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My father died from "the poor man's friend," pneumonia, one hard winter when his bronchitis and emphysema had left him low. I doubt he had much lung left at all, after coughing for so many years. He had so little breath that, during his last years, he was always leaning on something. I remember once, at a family reunion, when my daughter was two, that my father picked her up for a minute—long enough for me to photograph them—but the effort was obvious. Near the very end of his life, and largely because he had no more lungs, he quit smoking. He gained a couple of pounds, but by then he was so emaciated no one noticed.
一個(gè)嚴(yán)冬，我父親死于被稱為“窮人之友”的疾病——肺炎，那時(shí)支氣管炎和肺氣腫已經(jīng)把他折磨得虛弱不堪。他咳嗽了這么多年，我想他的肺部已沒(méi)有什么完好的地方了。去世前幾年，他的呼吸已經(jīng)變得很虛弱，他總得倚靠著某個(gè)東西我記得有一次全家團(tuán)聚，當(dāng)時(shí)我的女兒才兩歲，他抱了她一會(huì)兒——就是讓我給他們拍照的時(shí)間——但是很明顯，他費(fèi)了好大的勁兒。生命行將結(jié)束前，他才戒了煙，主要是因?yàn)樗姆喂δ芤褞捉ソ摺＝錈熀笏捏w重增加了幾磅，但當(dāng)時(shí)他太瘦了，所以沒(méi)人注意到這一點(diǎn)。
