阅读理解

　　I think it was my mother who taught me the meaning of honesty．Not because she actually was honest, but because she lied all the time．She felt that the easiest way out of any given situation was generally the best way out．And, for her, that generally meant telling a “little white lie”．As a young child I thought it was kind of cool．And, naturally, when I would come to her with a concern or question wondering what I should do, she generally advised me to lie．

　　“Mom, I told Theresa that I would go over to her house, but now I would rather go to Sue's house to play．”

　　“Tell Theresa you're sick，” she would advise．And generally I did．But I didn't seem blessed with her lack of conscience．On many painful occasions Theresa would find out that I really went to Sue's house without her．These occasions taught me that it is more painful to be caught in a lie than it is to tell the truth in the first place．I wondered how it was possible that my mother had never learned that lesson．

　　I started thinking of all the lies that I'd heard her tell．I remembered the time she told someone that her favorite restaurant had closed, because she didn't want to see them there anymore．Or the time she told Dad that she loved the lawn-mower he gave her for her birthday．Or when she claimed that our phone lines had been down when she was trying to explain why she hadn't been in touch with a friend of hers for weeks．And what bothered me even more were all the times she had involved me into her lies．Like the time she told my guidance counselor that I had to miss school for exploratory surgery, when she really needed me to babysit．And it even started to bother me when someone would call for her and she would ask me to tell　them that she wasn't there．

　　So, I started my own personai fight against her dishonesty．When I answered the phone and it was someone my mother didn't want to talk to, I said, “Louise, mom is here, but she doesn't want to talk to you．” The first time I did it, she punished me, but I refused to apologize．I told her that I had decided that it was wrong to lie．And the next time it happened I did the same thing．Finally, she approached me and said, “I agree that lying is not the best thing to do, but we need to find a way to be honest without being rude．” She admitted that her methods weren't right, and I admitted that mine were a bit too extreme．

　　Over the past few years, the two of us have worked together to be honest－and yet kind．Honesty should mean more than not lying．It should mean speaking the truth in kindness．Though I started by trying to teach my mom the importance of honesty, I ended up gaining a deeper understanding of the meaning of the term．

阅读理解

　　“Mom, I have cancer．”These four words catapulted my son and me on a journey that lasted two years．On that dat I felt a wave of paralyzing fear．

　　Scott was the oldest of my four children．He was 33 years old and a successful assistant principal at SamRayburn Hifht School in Pasadena, Texas．He and his wife Carolyn were busy raising four active children．Scott was 6'2'', weighed 200 pounds and had never been sick a day in his life．

　　A few month earlier a mole(痣)on his neck had changed color．“Dr．Warner called,” Scott said that spring morning．“It's melanoma．(黑素瘤)” I tried to comfort him, naming all the people I knew who had survived skin cancer．Yet, I felt small tentacles of fear begin to wrap around my chest．

　　Our next stop was MDAnderson, the famous cancer hospital in Houston．Scott had surgery at the end of May and was scheduled for radiation treatments over the summmer recess．“There is an 80 percent chance it won't reoccur,” the doctors said．At the end of summer, all his tests came back negative and Scott was back at school in the fall．However, in December, Scott discovered a lump on his neck．It was examined and the result came back “malignant．(恶性的)” We now relized that Scott fell into the 20 percent category．I could feel the tentacles tightening around my chest．He entered the hospital for an aggressive treatment, a combination of interferon and interleukin．

　　After five months of treatment, he had radical surgery on his neck．The test results were encourging, only three of the 33 lymph nodes(淋巴结)removed were malignant．We were very hopefull．

　　For the next six months, Scott's follow-up visits went well．Then in October, X-ray revealed a spot on his lung．The spot was removed during surgery and the doctors tried to be optimistic．It was a daily battle to control the fear and panic each setback brought．

　　In January, he was diagnosed as having had a “disease explosion．” The cancer had spread to his lungs, spine and liver and he was given three to six months to live．There were times during this period when I felt like I was having a heart attack．The bands constricting my chest made breathing difficult．

　　When you watch your child battle cancer, you experience a roller coaster of emotions．There are moments of hope and optimism but a bad test result or even an unusual pain can bring on dread and panic．

　　Scott was readmitted to the hospital for one last try with chemotherapy．He died, quite suddenly, just six weeks after his last diagnosis．I was completely destroyed．I had counted on those last few months．

　　The next morning I was busy notifying people and making funeral arrangements．I remember having this nagging feeling that something was physically wrong with me．It took a moment to realize that the crushing sensation in my chest was gone．The thing every parent fears the most had happened．My son was gone．Of course, the fear had been replaced by unbearable sorrow．

　　After you lose a child, it is so difficult to go on．The most minimal tasks, combing your hair or taking a shower, becoming monumental．For months I just sat and stared into space．That spring, the trees began to bloom; flowers began to pop up in my garden．Friendswood was coming back to life but I was dead inside．

　　During those last weeks, Scott and I often spoke about life and death．Fragments of those conversations kept playing over and over in my mind．

　　“Don't let this ruin your life, Mom．”

　　“Make sure Dad re models his workshop．”

　　“Please, take care of my family．”

　　I remember wishing I could have just one more conversation with him．I knew what I would say, but what would Scott say? “I know how much you love me, Mom．So just sit on the couch and cry．” No, I knew him better than that．Scott loved life and knew how precious it is．I could almost hear his voice saying, “Get up Mom, Get on with your life．It's too valuable to waste．”

　　That was the day I began to move forward．I signed up for a cake decorating class．Soon I was making cakes for holidays and birthdays．My daughter-in-law told me about a writing class in Houston．I hadn't written in years, but since I was retired I decided it be time to start again．The local college advertised a Life Story Writing class that I joined．There I met women who had also lost their children．The Poet Laureate of Texas was scheduled to speak at our local Barnes and Noble．I attended and joined our local poetry society．I never dreamed that writing essays and poems about Scott could be so therapeutic．Several of those poems have ever been published．In addition, each group brought more and more people into my life．．

　　I don't believe you ever recover from the loss of a child．Scott is in my heart and mind every day．However, I do believe you can survive．

　　Scott fought so bravery to live and he never gave up．He taught me that life is a gift that should be cherished, not wasted．It has taken years to become the person I am today．The journey has been a difficult , painful process but certainly worth the effort and I know that my son would be proud．