家是由關愛構筑的港灣，是每個人心中的溫暖。在本文中這種溫暖和血緣無關，只是真情的默默付出。一個從小失去父親的孩子在17歲時無法承受母親離世和被親人遺棄的痛苦，此時母親生前交往過的邁克出現了……

My childhood was filled with the kinds of activities that were common to every kid in the 1980s but are considered almost death-defying these days: tree climbing, bike riding without a helmet, and daylong road trips spent in the backseat of the family car, where we bounced around like Super Balls[1], nary a seat belt in sight.

Still, my mother was safety-obsessed about some things, like swimming lessons. Year after year, she forced me to take them at our local pool in Iowa City since my mother could not swim and was actually afraid of the water.

My dad was an electrician, and he died in an accident on the job when I was three. I have almost no memories of my father. Instead I remember Mike Fieseler. He was a former industrial-arts[2] teacher whom my mother dated off and on for much of my childhood. Whatever my mother’s affection for him, it didn’t rub off on[3] me. And when they stopped dating, when I was 15, I wasn’t unhappy to see him go.

Then, on February 18, 1991, when I was 17, my mother suddenly died of a brain aneurysm[4]. One minute she was laughing with friends, enjoying an evening out; the next, she was unconscious on the floor. She never woke up. Just 19 hours later, she was dead, leaving Jason, my 15-year-old brother and me orphans.

In the moments of shock and horror that followed, my relatives all gathered in the hospital, and I went home with only a close friend for company (Jason followed a while later). We spent that night on our own. I was numb; it had all happened so fast. I could barely think beyond the immediate moment.

The next morning, my grandfather, aunts, and uncles were still immersed in their own mourning. Shell-shocked[5] as I was, I knew I had to let people know what had happened. I saw my mother’s address book lying where she had set it only days before and started dialing. One of the phone numbers I found was Mike’s.

Even though he lived about an hour away, it felt like he was there in an instant. As soon as he walked in, he took charge―and took care of Jason and me. Among other small kindnesses, he gave me a credit card and said, “Why don’t you buy something to wear to the funeral?” He gave me permission to be a 17-year-old―to focus on the more mundane[6] issue of what I was going to wear instead of weighty adult concerns.

Generally, when children are orphaned, a family member comes forward to take them in. This didn’t happen in our case. Everyone had a good reason, I suppose. My mom’s father was too old to assume responsibility for us; my mother’s sister and her husband had three kids of their own and weren’t able to take in any others; her other two siblings were both single and worked long hours. The guardian named in my mother’s will was a babysitter that none of us had seen in 15 years. But I can tell you this: Abandonment, even for very good reasons, feels awful. It was heartbreaking and terrifying to have lost the person we loved most and then to be set adrift. Months passed and it felt like our relatives could offer no reassurances. The only news we got was that if Jason and I remained without a guardian, we would have to enter foster care[7]. Our mother was gone, and there was nothing we could do to save ourselves.

And, once again, there was Mike. After the funeral, he was a constant presence. He made sure that food filled the cupboards, the bills were paid, and the lawn was mowed. (Mike’s adult daughter, Linda, pitched in[8] and took care of his house.) He made sure I went back to school even when it was the last thing I wanted to do. His overbearing[9] personality―the trait I had hated the most―was what comforted me the most and got me through those difficult days.

One day he offered to become our guardian. In a moment where the grief of loss and the pain of being unwanted threatened to capture my very breath, this man, whose only tie to us was having dated my mother, said he would be honored to take us in.

From that moment on, everything was different. His girlfriend, Patty, threw us a “guardian party” when the paperwork[10] became official. It was just a small gathering, but it made us feel special.

Over the years, Mike has become not merely a legal guardian but a real father to me. When I fell into depression in college, unable to get past thoughts of my mother and all I had lost, he was there to listen. When my husband, Eric, and I bought our first house, Mike spent weekends installing insulation and repairing our gutters. He never wrote me off as[11] a good, mature kid who could handle everything herself. He walked the line between trusting me and recognizing when I might need help. And what more could you want from a father than that?

His was an unconventional path to parenthood, to say the least.[12] It is not by birth or adoption that I consider this man to be my father; it isn’t even through his presence in my childhood. It is rather by sheer good luck on my part. Before he made that generous offer, I felt as though I had lost my mooring[13] and the waters were flooding in; afterward, I simply felt rescued. If my mother had taught me to be strong and depend on myself, Mike imparted his own lesson―that the world will provide for you, even when you least expect it.

Eight years after Mike stepped forward, he walked me down the aisle[14]. Four years after that, I gave birth to his first granddaughter, Emily Michl Simonson. (Mike’s legal name is Michl.) The name is a reminder of my saved past and a promise for the future, and I hope one day Emily will see that as well. Because as much as I plan to teach her to swim (indeed, she’s now six and enrolled in lessons), I also want her to know this: No matter how fast the waters rise, no matter how hard it may be to keep her head above the waves, someone will throw her a line.

小時候，我經常爬樹、不戴頭盔騎自行車、進行公路旅行時整日坐在自家車的后座上像超級球一樣蹦來蹦去，從來不系安全帶。這些活動對生活在20世紀80年代的孩子來說很普遍，但是在如今這簡直就是不要命了。

但是，我母親在有些事情上過于擔心我的安全，比如上游泳課。母親不會游泳，而且她其實很怕水，于是年復一年，她都強迫我在我們愛荷華市的當地游泳池學習游泳。

我父親是個電工。我三歲那年，他在工作時發生了事故，去世了。我對父親幾乎沒什么記憶。相反，我記得邁克?菲澤勒。他以前是個工藝課老師，在我的大半個童年里母親都和他時斷時續地交往。無論母親多喜歡他，對我都絲毫沒有影響。我15歲時，他們停止了交往，對他的離去我并未感到不快。

然后，1991年2月18日，母親突然死于腦瘤。那年我17歲。前一分鐘她還在和朋友們一起大笑，盡情享受晚間外出的時光;而后一分鐘她就昏倒在地上，再也沒有醒來。僅僅19個小時后，她就去世了，留下我和15歲的弟弟賈森，我們成了孤兒。

接下來的時間充滿了震驚和恐懼，我的親戚們全都到醫院里來了。我回家時，身邊只有一個好朋友陪伴(過了一會兒賈森也回來了)。我們獨自度過了那一晚。我一下子傻了，這一切都發生得太快。我沉浸在當時的痛苦中，根本不能思考其他事情。

第二天早晨，我的外祖父和姨媽舅舅們還沉浸在他們自己的悲痛中。盡管我當時非常惶恐和迷惘，但是我知道我得把這個消息通知給大家。我看到了母親前幾日放在那里的電話本，開始打電話。其中一個電話號碼是邁克的。

他住的地方離我家有一個小時的路程，但他好像立刻就到了。他一走進來就接手了家里的事情——開始照顧我和賈森。在他很多充滿關心的舉動中，其中一個就是給了我一張信用卡，對我說：“去給自己買件葬禮上穿的衣服吧。” 他允許我做一個17歲的孩子——讓我將心思放在更實際的穿什么衣服的問題上，而不要求我像成年人一樣思考沉重的問題。

通常情況下，有孩子淪為孤兒時，他們的家庭成員會前來收養他們。但當我和弟弟成了孤兒時，情況卻并非如此。我想他們每個人都有足夠的理由吧。母親的父親年紀太大了，不能再承擔照顧我們的責任;母親的姐姐/妹妹和她的丈夫養育了三個孩子，不可能再撫養更多的孩子了;而她的另外兩個兄弟(或姐妹)都單身，而且都長時間在外工作。母親的遺囑指定的監護人是一個保姆，一個我和弟弟在15年里都不曾見過的人。但是我可以告訴你：被遺棄的感覺很糟糕，無論遺棄你的人有多么充分的理由。剛剛失去摯愛的人，緊接著生活就沒有了著落，這種感覺令人心碎和恐慌。幾個月過去了，我們的親戚好像都不能收留我們。我們得到的唯一的消息是：如果我和賈森接下來仍然沒有監護人的話，我們就不得不去寄養機構了。母親走了，而我們對保護自己卻束手無策。

又一次，邁克出現了。葬禮之后，他就成了家里的常客。他確保柜子里有食物、賬單已經付了，而且草坪也已經修剪了。(邁克已成年的女兒也加入進來了，她負責照看邁克的房子。)他確保我回到學校，即便那是我最不情愿做的事情。他專橫的性格——以前我最討厭他的地方——現在卻給了我最大的安慰，幫我度過了那段艱難的日子。

一天，他提出要做我們的監護人。在失去親人的悲傷和被人遺棄的痛苦幾乎讓我窒息的時候，這個男人說收養我們是他的榮幸，而他和我們的關系僅僅是他曾經和我母親交往過。

從那一刻起，一切都不同了。當收養手續生效時，他的女友帕蒂給我們開了一個“監護人晚會”。那只是個很小的聚會，但足以讓我們受寵若驚。

這些年來，邁克不僅僅是個法律上的監護人，而且成了我真正的父親。上大學時，我因無法忘懷母親和我失去的一切而陷入憂郁時，他在旁邊傾聽。當我和丈夫埃里克買了我們的第一所房子時，邁克周末過來幫我們安裝隔音裝置和修理水槽。他從來都沒把我當成一個可以自己打理一切的成年人來看待。他在信任我和幫助我之間看著我，知道什么時候該信任我，而我需要幫助的時候他總能看出來。有這樣一個父親，還有什么不知足的呢?

最起碼，他成為父親的路徑是不尋常的。我將他當做自己的父親，既不是因為血緣關系，也不是因為收養關系，甚至也不是因為他出現在我的童年中。相反，這僅僅是因為我的好運。他提出那個大方的邀請之前，我覺得自己已經無處停泊，洪水已經向我涌來。而后，我只覺得自己被解救了。如果媽媽教我的是強壯和獨立，那么邁克則傳授了他自己的課程——世界會給你幫助，即便是你沒有絲毫期待的時候。

邁克進入我的生活八年以后，我結婚了，他拉著我的手走過教堂的通道。又過了四年，他的第一個外孫女埃米莉? 米希爾?西蒙森降生了。(邁克依法登記的名字是米希爾。)這個名字讓我想起得到拯救的過去，看到美好的將來，我希望有一天埃米莉也能明白這些。因為就像我如何策劃教她游泳一樣(事實上，她現在六歲，已經開始學習游泳了)，我也希望她明白：無論水漲得多快，無論在浪花中將頭露在水面上有多困難，總會有人扔一根救命的繩索過來。

家是由關愛構筑的港灣，是每個人心中的溫暖。在本文中這種溫暖和血緣無關，只是真情的默默付出。一個從小失去父親的孩子在17歲時無法承受母親離世和被親人遺棄的痛苦，此時母親生前交往過的邁克出現了……

My childhood was filled with the kinds of activities that were common to every kid in the 1980s but are considered almost death-defying these days: tree climbing, bike riding without a helmet, and daylong road trips spent in the backseat of the family car, where we bounced around like Super Balls[1], nary a seat belt in sight.

Still, my mother was safety-obsessed about some things, like swimming lessons. Year after year, she forced me to take them at our local pool in Iowa City since my mother could not swim and was actually afraid of the water.

My dad was an electrician, and he died in an accident on the job when I was three. I have almost no memories of my father. Instead I remember Mike Fieseler. He was a former industrial-arts[2] teacher whom my mother dated off and on for much of my childhood. Whatever my mother’s affection for him, it didn’t rub off on[3] me. And when they stopped dating, when I was 15, I wasn’t unhappy to see him go.

Then, on February 18, 1991, when I was 17, my mother suddenly died of a brain aneurysm[4]. One minute she was laughing with friends, enjoying an evening out; the next, she was unconscious on the floor. She never woke up. Just 19 hours later, she was dead, leaving Jason, my 15-year-old brother and me orphans.

In the moments of shock and horror that followed, my relatives all gathered in the hospital, and I went home with only a close friend for company (Jason followed a while later). We spent that night on our own. I was numb; it had all happened so fast. I could barely think beyond the immediate moment.

The next morning, my grandfather, aunts, and uncles were still immersed in their own mourning. Shell-shocked[5] as I was, I knew I had to let people know what had happened. I saw my mother’s address book lying where she had set it only days before and started dialing. One of the phone numbers I found was Mike’s.

Even though he lived about an hour away, it felt like he was there in an instant. As soon as he walked in, he took charge―and took care of Jason and me. Among other small kindnesses, he gave me a credit card and said, “Why don’t you buy something to wear to the funeral?” He gave me permission to be a 17-year-old―to focus on the more mundane[6] issue of what I was going to wear instead of weighty adult concerns.

Generally, when children are orphaned, a family member comes forward to take them in. This didn’t happen in our case. Everyone had a good reason, I suppose. My mom’s father was too old to assume responsibility for us; my mother’s sister and her husband had three kids of their own and weren’t able to take in any others; her other two siblings were both single and worked long hours. The guardian named in my mother’s will was a babysitter that none of us had seen in 15 years. But I can tell you this: Abandonment, even for very good reasons, feels awful. It was heartbreaking and terrifying to have lost the person we loved most and then to be set adrift. Months passed and it felt like our relatives could offer no reassurances. The only news we got was that if Jason and I remained without a guardian, we would have to enter foster care[7]. Our mother was gone, and there was nothing we could do to save ourselves.

And, once again, there was Mike. After the funeral, he was a constant presence. He made sure that food filled the cupboards, the bills were paid, and the lawn was mowed. (Mike’s adult daughter, Linda, pitched in[8] and took care of his house.) He made sure I went back to school even when it was the last thing I wanted to do. His overbearing[9] personality―the trait I had hated the most―was what comforted me the most and got me through those difficult days.

One day he offered to become our guardian. In a moment where the grief of loss and the pain of being unwanted threatened to capture my very breath, this man, whose only tie to us was having dated my mother, said he would be honored to take us in.

From that moment on, everything was different. His girlfriend, Patty, threw us a “guardian party” when the paperwork[10] became official. It was just a small gathering, but it made us feel special.

Over the years, Mike has become not merely a legal guardian but a real father to me. When I fell into depression in college, unable to get past thoughts of my mother and all I had lost, he was there to listen. When my husband, Eric, and I bought our first house, Mike spent weekends installing insulation and repairing our gutters. He never wrote me off as[11] a good, mature kid who could handle everything herself. He walked the line between trusting me and recognizing when I might need help. And what more could you want from a father than that?

His was an unconventional path to parenthood, to say the least.[12] It is not by birth or adoption that I consider this man to be my father; it isn’t even through his presence in my childhood. It is rather by sheer good luck on my part. Before he made that generous offer, I felt as though I had lost my mooring[13] and the waters were flooding in; afterward, I simply felt rescued. If my mother had taught me to be strong and depend on myself, Mike imparted his own lesson―that the world will provide for you, even when you least expect it.

Eight years after Mike stepped forward, he walked me down the aisle[14]. Four years after that, I gave birth to his first granddaughter, Emily Michl Simonson. (Mike’s legal name is Michl.) The name is a reminder of my saved past and a promise for the future, and I hope one day Emily will see that as well. Because as much as I plan to teach her to swim (indeed, she’s now six and enrolled in lessons), I also want her to know this: No matter how fast the waters rise, no matter how hard it may be to keep her head above the waves, someone will throw her a line.

小時候，我經常爬樹、不戴頭盔騎自行車、進行公路旅行時整日坐在自家車的后座上像超級球一樣蹦來蹦去，從來不系安全帶。這些活動對生活在20世紀80年代的孩子來說很普遍，但是在如今這簡直就是不要命了。

但是，我母親在有些事情上過于擔心我的安全，比如上游泳課。母親不會游泳，而且她其實很怕水，于是年復一年，她都強迫我在我們愛荷華市的當地游泳池學習游泳。

我父親是個電工。我三歲那年，他在工作時發生了事故，去世了。我對父親幾乎沒什么記憶。相反，我記得邁克?菲澤勒。他以前是個工藝課老師，在我的大半個童年里母親都和他時斷時續地交往。無論母親多喜歡他，對我都絲毫沒有影響。我15歲時，他們停止了交往，對他的離去我并未感到不快。

然后，1991年2月18日，母親突然死于腦瘤。那年我17歲。前一分鐘她還在和朋友們一起大笑，盡情享受晚間外出的時光;而后一分鐘她就昏倒在地上，再也沒有醒來。僅僅19個小時后，她就去世了，留下我和15歲的弟弟賈森，我們成了孤兒。

接下來的時間充滿了震驚和恐懼，我的親戚們全都到醫院里來了。我回家時，身邊只有一個好朋友陪伴(過了一會兒賈森也回來了)。我們獨自度過了那一晚。我一下子傻了，這一切都發生得太快。我沉浸在當時的痛苦中，根本不能思考其他事情。

第二天早晨，我的外祖父和姨媽舅舅們還沉浸在他們自己的悲痛中。盡管我當時非常惶恐和迷惘，但是我知道我得把這個消息通知給大家。我看到了母親前幾日放在那里的電話本，開始打電話。其中一個電話號碼是邁克的。

他住的地方離我家有一個小時的路程，但他好像立刻就到了。他一走進來就接手了家里的事情——開始照顧我和賈森。在他很多充滿關心的舉動中，其中一個就是給了我一張信用卡，對我說：“去給自己買件葬禮上穿的衣服吧。” 他允許我做一個17歲的孩子——讓我將心思放在更實際的穿什么衣服的問題上，而不要求我像成年人一樣思考沉重的問題。

通常情況下，有孩子淪為孤兒時，他們的家庭成員會前來收養他們。但當我和弟弟成了孤兒時，情況卻并非如此。我想他們每個人都有足夠的理由吧。母親的父親年紀太大了，不能再承擔照顧我們的責任;母親的姐姐/妹妹和她的丈夫養育了三個孩子，不可能再撫養更多的孩子了;而她的另外兩個兄弟(或姐妹)都單身，而且都長時間在外工作。母親的遺囑指定的監護人是一個保姆，一個我和弟弟在15年里都不曾見過的人。但是我可以告訴你：被遺棄的感覺很糟糕，無論遺棄你的人有多么充分的理由。剛剛失去摯愛的人，緊接著生活就沒有了著落，這種感覺令人心碎和恐慌。幾個月過去了，我們的親戚好像都不能收留我們。我們得到的唯一的消息是：如果我和賈森接下來仍然沒有監護人的話，我們就不得不去寄養機構了。母親走了，而我們對保護自己卻束手無策。

又一次，邁克出現了。葬禮之后，他就成了家里的常客。他確保柜子里有食物、賬單已經付了，而且草坪也已經修剪了。(邁克已成年的女兒也加入進來了，她負責照看邁克的房子。)他確保我回到學校，即便那是我最不情愿做的事情。他專橫的性格——以前我最討厭他的地方——現在卻給了我最大的安慰，幫我度過了那段艱難的日子。

一天，他提出要做我們的監護人。在失去親人的悲傷和被人遺棄的痛苦幾乎讓我窒息的時候，這個男人說收養我們是他的榮幸，而他和我們的關系僅僅是他曾經和我母親交往過。

從那一刻起，一切都不同了。當收養手續生效時，他的女友帕蒂給我們開了一個“監護人晚會”。那只是個很小的聚會，但足以讓我們受寵若驚。

這些年來，邁克不僅僅是個法律上的監護人，而且成了我真正的父親。上大學時，我因無法忘懷母親和我失去的一切而陷入憂郁時，他在旁邊傾聽。當我和丈夫埃里克買了我們的第一所房子時，邁克周末過來幫我們安裝隔音裝置和修理水槽。他從來都沒把我當成一個可以自己打理一切的成年人來看待。他在信任我和幫助我之間看著我，知道什么時候該信任我，而我需要幫助的時候他總能看出來。有這樣一個父親，還有什么不知足的呢?

最起碼，他成為父親的路徑是不尋常的。我將他當做自己的父親，既不是因為血緣關系，也不是因為收養關系，甚至也不是因為他出現在我的童年中。相反，這僅僅是因為我的好運。他提出那個大方的邀請之前，我覺得自己已經無處停泊，洪水已經向我涌來。而后，我只覺得自己被解救了。如果媽媽教我的是強壯和獨立，那么邁克則傳授了他自己的課程——世界會給你幫助，即便是你沒有絲毫期待的時候。

邁克進入我的生活八年以后，我結婚了，他拉著我的手走過教堂的通道。又過了四年，他的第一個外孫女埃米莉? 米希爾?西蒙森降生了。(邁克依法登記的名字是米希爾。)這個名字讓我想起得到拯救的過去，看到美好的將來，我希望有一天埃米莉也能明白這些。因為就像我如何策劃教她游泳一樣(事實上，她現在六歲，已經開始學習游泳了)，我也希望她明白：無論水漲得多快，無論在浪花中將頭露在水面上有多困難，總會有人扔一根救命的繩索過來。