When they took Dad to the hospital that last time， he called me from his room. “Lizzy， the paramedics1） asked me if I was on any medications. I told them everything but Viagra2）. Then they put the oxygen mask on me.”

Those were the last actual words I heard him say.

It was my birthday and I was celebrating it at Coney Island with my sister Ann and her family. The cell phone service was crummy3） and the call went dead. I told the Viagra story to the group and we laughed. It was typical of Dad： dark， inappropriate， and funny.

Our sister Linda called me the following morning.

“You need to come home，” she said in a voice that sounded like a little girl who had snuck4） away from the babysitter and called her parents because she was scared. “Dad is dying.”

“How long does he have？” I said. I dont know where those words came from and couldnt believe I asked them as though I was talking about someone I didnt know.

“Maybe a day or two， so you need to come home now，” Linda instructed.

In his own way Dad， who had suffered from emphysema5） for years， had tried to prepare me for this day. A few months before his death he had sent me a card and had asked me not to open it “til after Im gone.”

Of course I opened it immediately.

When I opened it， it simply said， “I love you. You are my favorite. Please dont tell the others.”

The sentiment6） evoked a range of emotions in me at the time. It made me feel elated7） that I did something right. Then it made me feel bad for my brother and sisters. Finally， I felt horribly guilty for opening it. I taped it open inside my jewelry box so Id see it a lot.

Ann and I went straight to the hospital from the airport. As we approached Dads room， the sound of laughter got louder. When we walked in， Mom was sitting in the chair next to Dad， and my brother and two sisters and sister-in-law were all sitting in a row on the extra bed in his room. Tears streamed down everyones faces as they laughed.

Dad couldnt speak， but he could hear everything. His stomach8） was bouncing up and down， as he was laughing， too.

“What did we miss？” Ann asked the group desperately. “I hate when I miss any laughing.”

“The meat！ The gas station meat！” my brother said， choking through what I like to think of as dielarity9）.

Gas Station Meat

Ahh， the gas station meat. The crown jewel in the pantheon of Dads many “deal” stories. Dad loved driving around and looking for bargains. He usually found them in areas of the city where the only reason you would be there is if you were scoring10） crack11）. The merchandise was always stuff that no one wanted， never mind12） wanted to get a “deal” on. Which brings us to the gas station meat. We all took turns telling the tale of the bargain steaks hed brought home once.

“I will never forget being halfway through my steak when you told us the story of how you bought them，” I said， then continued in my best Dad baritone13） voice： “I was filling up the tank and notice this fellas got a station wagon there with the tailgate open. And the guy says， ‘You want to check out my meat？ And at first I thought， ‘Who is this weirdo who wants to show me his meat？”

Dad was so proud of that dumb joke14）. His belly was in full force. Then the story reached its climax with each of us chiming in15）.

“That guy had half a cow in an old cardboard box in the back of that station wagon.”

“That had come from God only knows where！”

“Or when！”

“And Dad bought all of it！”

“For 40 bucks！”

“We were all sitting around eating black market roadkill16）.”

Mom weighed in17）. “The ribs were really very good.”

We swapped stories for a few more hours until the dielarity had exhausted us all.

Dielarious laughter is different than regular laughter， as it drains you of every emotion. It is an exhausting release of all the pain， fear， love， and loss that you had been holding in. If I didnt laugh， I would have spent that energy reminding myself that my life was about to change forever.

Saying Goodbye

The next day was a long one. Dads stomach-bouncing was minimal. A hospice worker18） suggested we each take some time alone with him to share our private thoughts. Finally， it was my turn.

At first I felt a bit afraid of being alone with Dad. His breathing pattern started sounding finite. I climbed into bed with him and grabbed his hand. I put my lips right up to his ear， and spoke to him in my normal voice.

“Dad， squeeze my hand so I know you can hear me.” He squeezed back. I wanted him to squeeze it off.

I didnt know where to start， so I started with apologizing for opening the card.

“Dad， I opened your card. I couldnt wait. I hope youre not mad. It made me feel so special.”

He didnt squeeze my hand but his belly started to bounce. Right then， that felt better than a squeeze.

“You know I love you， and you are my inspiration to go out and make the world a funnier place.”

Squeeze.

I wanted to say every single thing I ever felt， but I was in a verbal free fall19）， so I just wanted him to laugh.

“Dad， I have to tell you， I am who I am because of you， and that includes the bad parts， Mister！”

There was a knock on the door. It was the hospice worker. “The priest is here for the sacrament20） of the sick.”

I kissed him on the forehead again and went to open the door for the priest and his last rites.

Afterward， everyone filed in21） and took their places. Then a nurse came in and checked on Dad again. “It is time，” she informed us. “Your dad will pass within the hour.”

The Favorite

By now， we were about 15 people gathered and sitting on Dads bed. His breathing became so shallow， so slow， that as a family we all tried to breathe for him. It was the worst 30 minutes of our lives. Each of us wanted his pain to end， and we took turns assuring him that he could go， that we would all be okay.

Finally he took his last breath. We didnt know what to do. We just sat there， wept and stared at our dead dad. Before I could even form my first thoughts， I looked over at Mom.

She was still holding his hand.

“He loved you kids so much； you were his world. He always hoped he told you enough. Its why he sent you kids the cards to open after he died， so you would always have a reminder.”

“I keep mine open in my jewelry case，” I said， in an attempt to let her know that we all knew just how much Dad loved us.

“Oh， you opened it？” Mom asked， knowingly.

“And did the rest of you open your cards too？” Mom asked.

Everyone nodded. They were all clearly ashamed， but you could read in each persons face how much Dads special words gave them peace.

“Dad wanted you to open those cards after he died， and since you all went against his wishes and already have， I would love to hear what he wrote to each of you，” Mom said. “Lizz， you start.”

This cannot be happening. My father has been dead for five minutes and I am about to make people feel worse than they already do？

I didnt know what to do. Should I lie？ Wait， I cant lie. The first thing I do after Dad is dead is to lie？ I dont think so. I havent even had a decent cry yet.

“Mom， maybe now is not the time，” Linda said， to my relief.

“Lets just focus on Dad and you，” Ann added.

“Lizz， you start，” Mom repeated. She was not letting this go.

The only person who could make this stop was lying there not doing anything. Finally， I started crying.

“The card said， ‘I love you. You were my favorite. Please dont—” And before Id finished， all my siblings had joined me in unison， “—tell the others.”

The room erupted with convulsions22） of dielarity. Dad had pulled off the greatest gotcha23） moment of his life. And at his death， no less.

He knew we all would open that card the second we got it. And he knew that we would all believe what he wrote. And relish24） it and find some smug25） superiority in it. But more than anything else， he knew how hard we would laugh when we found out， having to laugh at our own ridiculousness and remembering that he made us laugh， even after his death. He knew that this moment would be more precious than ever feeling like the favorite.

His greatest moment of hilarity and he couldnt even take a bow. Not physically， anyway. But in our minds， he graciously appreciated our standing ovation26）.

Bravo， Dad. Bravo.

那是他們最后一次送爸爸去醫(yī)院，他從病房里打電話給我：“莉莎，醫(yī)護人員問我有沒有在吃什么藥。除了偉哥，其他藥我都告訴他們了。然后他們就把氧氣面罩扣我臉上了?！?/p>

這是我最后一次聽到他真正開口說話。

那一天是我的生日，我正和姐姐安以及她的家人在科尼島慶祝。手機的信號很差，電話斷了。我把這個“偉哥”的故事說給其他人聽，我們都笑了。這就是爸爸的一貫作風(fēng)：壞壞的，不注意場合，風(fēng)趣。

第二天早上，我們的姐姐琳達打電話給我。

“你們得回家來，”她說道，聲音聽起來就像一個從保姆身邊偷偷溜走、因為害怕而正在給父母打電話的小姑娘，“爸爸快不行了?！?/p>

“他還有多長時間？”我說。我不知道這幾個字是從哪兒冒出來的，簡直不敢相信我問了他們一個這樣的問題，就好像我在談?wù)撃硞€我不認識的人。

“可能一兩天吧，所以你們必須現(xiàn)在就回來。”琳達下了命令。

爸爸受肺氣腫的折磨已多年，他已經(jīng)試圖用自己的方式讓我對這一天的到來有所準(zhǔn)備。在他去世前幾個月，他給我寄了一張卡片，并要求我“在我走之前不要打開”。

我當(dāng)然是立刻打開了這張卡片。

我打開卡片，上面只有簡單的幾句話：“我愛你。你是我的最愛。請不要告訴其他人?！?/p>

當(dāng)時，父親的觀點在我心里激起了千層浪。它讓我覺得沾沾自喜，我在某些事情上做得很好。它又讓我為我的哥哥和姐姐們感到難過。最后，我又為已打開卡片而深深地感到內(nèi)疚。我把卡片展開，粘在我的首飾盒里，好讓我可以時?？匆娝?。

安和我從機場直接去了醫(yī)院。當(dāng)我們走近爸爸的病房時，里面?zhèn)鞒龅男β暩禹懥?。我們走進病房，媽媽正坐在爸爸身邊的椅子上，我的哥哥、兩個姐姐和嫂子在房間里多出來的那張床上坐了一排。他們笑得淚流滿面。

爸爸已經(jīng)不能說話了，但他什么都能聽見。他的肚子上下起伏，因為他也在笑。

“我們錯過什么了？”安急切地問大家，“我可不喜歡錯過任何好笑的事兒?！?/p>

“肉！在加油站買的肉！”我哥一邊說，一邊被這種我認為是臨終前講的黑色幽默逗得喘不過氣來。

加油站買肉記

啊哈，加油站買肉那事兒。那是爸爸許許多多關(guān)于“交易”的故事中最精彩的一個。爸爸喜歡開著車到處轉(zhuǎn)悠，看哪兒有便宜貨買。他往往能在城市的犄角旮旯里找到這種便宜貨，而一般人只有在要買強效可卡因時才會去那種地方。那些商品通常都是沒人要的東西，更不用說想花錢買了。這就給我們帶來了加油站買肉的話題。我們大伙兒輪番上陣，講起了那次他把便宜牛排帶回家的故事。

“我永遠不會忘記當(dāng)時我的牛排正吃了一半，你就給我們講起你是怎么買到牛排的故事?！蔽艺f。然后，我盡力模仿爸爸的男中音繼續(xù)講道：“我當(dāng)時正在給油箱加油，注意到那個小伙子將一輛旅行轎車停在那兒，后備箱開著。那小伙子說：‘您想看看我的肉嗎？一開始我想：‘這個怪人是誰？竟然想讓我看他的肉？”

這個冷笑話讓爸爸十分得意，他的肚子起伏得更加厲害了。接著我們每個人都紛紛插話，將這個故事推向了高潮。

“那家伙的旅行轎車后備箱里放了個舊紙箱，里面裝著半頭牛?！?/p>

“只有上帝才知道這半頭牛是從哪兒來的！”

“或是什么時候的肉！”

“結(jié)果爸爸全給買下來了！”

“只花了40美元！”

“我們都坐在一起吃著馬路上被軋死的黑市牛肉?！?/p>

媽媽也參與進來了，說：“肋排的味道的確很不錯?！?/p>

我們又聊了好幾個小時的笑話，直到這些臨終前的笑話把我們大家都笑得累壞了為止。

臨終前的歡笑和平時的笑不一樣，因為它會耗盡你所有的感情。通過這種笑你可以將一直壓抑在心里的全部悲痛、恐懼、愛意和失落淋漓盡致地釋放出來。我要是不笑，就會把那些精力用于提醒自己，我的生活將要永遠改變了。

告別

第二天是漫長的一天。爸爸的肚子起伏幅度微乎其微。一位臨終關(guān)懷工作者建議我們每個人都花點時間與他獨處，和他說說我們的心里話。最后終于輪到我了。

一開始我有點害怕與爸爸獨處。他的呼吸節(jié)奏開始聽起來若有若無了。我爬上他的床，握住他的手。我把嘴唇湊到他的耳邊，用正常的聲音和他說話。

“爸，捏一下我的手，這樣我就知道你能聽見我說話了?！彼罅艘幌挛业氖?。我真希望他把我的手捏斷。

我不知道該從哪兒說起，所以我首先為打開卡片的事向他道歉。

“爸，我已經(jīng)打開你寄的卡片了。我等不及。我希望你不要生氣?？ㄆ锏脑捵屛矣X得自己很特別?！?/p>

他沒有捏我的手，但他的肚子開始上下起伏。在那時，這樣比他捏我手的感覺好多了。

“你知道我愛你，是你激勵著我走出去，讓這個世界變得更加有趣?！?/p>

他捏了捏我的手。

我希望把我內(nèi)心的每一點感受都說出來，但我的語言表達能力卻在那一刻急速下降，因此我就只想逗他開心。

“爸，我必須告訴你，我現(xiàn)在這個樣子都是拜你所賜，也包括我身上的缺點，先生！”

這時傳來敲門聲。是那位臨終關(guān)懷工作者?！澳翈焷斫o病人行圣禮了?！?/p>

我又吻了一下他的額頭，起身去給牧師開門，讓他為爸爸做臨終祈禱。

后來，大家都魚貫而入，各就其位。一個護士走了進來，又檢查了一下爸爸的情況?！暗綍r候了，”她告訴我們，“你們的爸爸在一小時內(nèi)就要走了。”

爸爸的最愛

到目前為止，我們有大概15個人圍坐在爸爸床邊。他的呼吸變得很弱、很慢，作為他的家人，我們都恨不得替他呼吸。這是我們生命中最難挨的30分鐘。每個人都希望他的痛苦趕快結(jié)束，我們輪流告訴他可以放心走了，向他保證我們都會好好的。

終于，他咽下了最后一口氣。我們不知道該做什么。我們就坐在那兒，哭泣著，眼睛盯著離去的爸爸。我腦海里還沒理出個頭緒，我就抬頭看了看媽媽。

她還握著他的手。

“他非常愛你們這些孩子，你們就是他的世界。他總是希望自己能把對你們該說的話說到位。這就是為什么他給你們幾個孩子都寄了卡片，讓你們在他死后再打開，這樣你們就能一直有個念想?！?/p>

“我把它打開放在我的首飾盒里了?！蔽艺f，試圖讓她了解我們都知道爸爸有多愛我們。

“噢，你已經(jīng)打開卡片了？”媽媽故意問。

“其余的人也都打開卡片了嗎？”媽媽問。

每個人都點了點頭。顯然他們都覺得很羞愧，但從每個人的臉上，你可以看出爸爸那些特別的話給了他們巨大的心靈慰藉。

“你們的爸爸本來希望你們在他死后再打開那些卡片的，那既然你們都違背了他的心愿，已經(jīng)打開了卡片，我倒是想聽聽他給你們每一個人都寫了點什么，”媽媽說，“莉莎，從你開始。”

這怎么可以呢？我爸才剛?cè)ナ牢宸昼?，他們已?jīng)很難受了，難道我還要讓他們更難受嗎？

我不知道該做什么。我該撒謊嗎？等一下，我不能撒謊。難道爸爸死后我做的第一件事就是撒謊嗎？我可不想那樣做。我甚至還沒有好好地大哭一場呢。

“媽，也許現(xiàn)在不是時候?！绷者_說，這讓我松了一口氣。

“我們還是把注意力放在爸和你的身上吧?！卑灿旨恿艘痪?。

“莉莎，從你開始?！眿寢屩貜?fù)了一遍。她不打算放過這件事。

那個唯一可以阻止這件事發(fā)生的人正躺在那兒，什么都沒做。最后，我開始大哭起來。

“卡片上寫著：‘我愛你。你是我的最愛。請不要——”我還沒說完，我所有的兄弟姐妹們都異口同聲地加入進來，“——告訴其他人?！?/p>

房間里又因黑色幽默爆發(fā)出一陣哄堂大笑。爸爸成功營造了他生命中最厲害的逗笑時刻，而且就在他離世時。

他知道我們都會在收到卡片后就立馬打開。他知道我們都會對他寫的話深信不疑，并感到開心，還會從中找到一些自以為是的優(yōu)越感。但最重要的是，他知道當(dāng)我們發(fā)現(xiàn)真相后會笑得多猛烈，我們不得不嘲笑自己的荒唐，并且記得是他讓我們開懷大笑，即便他死后也是如此。他知道，這個時刻會比曾經(jīng)覺得自己是爸爸最愛的孩子更加彌足珍貴。

這是他最精彩的搞笑時刻，但他甚至都不能鞠躬謝幕。無論如何，從身體的角度來說是不能了。但在我們的心里，他已優(yōu)雅地接受了我們的起立鼓掌。

干得好，爸爸。干得太棒了！