Managershare：如何面对亲人离去，是我们迟早要面对的。从他人的分享中吸取力量吧。

Facebook (脸书) 营运总监Sheryl Sandberg在丈夫突然去世的第30天，在Facebook上面写下这段感人至深的纪念文字。今天我把它翻译成了中文。我想，如何去哀悼离开的亲人，并坚强面对，对于每个活着的人都是巨大的考验，也是应该学习的功课。

我想把这篇文章，献给两周前因心脏病去世的我的四姨妈。我知道四姨妈在生前，也订阅了我的公众号，会读我写的东西。在我成长的过程中，她也一直给我许多关心和帮助。希望她在天堂不再有苦难和困扰，也希望生者坚强。

今天是我挚爱的丈夫去世30天纪念日。犹太教把逝者下葬后的头七天哀悼阶段称为Shiva。 Shiva结束后，亲属可以恢复正常生活，但亲人去世之后的30天，也就是sheloshim的尾声，才标志着哀悼的正式结束。

我的一位童年挚友，现在是一位拉比，他告诉我，他听到的最有震撼力的一句祷告词是：当我活着时，别让我行尸走肉地活着（Let me not die while I am still alive)。在大卫离开之后，我终于理解了这句话的意思。

当悲剧发生时，你面临选择。你可以让虚无掌控你的生命，你的心脏，你的肺，你的每一次呼吸。你也可以去寻找意义。我在过去的30天大部分时间被虚无占据。我知道未来，虚无可能还会卷土重来。

但是当我清醒和理智时，我希望尽我所能，去选择生命和意义。

这就是为什么我会写下这些文字，来纪念sheloshim的结束并回馈那些帮助过我的人。哀悼爱人的过程是非常隐私的事。然而过去这些日子有许多人勇敢地和我分享他们失去爱人后痛苦经历，帮我从深渊里面爬出来。他们有些是我的好朋友，有些是素未蒙面的陌生人，公开分享他们智慧和建议。我希望我在这里写下的思考，有朝一日也能帮助到其他人。

过去的30天，每天对我来说都度日如年。我感觉自己长了30年的哀伤，也长30年的智慧。

首先，无底的痛苦，孩子的尖叫和哭声，让我更加深刻得理解了身为人母的意义。我的妈妈试图填补大卫离开后的空缺，她每天都抱着我直到我哭到昏睡过去。她一直压抑着自己的眼泪，并告诉我我承受的悲恸不仅来自我自己，也来自我的孩子。当我注视她的眼睛时，我知道她是对的。

其实我一直不太会去安慰别人。以前，我总是告诉别人，“一切都会好起来”。一个罹患晚期癌症的朋友告诉我，他最憎恶的一句安慰的说辞就是，“一切都会好起来”。因为，他说，“你怎么知道一切都会好起来？你难道不知道我可能会死吗？” 大卫去世后，我开始理解他的意思。

真正意义上的同悲心，并不是去承诺别人一切都会好起来，而是承认也许有些事再不会好起来。当人们告诉我，“有朝一日，你和你的孩子会重新找到快乐”时，我心里的说，“那又怎么样？我感受到的快乐再也不会像以前那般纯粹”。相比之下，那些说“你会重新适应生活，但是再也不会和之前一样”人，让我更加释然。

因此，有人问我“你还好吗”的时候，我总是想吼回去，“我的老公一个月前去世了，你觉得我好吗”。但如果有人问我，“你今天怎么样”的时候，我会平静下来，因为我知道对方理解我，他知道我目前能做的也就是一天天熬过去。

我有一些实用的体会。虽然大卫是立即死亡的，但当我和他一起乘救护车去医院时，我并不知道他已经去世了。去医院的那段路异常地缓慢。直到今天，我依然憎恨每一辆没有为救护车让道的小汽车，那些想早几分钟到达自己的目的地而不让我们过的司机。我在许多国家和城市都注意到了这样的现象。请给救护车让道吧。因为有人的性命依附于此。

我现在知道，世间一切都转瞬即逝。你拥有的一切，可能在眨眼的功夫就灰飞烟灭。在过去的30天有许多失去伴侣的女人跟我倾诉。有的在失偶之后缺乏支持，必须孤独面对情感和经济上的困境，我认为在她们最需要雪中送炭的时候，我们不应该抛弃她们。

我学会了寻求帮助，并且知道了我是多么需要帮助。我是家里的老大，我是Facebook的COO，是执行人和合伙人。但是大卫的离开不在我的计划之中，这一切发生时，我失去了一切行动力。我生命里最亲近的人这个时候承担起了责任。他们帮我计划，安排，他们提醒我一日三餐，尽他们所能帮助我和孩子正常生活。

我现在知道了“柔韧”是可以通过学习获取的技能。Adam Grant告诉我有三个关键的因素是获取“柔韧”必不可少的。首先你要认识到悲剧的发生不是你的错。把”对不起”这个词从你的字典里面删去。其次你要意识到痛苦不会永远延续，这是阶段性的。最后你要学会控制痛苦，不要让它弥漫到生活的所有方面。

对我来说，重返工作去是一个救生圈，一个重新感受到自己有用和寻找归属感的契机。我发现许多同事走近我的时候，眼睛里泛着恐惧。我知道为什么他们会害怕。他们想帮助我，却又不知道从何下手。他们肯定在想，“我应该提他老公的事吗？我应该说什么呢？”。我意识到，要和同事重新建立亲密的联系，必须让他们走近我的内心。于是，我告诉他们和我最紧密工作的同事，他们可以放开问我问题，我一定会诚实回答。一位同事说，她最近常从我家经过，但就是不确定是否应该进门来看我。另一位同事说只要在办公室看到我他就很恐惧，担心说错话。而只有坦诚布公的态度，才能消除这些疑虑。

当然，也有一些时候，我无法控制地封闭自己。我去参加了孩子学校的一个活动。当小朋友给家长展示挂在墙上的他们的作品时，我知道许多家长都希望能跟我有眼神的接触并说一些宽慰人心的话。但自始至终我都只能盯着地板，这样没人看到我随时可能崩溃的眼神。我希望他们能谅解我。

我学会了感激。对生活，对一切我之前认为理所当然的东西。比如我现在虽然如此心碎，但我每天看到我的孩子们，就会感激他们还活着，感激他们的笑容和拥抱。我不再把活着的每一天看成理所当然。当一个朋友告诉我他很讨厌过生日，并从来不过生日时，我含着眼泪告诉他，好好庆祝你的生日吧，因为能过每次生日都是多么幸运的事。我知道我的下一个生日会异常痛苦，但我依然坚持庆祝它。

我非常感激那些给予我同情的人。一位同事告诉我，他的太太为了表示对我的支持，决定重新返回校园去完成她多年前放弃的学业。是的，如果条件允许的话，我坚定地支持Lean In的人。还有很多人为了纪念大卫，开始花更多的时间跟他们的家人在一起。

我感谢我的家人和朋友。他们的支持，让我在失去大卫的最残酷的时刻，在虚无把我卷走的日子里，把我从绝望和自闭中拯救回来。

最近，我在和一个朋友讨论一个需要父亲和孩子一起参加的活动。我朋友自告奋勇要来担当起大卫的角色。我哭着跟他说，“但是我更想要大卫，我想要选项A”。朋友把他的手臂搭在我的肩膀上说，“既然选项A已经不在了，就让我们把选项B好好地用起来吧”。

大卫，为了纪念你，并且好好养育你的孩子，我承诺我会好好地把选项B用起来。虽然Sheloshim已经结束了，我依然会哀悼你。正如Bono唱的，“哀伤没有尽头，爱也没有尽头”。我爱你，大卫。

英文全文

Today is the end of sheloshim for my beloved husband—the first thirty days. Judaism calls for a period of intense mourningknown as shiva that lasts seven days after a loved one is buried. After shiva,most normal activities can be resumed, but it is the end of sheloshim thatmarks the completion of religious mourning for a spouse.

A childhood friend of mine who is now a rabbi recently told me that the most powerful one-line prayer he has ever read is: “Letme not die while I am still alive.” I would have never understood that prayerbefore losing Dave. Now I do.

I think when tragedy occurs, it presents achoice. You can give in to the void, the emptiness that fills your heart, yourlungs, constricts your ability to think or even breathe. Or you can try to findmeaning. These past thirty days, I have spent many of my moments lost in thatvoid. And I know that many future moments will be consumed by the vastemptiness as well.

But when I can, I want to choose life andmeaning.

And this is why I am writing: to mark the endof sheloshim and to give back some of what others have given to me. While theexperience of grief is profoundly personal, the bravery of those who haveshared their own experiences has helped pull me through. Some who opened theirhearts were my closest friends. Others were total strangers who have sharedwisdom and advice publicly. So I am sharing what I have learned in the hopethat it helps someone else. In the hope that there can be some meaning fromthis tragedy.

I have lived thirty years in these thirty days.I am thirty years sadder. I feel like I am thirty years wiser.

I have gained a more profound understanding ofwhat it is to be a mother, both through the depth of the agony I feel when mychildren scream and cry and from the connection my mother has to my pain. Shehas tried to fill the empty space in my bed, holding me each night until I crymyself to sleep. She has fought to hold back her own tears to make room formine. She has explained to me that the anguish I am feeling is both my own andmy children’s, and I understood that she was right as I saw the pain in her owneyes.

I have learned that I never really knew what tosay to others in need. I think I got this all wrong before; I tried to assurepeople that it would be okay, thinking that hope was the most comforting thingI could offer. A friend of mine with late-stage cancer told me that the worstthing people could say to him was “It is going to be okay.” That voice in hishead would scream, How do you know it is going to be okay? Do you notunderstand that I might die? I learned this past month what he was trying toteach me.

Real empathy is sometimes not insisting that it will be okay butacknowledging that it is not. When people say to me, “You and your childrenwill find happiness again,” my heart tells me, Yes, I believe that, but I knowI will never feel pure joy again. Those who have said, “You will find a newnormal, but it will never be as good” comfort me more because they know andspeak the truth. Even a simple “How are you?”—almost always asked with the bestof intentions—is better replaced with “How are you today?” When I am asked “Howare you?” I stop myself from shouting, My husband died a month ago, how do youthink I am? When I hear “How are you today?” I realize the person knows thatthe best I can do right now is to get through each day.

I have learned some practical stuff that matters. Although we now know that Dave died immediately, I didn’t know that inthe ambulance. The trip to the hospital was unbearably slow. I still hate everycar that did not move to the side, every person who cared more about arriving attheir destination a few minutes earlier than making room for us to pass. I havenoticed this while driving in many countries and cities. Let’s all move out ofthe way. Someone’s parent or partner or child might depend on it.

I have learned how ephemeral everything canfeel—and maybe everything is. That whatever rug you are standing on can bepulled right out from under you with absolutely no warning. In the last thirtydays, I have heard from too many women who lost a spouse and then had multiplerugs pulled out from under them. Some lack support networks and struggle aloneas they face emotional distress and financial insecurity. It seems so wrong tome that we abandon these women and their families when they are in greatestneed.

I have learned to ask for help—and I havelearned how much help I need. Until now, I have been the older sister, the COO,the doer and the planner. I did not plan this, and when it happened, I was notcapable of doing much of anything. Those closest to me took over. They planned.They arranged. They told me where to sit and reminded me to eat. They are stilldoing so much to support me and my children.

I have learned that resilience can be learned.Adam M. Grant taught me that three things are critical to resilience and that Ican work on all three. Personalization—realizing it is not my fault. He told meto ban the word “sorry.” To tell myself over and over, This is not my fault.Permanence—remembering that I won’t feel like this forever. This will getbetter. Pervasiveness—this does not have to affect every area of my life; theability to compartmentalize is healthy.

For me, starting the transition back to workhas been a savior, a chance to feel useful and connected. But I quicklydiscovered that even those connections had changed. Many of my co-workers had alook of fear in their eyes as I approached. I knew why—they wanted to help butweren’t sure how. Should I mention it? Should I not mention it? If I mentionit, what the hell do I say? I realized that to restore that closeness with mycolleagues that has always been so important to me, I needed to let them in.And that meant being more open and vulnerable than I ever wanted to be. I told those I work with most closely that they could ask me their honest questionsand I would answer. I also said it was okay for them to talk about how theyfelt. One colleague admitted she’d been driving by my house frequently, notsure if she should come in. Another said he was paralyzed when I was around,worried he might say the wrong thing. Speaking openly replaced the fear ofdoing and saying the wrong thing. One of my favorite cartoons of all time hasan elephant in a room answering the phone, saying, “It’s the elephant.” Once Iaddressed the elephant, we were able to kick him out of the room.

At the same time, there are moments when I can’tlet people in. I went to Portfolio Night at school where kids show theirparents around the classroom to look at their work hung on the walls. So manyof the parents—all of whom have been so kind—tried to make eye contact or saysomething they thought would be comforting. I looked down the entire time so noone could catch my eye for fear of breaking down. I hope they understood.

I have learned gratitude. Real gratitude forthe things I took for granted before—like life. As heartbroken as I am, I lookat my children each day and rejoice that they are alive. I appreciate everysmile, every hug. I no longer take each day for granted. When a friend told methat he hates birthdays and so he was not celebrating his, I looked at him andsaid through tears, “Celebrate your birthday, goddammit. You are lucky to haveeach one.” My next birthday will be depressing as hell, but I am determined tocelebrate it in my heart more than I have ever celebrated a birthday before.

I am truly grateful to the many who haveoffered their sympathy. A colleague told me that his wife, whom I have nevermet, decided to show her support by going back to school to get her degree—somethingshe had been putting off for years. Yes! When the circumstances allow, Ibelieve as much as ever in leaning in. And so many men—from those I know wellto those I will likely never know—are honoring Dave’s life by spending moretime with their families.

I can’t even express the gratitude I feel to myfamily and friends who have done so much and reassured me that they willcontinue to be there. In the brutal moments when I am overtaken by the void,when the months and years stretch out in front of me endless and empty, onlytheir faces pull me out of the isolation and fear. My appreciation for themknows no bounds.

I was talking to one of these friends about afather-child activity that Dave is not here to do. We came up with a plan tofill in for Dave. I cried to him, “But I want Dave. I want option A.” He puthis arm around me and said, “Option A is not available. So let’s just kick the shit out of option B.”

Dave, to honor your memory and raise yourchildren as they deserve to be raised, I promise to do all I can to kick theshit out of option B. And even though sheloshim has ended, I still mourn foroption A. I will always mourn for option A. As Bono sang, “There is no end togrief . . . and there is no end to love.” I love you, Dave.