"Anyone who cannot come to terms with his life while he is alive needs on hand to ward off a little his despair over his fate—he has little success in this—but with the other hand he can note down what he sees among the ruins, for he sees different (and more) things than do the others; after all, dead as he is in his own lifetime, he is the real survivor. This assumes that he does not need both hands, or more hands than he has, in his struggle against despair."--Kafka



Thursday, November 8, 2012

忽然之間

今天,混亂。

我昨天沒回中心,一回到去,就看到枱頭有一便條,說某病友太太找我,我心裡一沉,不出所料,太太告知我丈夫在前天走了。我還在說安慰話。
還在做assessment。
還在想要善後什麼什麼。
然後,我還在帶組。
再接著一個組。
再接著一個case。
然後,下班。
一個人,在office,靜。
通常,我會盡快放工,今天,我想一個人,靜。
撥了電話,找到K,說一回,哭了。
原來,哀傷,好痛。

回到家中,看到爸爸,為我準備了晚餐。
就突然想起我為何那麼著緊這病友。
這病友,好和藹可親,好愛太太,好愛女兒。
也,很欣賞我。
他,是好爸爸。
我看到爸爸,他說:你多好,記得打電話回來讓我知你回來吃飯
我說:是啊,我好掛念你。

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