「深夜裡，一個身患重疾的小男孩，挺著炙熱的身軀，獨自躺在防空壕。」這是這一週來，在我心中揮不去的影像。

來美看我的爸媽，上週末接到台灣大姑媽突然病逝的消息。心身抖動的爸爸，馬上想提前回台灣給他的姊姊送上最後一程。但經多方考量，他們同意依原定的行程，七月回台後，再去墳前看她。我說，他若相信靈魂，在這裡對姑媽說的話，她也可以聽到。在我的鼓勵下，爸爸提筆開始對他姊姊說話，在書寫、回憶中，他慢慢平靜了下來！這也是一輩子自稱硬漢的他，第一回道出他童年病痛，裹在一個不堪的時代中的記憶：

他的童年是在二次世界大戰的舞台上過的，白天、黑夜裡，跑躲轟炸機的空襲，是他們那年代的台灣孩子活下去的例行之事。十歲左右那年，爸爸感染上可致命的瘧疾，這病發急的時侯，身體是或高燒或發冷的輪番煎熬。為了怕極弱的身子，在空襲時來不及逃，爸爸便一人夜裡睡在防空壕。祖父母孩子多，照料不及，自己也還是個孩子的胞姊，因為疼著他，便頂著黑，夜裡帶水來陪他。

「深夜的漆暗防空壕裡，躲著一個重病的小男孩和才長他一歲多的姊姊。」這一再重複在我腦海的場景，次次讓我心酸，眼睛泛水！我想起上週描述自己小時怕黑的心情，現在覺得矯情得可笑。我父母成長在一個讓人心疼的年代。所以，他們從不抱怨，一心一意，對現有的，充滿感激。爸爸和姑媽他們不離棄的手足之愛，即使七十多年來從來沒有描述給他人聽，仍是掛在爸爸心上一輩子、現在傳承給我的記憶。

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"A little boy lied in the bomb shelter, alone, in the depth of night." This is the image recurring in my mind throughout the past week.

Last Saturday morning, I was woken up by my visiting parents' emotional conversation after they received the news of my aunt's sudden passing in Taiwan. I came down stairs and found my father shaking, mentally and physically, for the loss of his older sister. He had his mind set to go back home as soon as possible then. However, after much discussion, I convince my parents to stay till July as previously planned so they can see their beloved grand daughter who is still abroad and who they have not seen for nearly 7 years. To help him find some peace, I suggested my dad to "talk" to his sister through writing. Oh, write he did: the way I had never seen he did before, and the story he had never told....

My parents grew up during World War II during when Taiwan was a Japanese colony. My father's childhood home was located in an area prime-targeted for frequent US air raids; thus, effectively taking shelter during boming was essential for survival. At approximately 10 years old, Dad contracted malaria, a potentially fatal disease that brought him cyclic recurrent shaking chills and high fevers, plaguing him with extreme fatigue and nasusiness. Worrying his weakened body wouldn't be able to take shelter fast enough during air raids, my dad spent many nights sleeping in an underground bomb shelter close to home. In the nights, his elder sister, who was older than him by just over a year, was the only one visiting him, bringing him water and keeping him company.

The recurring image of my dad's memory tears my eyes repeatedly. How ironic that I was just writing about my fear of darkness last week! What an era of Taiwan my parents' generation have lived through! It is why they live with daily gratitude of simple peace and joy. It is why, though never spoken for more than 70 years, my father's memory of the unrelenting sibling love is still much alive in his mind and, now, also in mine.