collapsed and fell a lot。 Her mother； thinking she was lazy； slapped her around。 She lived in terror that her mother wouldn’t want her anymore； so on the occasions when she was well enough； she cleaned house “like a little maid”。
Before the age of twenty…four； like Michael； she had a tracheotomy just to breathe and that was when she was officially diagnosed with multiple sclerosis。 By the time she was thirty； she had moved into a hospital with round…the…clock care。
So when Michael asked her the big question； she didn’t think she could handle the pain if he was teasing。
“He told me he loved me； and I was so scared；” she said。 “I thought he was playing a game with me。 But he told me it was true。 He told me he loved me。”
On Valentine’s Day； Juana wore a wedding dress made of white satin； dotted with pearl beads and cut loose enough to drape around a wheelchair and a ventilator。 Juana was rolled to the front of the room； assisted by Harry； who proudly gave the bride away。 Her face streamed with tears。
Michael wore a crisp white shirt； black jacket and a bow tie that fit neatly over his tracheotomy。 He beamed with pleasure。
Nurses filled the doorways。 Patients filled the room。 An overflow of hospital employees spilled into the halls。 Sobs echoed in every er of the room。 In the hospital’s history； no two people—living their lives bound to wheelchairs—had ever married。
Janet Yamaguchi； the hospital’s recreation leader； had planned everything。 Employees had donated their own money to buy the red and white balloons； matching flowers； and an archway dotted with leaves。 Janet had the hospital chef make a three…tiered； lemon…filled wedding cake。 A marketing consultant hired a photographer。
Janet negotiated with family members。 It was one of the most trying and satisfying times of her life to watch the couple get married。
She thought of everything。
The final touch—the kiss—could not be pleted。 Janet used a white satin rope to tie the couple’s wheelchairs to symbolize the romantic moment。
After the ceremony； the minister slipped out trying to hold back her tears。 “I’ve performed thousands of weddings； but this is the most wonderful one I’ve done so far；” the minister said。 “These people have passed the barriers and showed pure love。”
That evening； Michael and Juana rolled into their own room for the first time together。 Michael and Juana knew they had moved many people with their love； and they had been given the greatest gift of all。 They had the gift of love。 And it’s never known where it will land。
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爱的时刻（1）
佚名
第一次见到她时，她正在校园的操场上漫步。我站在那里，目光追随着她的倩影，呆住了。她就是我的至爱，我对自己说。
开学的第一天，我向同学问起她，他们说她已经有男朋友了，让我忘了她。
几个月后，我听说她跟男朋友分手了。但是，至少过了半年后，我才约会她。我打电话到她寝室，紧张得吐字不清，甚至把她名字的前后音节都说反了。“周六晚上请你吃晚饭，好吗？”提议完，我尴尬极了，害怕遭她拒绝。“很高兴。”她似乎很开心地回答。
星期六，我去宿舍接她，她的美丽再次深深地打动了我。我在30里外的餐馆预订了晚餐。开车去那儿时，却迷路了，在乡间小路上漫无目的地转了一个多小时。我越来越焦躁，她却一直兴致高昂，她说，她读过这些乡村的历史，很高兴能来游玩。
我们最终没能找到那家餐馆，汽油也快用完了。10点时，我们才吃了点汉堡和油炸食品，算是晚餐。她美丽的花裙，金黄的直发，娇好的面容，站在当地孩子中间显得更加光彩照人。
回到学校后，我正要为那个夜晚道歉，但感觉到她温暖的手，抓住了我的手，然后迅速地在我脸上吻了一下，温柔地说道：“谢谢你让我度过了一个快乐的夜晚。”我还没回过神来，她已跑进寝室，在我眼前消失了。
曾有多少这样的时刻啊——充满了包容、优雅与爱意，我几乎不敢相信。记得婚礼那天，在太平洋海滨，那个清新的星期天早晨，她挽着父亲的手步入教堂，我站在旁边凝视着她即将成为我妻子的时刻；或是我们的两个孩子出生，她经历了旁人无法体会的分娩痛楚后，脸上因欣喜而光彩四溢的时刻。
但是1993年10月15日，情形却完全不同。那天，在度过了一个难眠之夜后，我们早上5点钟就起床了。当手术刀即将划开你心上人的血肉肌肤时，你又怎能安然入眠呢？她吻了吻我们两个熟睡的孩子，但他们却没有醒来对她说“祝您好运”或者“我爱您，妈妈”。到了医院，签完一些文件后，我看她换上一件褪了色的棉袍和一双袜子，似乎手术室最大的伤害是寒冷。
她扑到我怀里哭着说不做手术。我握着她的手，注射器扎进她的手臂，泪水很快停住了，那原本清澈，机灵的双眼，现在满是恐惧，慢慢地合上了。
我痛苦而慌乱地与她吻别，然后，看着她穿过那道无情的门，被推进手术室。我整天待在候诊室，用校对稿子来分散我的焦虑。
快傍晚了，她才回到病房，胸前缠着一大片绷带，我想她会喜欢那个外科医生精心而巧妙地给她缠的绷带。我想起我们的孩子还是婴儿时，她为他们的摇篮缝制床单。这些绷带看起来亲切又安全可靠——不像我想的那么粗糙。
灯光昏暗的房间里，充斥着强烈的消毒水味儿。我坐在她旁边，感到我们的生命是如此息息相关。我，也是病人，茫然地盯着窗外灰粉色的云彩掠过午后的天空，感到心力交瘁。
差不多快七点了，她微微动了一下，听到她的呻吟，我移到床边，从桌子上的水罐里拿出一点冰片，轻轻触了一下她的嘴唇，拂开她额前被汗水沁湿的灰白头发。
“我爱你。”我说。
听到这些话，她慢慢地睁开眼睛，目光开始很模糊，没有焦点，很快，她敏锐地认出我来，嘴角浮现出一抹温柔的笑。
“我也爱你。”她呢喃道，眼睛又闭上了。我几乎筋疲力尽。回想起第一次见到她的情景。仿佛又回到了年轻时代，那个阳光灿烂的早上。她就是我的至爱。我再一次发自内心地说道，她就是我的至爱。
Moments of Love
Anonymous
When I first saw her； she was walking across the med…school quad。 I stood motionless Anonymous as if stunned； following her with my eyes。 She is the one； I said to myself。
爱的时刻（2）
It was the first day of school。 When I asked a classmate about her； he told me to forget it。 She has a boyfriend； he said。
A few months later I heard she’d ended her relationship。 But I waited at least half a year to ask for a date。 When I telephoned her dormitory and asked nervously for her； I transposed the syllables of her first and last names into ludicrous garble。 “Dinner on Saturday？” I proposed； embarrassed and expecting rejection。 “I would enjoy that；” she answered； sounding pleased。
On Saturday I greeted her at the dorm and was again entranced by her loveliness。 I had made reservations at a restaurant 30 miles away。 I lost my way and drove aimlessly on rural roads for an hour as my exasperation mounted。 She remained good…humored happy； she said； to tour villages whose histories she had read about。
We never located the restaurant； and then almost ran out of gas。 We finally ate at 10 ； hamburgers and fries at a dinner。 In her floral dress； with her straight blond hair and classic features； she stood out among the local kids。
Back at school； I was ready to apologize for the evening。 But I felt her warm hand take mine； and then she quickly kissed my cheek。 “Thank you for a wonderful evening；” she said softly。 Before I prehended what had happened； she disappeared into the dormitory。
How many times have there been moments like that； moments of such enpassing grace and love that I doubted their actuality？ Moments like the day of our marriage； when on a crisp Sunday morning on the Pacific coast she entered the church on her father’s arm and I gazed down the aisle at my soon…to…be wife。 Or the moments when our two childr