Someday my daughter will be standing1 in my place, and I will rest where my mother now sits.

　　總有一天我的女兒會(huì)站在這里，而我會(huì)在母親坐的位置上休息。

　　Will I remember then how it felt to be both mother and daughter? Will I ask the same question one too many times?

　　那時(shí)我還會(huì)記得為人母又為人女時(shí)的感受嗎？我也會(huì)無(wú)數(shù)次地問(wèn)同樣的問(wèn)題嗎？

　　I walk over and sit down between my mother and her granddaughter.

　　我走過(guò)去，坐在我母親和她的孫女中間。

　　"Where is Rick?" my mother asks, resting her hand on the table next to mine. The space between us is smaller than when I was a teenager, barely visible at all.

　　“瑞克在哪兒？”母親問(wèn)，她的手放在桌上，緊挨著我的手。我們之間的距離比起我還是孩子的時(shí)候要小得多，幾乎看不見(jiàn)。

　　And in that instant I know she remembers. She may repeat herself a little too much. But she remembers.

　　在那一刻我知道她記起來(lái)了。她可能一會(huì)兒的工夫就反反復(fù)復(fù)嘮叨好幾遍，但她記起來(lái)了。

　　"He'll be here," I answer with a smile.

　　“他會(huì)來(lái)這。”我笑著回答。

　　My mother smiles back, one of those grins where the dimple takes over the shape of her face, resembling my daughter.

　　母親對(duì)我笑了笑，笑容在臉上蕩漾開(kāi)來(lái)的樣子，很象我的女兒。

　　Then she lets her shoulders relax, picks up the dice2.

　　然后，她的肩膀松弛下來(lái)，拿起了骰子。