date three weeks away and shopped together for our wedding rings. He chose his white gold band quickly and with glee;[14] I selected mine because it looked so cheerful, so hopeful. He asked what I thought of having both rings engraved[15] with Love, Always.

I had no idea how long “always” would be at our ages, but I shared the passion behind the sentiment. And I knew this ring represented something far different than the wedding ring of my embittered[16] first marriage. That one, a wide gold band, was lying by itself in a jewel box. Strange that a ring purchased by such a young couple should hold less hope than the one I was about to wear, for possibly much less time.

My former husband and I had met in our 20s, had had a long-distance relationship during the school year, and after making up following a summer breakup,[17] he proposed a quick wedding. I knew how I felt—I was sure I was over-the-moon[18] happy. I shushed[19] the diffident voice in my head.

I could still clearly recall greeting my former husband as he arrived at my parent’s home for our garden wedding, and flinching as I heard him say, “Is it too late to back out[20]?” He laughed, I went into denial. And why did I not allow a moment of question even after seeing the “Just Divorced” sign he and his mother had attached to the back of our honeymoon car?

There is no way to escape pondering[21] a first marriage when about to enter a second. Now, four decades later, what I felt for my new husband-to-be was the joy of truly knowing him, and knowing that he understood love—how to feel it, how to give it. I too had learned how to love a man, and love myself. And I knew that we had the “in sickness” part of our vows down pat[22]. We were ready for each other.

And so, on yet another blustery day, my four-month-old grandson, dressed in a tiny tuxedo, lay cradled in his mother’s left arm while she linked mine with her right.[23] Slowly, the two accompanied me toward my love, who was dressed in a new suit that covered his happily beating heart.

Vocabulary

1. end up:（尤指經(jīng)歷一系列意料之外的事情后）最終處于……；blustery: 大風(fēng)的。

2. tally: 得分，此處指進醫(yī)院的次數(shù)；even: 勢均力敵的，水平相當(dāng)?shù)模籷uintuple: 五倍的；bypass surgery: 心臟搭橋手術(shù)，旁通管手術(shù)；thoracic: 胸的。

3. melodrama: 情節(jié)劇。

4. fit:（感情的）沖動，一陣發(fā)作；hysterical: 歇斯底里的。

5. productive: 富有成效的。

6. EKG: 【醫(yī)】心電圖。

7. pubescent:（男孩或女孩）處于青春期的；hook: 把……固定在……；formidable-looking: 看起來嚇人的；cardiac: 心臟；draw blood: 抽血；definitive: 確定的。

8. settle:（使）處于舒適的位置。

9. ER:=emergency room，（醫(yī)院的）急救室；pastel:（色彩）淺的，柔和的。

10. beige: 淺棕色的，米黃色的；poke: 戳。

11. antiseptic: 消毒的，殺菌的。

12. furious: 狂怒的；misdiagnosis: 錯誤的診斷；grateful: 感激的；outcome: 結(jié)果。

13. engaged: 已訂婚的；death-bed: 臨終床；proposal: 求婚；giddy: 激動不已的。

14. white gold: 人造白金（金、鎳、鈀等的合金，制首飾用）；band: 圈，環(huán)；glee: 高興，興奮。

15. engrave: 在……上雕刻（文字或圖案）。

16. embittered: 怨憤的，滿腹牢騷的。

17. mak up: 講和；breakup:（婚姻或關(guān)系的）破裂。

18. over-the-moon: 非常高興的。

19. shush: 使安靜，使肅靜。

20. back out: 變卦，打退堂鼓。

21. ponder: 仔細考慮，深思。

22. have sth. down pat: 對某事滾瓜爛熟，對某事熟悉得可隨口說出。

23. tuxed:（在正式場合穿的）男士無尾禮服上衣；cradle: 輕輕地抱著。

（來源：英語學(xué)習(xí)雜志 編輯：中國日報網(wǎng)英語點津 陳丹妮）