And it stung when friends inquired only about Chuck’s coping， or sent sympathy cards addressed just to him， forgetting about me and even our two children. Some belittled my grieving because I was“just”a stepparent. Did anyone realize my loss and pain？ I‘d had strong maternalfeelings for Conan； he considered me his second mother- or did he？ As the weeks turned into months， that question haunted me， dominating my thoughts. I became driven to understand just what my role had been.
I rummaged through boxes of photos and dug out old journals， searching the house for mementos， even Christmas ornaments he had made.
There were several comforting journal excerpts， one describing Mother’s Day phone calls from Conan to me， and a beautiful white poinsettia he gave me at Christmas. And I cherished the memories old photos brought back- his loving bear hugs after cooking his favorite meal- or a kiss for simply doing his laundry. As comforting as these things were， they still weren‘t enough.
One beautiful spring day， almost a year after he died， I was lovingly caressing the pressed rose from his grave that I kept in my Bible. Suddenly， I felt compelled to visit his grave alone. I had never done that before， but I desperately needed some answers.
Arriving at the gravesite， I remembered Chuck mentioning that the permanent headstone had recently arrived. Chuck had told Conan’s mom to select what she wanted. As I looked down on the shiny marble surface， I noticed she had chosen a bronze sports emblem， along with a picture of Conan that had been permanently embedded under a thick layer of glass.
I bent down and lovingly ran my fingers over his engraved name and the dates commemorating his short life. Through a mist of tears， memories of a rambunctious， fun-loving little boy filled my heart. The child I‘d mothered part-time for so many years may not have come through my body， but I had been chosen by God to provide a maternal influence in his life. Not to take his mother’s place， but to be just a“step”away. I suddenly felt very honored to have been chosen.
“It was a privilege to be your stepmother，”I whispered out loud， bending to kiss his picture.
Finally， a sense of peace was beginning. With a heavy sigh， I got up to leave. But as I turned to walk away， the sun glistened on the border of the headstone， causing me to look back.
“Oh my gosh！ How could I have not noticed it before？”
The entire border of the headstone was trimmed in gold shafts of wheat... exactly like a gold shaft-of-wheat pin Conan had given me years ago. Chills ran up and down my spine. I hadn‘t seen that pin in years.
Somehow， I just knew it was the missing link. I had to find that pin.
The ride home was a blur. I was so excited. Finally， I was upstairs in my bedroom tearing apart my jewelry box. Where was it？ Dumping the contents on the bed， I frantically tossed earrings and pins to and fro.
Nothing.
God， this is important. Please help me find it， I prayed.
Turning from the bed I felt compelled to search my dresser. Rummaging through drawer after drawer proved futile， until finally， in the last drawer， clear in the back I felt it. It was a small， white box with my name scribbled on top in a child’s handwriting. Prying it open， I was instantly transported back in time.
Conan had been about ten years old， and it was the night before going on vacation to Florida. He was going with us， and I was packing in my room when I heard a knock on my door. Conan stood there， his eyes downcast and his hands behind his back.
“What is it， son？”I asked， concerned by this unexpected visit.
Shuffling his feet， he quickly mumbled，“I don‘t know why I don’t call you‘Mom’very often， even though I call my stepdad‘Dad’.”
I hugged him and reassured him he was free to call me whatever hewas comfortable with. Then suddenly， with a wry smile on his pudgy face， he handed me the small， white box.
“You choose，”he said， and darted from the room.
Assuming I‘d find two items inside the box， I opened it. Instead， I found the single gold wheat pin he’d bought at a garage sale with his own money.
Scribbled inside the lid of the box were the words，“I Love You. To Mom or Connie.”
That had been almost a decade ago， yet as I pushed the spilled contents of my jewelry box aside and slowly sat down on the edge of the bed， it felt like yesterday.
Thank you， God， for finding this pin， and for the closure that comes with it.
Wiping the tears from my face， I reflected on an angelic little boy whose heart beat close to mine.
I still choose“Mom”.
世界上最珍贵的礼物不是这枚别针，是孩子给妈妈的爱。
参考翻译（佚名）我透过模糊的视线望过去，我丈夫查克和他前妻一起走了。我们的心情沉重得令人难以承受。我转向继子的棺材，我无意识地帮助孩子们从兄弟的献花里采摘玫瑰夹在他们的《圣经》里面。我把手放在儿子的献花上，泪水滑落我的脸颊。我找不到自己的位置了。
主啊，我默念道，我在柯南的生命中起到了怎样的作用？从我见到继子的那一刻起，我就敬畏这个天使般的小男孩，他明亮的金发似乎闪动着天堂的光辉。仅仅一岁半的时候，他已经长得像个三岁的孩子了。他的身体结实，蜷缩在我怀里睡觉的时候，我能感觉到他的小心脏伴着我的心脏跳动，我身上的母性因此而萌动。
一年里，我成了柯南和他姐姐萝莉的继母。过后不久，一次就诊揭示了一个令人沮丧的消息。
“你患有不孕症，”医生说，“你可能永远不能生孩子。”
对年仅22岁的我来说，这个消息的杀伤力可想而知。我曾经一直想做母亲。突然，我意识到做继母可能更接近我的梦想，所以我让自己更多地融入继子女们的生活中。
但幸运的是，四年后，人们高兴地发现我怀孕了。查斯出生了，上天保佑，两年后，我们又生了女儿切尔西。
我喜欢自己既是母亲又是继母，但是在任何混合家庭中，它既有优点，又有缺点。查克的前妻拥有他孩子的监护权，比起我们给自己的孩子的自由，她给自己孩子更多自由。为了和我们的规定一致，我确信我们对他的孩子显得过于严厉。他们周末探视的时候，我经常感觉自己又老又唠叨。
作为第二任妻子，我嫉妒继子女们的母亲。我在继子女的耳畔抱怨她和她丈夫，甚至抱怨在支付抚养费之外还给孩子们买别的东西。但是我无意中忽略了一个重要事实，那就是我的继子女们是被卷入混合家庭的无辜孩子。
然后有一天，我自己的家庭聚会的时候，我看到我母亲走向我继母，给了她一个拥抱。在另一边，我看到我父亲和继父一起开怀欢笑。长期以来，我一直欣赏我的父母和继父母之间的合作关系，现在这种事情发生在我身上，查克的孩子们同样渴望父母和继父母之间的合作。所以查克和我决定尽力沟通，而不是制造鸿沟。
这并不容易，而且众多改变不是一蹴而就的，但是它们确实实现了。柯南15岁的时候，父母和继父母实现了和睦相处。我们不为孩子的抚养费而争执，我们自愿增加抚养费。而且最后，柯南的妈妈给了我们他的成绩单和橄榄球赛程表的复印件。
我为自己的孩子和继子女们而骄傲。毕业后，我的继女结婚了，他们夫妇一起建造了一栋房子。17岁的时候，柯南已经是一名睿智的青年了。他相貌英俊，又有着类似男中音的好嗓子。我很好奇哪个幸运的女孩能够抓住他。
但是，一个电话永远改变了我们的生活--柯南因为一名酒后驾车的司机肇事而遭遇车祸身亡。
在我和查克结婚的这些年里，他向我一再保证我也是他孩子们的家长。他就孩子们的事情向我征求意见，并且依靠我使得他们圣诞节和生日过得与众不同。我喜欢做这些事情，而且把自己视做他们的第二个母亲。
但是柯南死后，查克随即陷入悲伤，他突然停止向我征求意见，并且开始向前妻征求意见。我知道他们必须一起作一些最终决定，而且我后来得知他是在试图让我远离烦人的琐事，但是一开始，我确实感觉自己像个外人，而不是家长。
我也知道肇事司机应该被起诉，这意味着查克和他前妻将保持联系。渐渐地，当他和前妻谈话，却很少和我讨论他们的谈话内容时，我过去的那些嫉妒又浮现出来了。
而且当朋友们仅向查克征求处理意见，或者只向他邮寄慰问卡片，忘记我，甚至我们的两个孩子的时候，我感觉自己被刺痛了。有的人不在意我的悲痛，因为我“只”是一个继母。有人意识到我的失落和伤痛吗？我对柯南怀有强烈的母爱；他视我为他的第二个母亲--他是这样看待我的吗？随着时间的推移，这个问题困扰着我，占据了我的思维。我被驱使着去弄明白我以往的角色究竟是什么。
我翻找成盒的照片，找出旧日记，在屋子里寻找他制作的纪念品，甚至圣诞饰物。