喜珍的日与夜｜Xizhen’s sun and shadow
失去母亲的女儿，失去女儿的母亲... 三代女性的关系，常常能构成有力、互相支撑、柔软的庇护。
而在我的经历里，三代之间缺失了中间那层的存在：我的妈妈、我外婆的女儿，不在了。在我的视角里，外婆是⼀位被悲伤淹没的母亲。
失去女儿这件事，是她永远的潮湿。死亡带来的涟漪，⼀直在我们之间荡起波澜。 逐渐的，我在尝试承担起“中间”的角色。我想象我是她的女儿，去看见她。在这样的预设下，有很多作为孙女视角下被忽视的外婆，被⼀点点补充、找到。作品简介： 我的外婆叫陈喜珍。十二岁时，她的母亲因病去世留下她和妹妹陈喜琼。她们被父亲养育长大，初中毕业后参加⼯作，成为老师。外婆刚生下第⼀个孩⼦ 时，她的妹妹因突发性⼼脏疾病离世。三⼗三岁时，她开始不断被大小疾病缠身；六十多岁时，她经历了两场生死攸关的大型手术：安装心脏起搏器和开颅⼿术（脑内良性肿瘤）。 外婆是双鱼座，她出生于1950年，新中国刚成立不久。即使在旧时代，她也是顶天立地的女性，命运多舛的同时坚持工作并养育了三个孩子。她的情绪丰富且外露，喜欢和朋友拉家常、爱和外公吵架“过孽”、和三个孙辈念念叨叨；及易落泪却⼜很快会开⼼起来。 失去⼥⼉后，她⼏乎失去了半个灵魂，眼泪更多了。直到七年后，她依然⽆法释怀，我也和她⼀样。我总是可以通过外婆看到妈妈的影⼦，她已经76岁了。我们还能相互陪伴多久？
A daughter who has lost her mother, a mother who has lost her daughter... The bond between three generations of women often forms a powerful, mutually supportive, and tender refuge.
Yet in my own experience, the middle link between these three generations is missing: my mother—my grandmother’s daughter—is no longer with us. From my perspective, my grandmother is a mother overwhelmed by grief.
The loss of her daughter is a wound that will forever leave her heart heavy. The ripples caused by death have continued to create waves between us. Gradually, I have been trying to take on the role of the “middle” link. I imagine myself as her daughter, looking at her through that lens. With this perspective, many aspects of my grandmother—aspects that were overlooked from a granddaughter’s viewpoint—are being pieced together and rediscovered, bit by bit. About the Work: My grandmother’s name is Chen Xizhen. When she was twelve, her mother passed away from illness, leaving her and her younger sister, Chen Xiquiong. They were raised by their father and began working after graduating from junior high school, eventually becoming teachers. Just as my grandmother gave birth to her first child, her sister passed away from a sudden heart condition. At the age of 33, she began to suffer from a series of minor and major illnesses; in her sixties, she underwent two life-threatening major surgeries: the implantation of a pacemaker and craniotomy (for a benign brain tumor). My grandmother is a Pisces; she was born in 1950, shortly after the founding of the People’s Republic of China. Even in the old days, she was a strong, independent woman who, despite her turbulent fate, persevered at work and raised three children. She was emotionally expressive and open; she loved chatting with friends, bickering playfully with Grandpa, and nagging her three grandchildren. She was quick to tears but just as quick to cheer up. After losing her son, she felt as if she had lost half her soul, and her tears flowed even more freely. Seven years later, she still cannot let go—and neither can I. I always see my mother’s reflection in my grandmother; she is now 76 years old. How much longer can we be there for each other?
© Mingyi wei