Happy Dreamer

Dada come down.

She says waving Isadora Duncan style in the air above her. Not sure who or what gave her the idea he was up there. She often refers to people, alive, in the sky so perhaps it's her imagination at work.

Oh Lily, Dada can't come down.

Dada come visit.

Oh Lily, Dada can't come visit.

Dada come visit, soon!

Oh Lily, that's a very nice idea but he can't come visit Lily. Not soon.
Not ever.
I'm sorry my love. But Dada loves you soooo much.

And then I wonder if I should have said loved and I rephrase with the latter.
I have never said ever to her. It doesn't make sense at this age. But the questions and ideas are repeated often and I need to lay the groundwork for deeper conversations that sadly are not far off. I don't want to mislead my dreamer.
For that she is.
She has more and more wonderful thoughts and her imagination is wild at play. Yesterday she cooked and served me eight playdough pies in about five minutes. I was also fed rice (a rock), served multiple cups of tea and also cake.

Thankfully she moved on to other topics as she ate dinner and she remained all smiles. Her hands, greasy with pasta, are Alan's hands. Someday when she's a bit older I'll share that with her. She may not get to hold them in hers, but she'll know exactly what they looked like. Her fingers are tapered in the very same way. Narrow at the top, wide at the bottom.
Just like her dad's.

What is most beautiful about life with Lily is that she lives for the moment. She has recently begun to grasp the word "soon" (she also enjoys the expression "right n o w " - and she uses it often with requests for anything), but in general her world is up and down. In place. She lingers in the moment. She lives for the present and has no concerns or thoughts of the future. "We're in a rush" has no bearing on her, and I say that thankfully even though getting a jacket and shoes on and moving out the door can sometimes take seemingly forever. But she is so everpresent. And that is a gift for me as well. I worry constantly about the future and ruminate heavily on the past, so Lily is my anchor in the beauty of a day.

Such a difference she makes.

To Sleep...

Must be the time change. And teething. And travelling. The CA to NY transition. And congestion. This was a first but I am tired and my daughter-formerly-known-as-Lily must be overtired.

Last night's 90 minute Avoidance of Sleep Concerto:

Maaaaaamaaaaaaaaa!
Big Babyyyyyyyy! Big Babyyyyy!
Little Babyyyy! Little Babyyyyyy!
After 15 minutes, Mama concedes, tucks in babies.
Sleep Mama's Bedddddddddddddd!!!!
Mama's Bedddddddddd!
Pour glass of wine. 15 more minutes of drink and no peace.
Nose Runninggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg! Nose Running!!!!!!!
Enter Mama. Wipe Nose, remind sobbing babe how to do it herself. Convince her to lie down, round three.
Sit on couch. Drained. Tantrum eruption continues.
Mouse Painttttttttt!!! Mouse Paintttttttt! (new book) Read Mouse Painttttttt!
Bunny Honeyyyyyyyyyy (another book)
Sob. Hyperventilate. Another 15 minutes. Mama frozen on couch. Shell shocked.
Sleep on Mama's elbooooooooowwwwwwwww! Sleep On Mama's elbow!!!!!!!
Nightgown offffffffffff! 20 minutes of this.
Blood pressure rising.
Must be.
Re-enter mama. Unwind Lily t-shirt sleeve that that has somehow turned tourniquet. Plea. Come on sweet pea, please go to sleep Lily. Calm down. Everyone's sleeping.

Rattle off list of 40 friends and relatives and dogs who are sleeping.

Sobbing, hiccuping, shaking ensues.
Little baggggggggg... pointing to new mini mermaid just like her cousin's in mesh bag.
Mama caves in, gives it to her.

Mama exits. Furious. Exhausted. Fantasizes about going to the neighbor's or around the block for a few minutes. Gets cookies.
Ponders parenthood induced obesity while watching TV on mute.

End of rope. Desire to shake baby creeps in but is warded off. Another 15 of screaming, tears and reckless jumping trampoline style.

Mother-formerly-known-as-Mama steams back into room. Takes toys out of crib. Turns out nightlight. Tells daughter that she HAS TO SLEEP and that MAMA IS MAD AND SAD (quoting one of her newer books) AND VERY TIRED. Lily lies down, mama calms down, covers her with big blanket, sweeps her hair out of tears on cheeks, tells her she loves her soooo much. Kisses her, strokes back.

Mama Go. She says.

After all that.

Exit mama.

All is quiet. Wait 20 minutes. Creep in, climb into bed. Pray for sleep. Ask Alan for help. Pray for sleep for the night and all other nights.

Got it, at least last night.

New Year.

Lily and I just returned from our holiday pilgrimage to the Bay Area and though it wasn't restful I'm resigned to the non-restfulness until she waves me out of her dorm room in approximately 17 years.

But it was a sweet trip where we spent time with her beloved cousins who don't mind her touching their Bayblades and Zhou Zhou pets (and if they do they tell her gently), love to sit next to her during meals, enjoy brushing her hair even if she is running away simultaneously and trampling their artfully arranged train tracks while doing so. They share mermaids and squirt toys with her in the tub and give her a good dose of sibling love.

We wish they lived closer.

Lily also had quality time with her next door bud, Madeleine (Mad Dog), who is as gentle and demure as a kitten except when she is risk taking in reckless outbursts that lead to injury in unsuspecting moments. She also hung out with favorite doggies, jumped her way through puddles, enjoyed time with grandparents over dim sum and Blue Jay feedings and hung out with some big girls who have handed down an awesome baby with handy accouterments.

I got to hear live music (adult music that is) for the first time in close to three years. The anticipation of doing so has had me on edge - one of those hurdles in widow country that I was reticent to attempt. Thankfully it was Bluegrass so despite the often tragic themes and lonesome sounds, the upbeat strings kept me ... feelin' OK. It helped to have a dear friend by my side. And it felt good to be in an element that reminded me of times when things were alright.

Alan was with us in every raindrop, and twilight winter sky. Lily even looked up one day and said "Dada come down". The guilt still lingers, and my anxieties about being her only parent had unwelcome flare-ups at night. Another aspect of widowhood - when you're relishing in life you can't help but worry it will be snatched away. I'm sure it was heart wrenching for Alan as well, in fact I know so. He too had a hard time embracing happiness.

Quite a challenge these days.
Especially with Lily by my side.
The happiest of sun beams.

Last night in her sleep, "Cheers Jiji, Cheers Mama".

Lily is the perfect affirmation of life.
As were our happy family meals.
As was music with a good friend by my side.
And dinners with childhood and college friends who may as well be family.
As were the brisk days, and winter leaves lingering in fresh puddles.

Entering 2011 and it feels alright.

Almost Two

Dada watching us.

Yes Pumpkin.

Dada wake up. Dada come Lily's housssssse.

Ohh, he can't wake up, Dada can't come. But he loves Lily soooooo much.

It continues. And my now very articulate girl can express herself expertly. And she is even better company despite the scope of our typical conversations. It is so much fun being able to communicate with her more easily. It does sometimes take time to decipher words (fresh toys = French Toast) (Sil mun = Silver Moon - bakery that is...)but the awesome thing is that when I can't understand the words, she gives me a point of reference to reroute my guessing game. Hence, sausage led me to french toast and donuts to Silver Moon Bakery. Not bad for an almost 22 month old. Oh she's so smart.
Our daughter.
She may know it too. Hmmm.
Recently she had one of her finest tantrums yet and managed to scream and cry through the entire alphabet. She wanted to continue watching her favorite Sesame Street You Tube version of the ABCs and when she began the protest "MORE ABCS!!!" she continued through til the end, entering the kitchen, nose running, eyes tearing, "W X Y AND ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!".
How do you not laugh and be proud and marvel at your frustrated child when they rant so impressively. It is hard. I was tired. I felt guilty. My Daughter-Formerly-Known-as-Lily's dramatic appeal continued through dinner and bath and bed. Wow.

Exhausting.

But she wakes up singing - and I can't get enough of her. And recently she has been all smiles and laughs and questions and observations. She brings me things. She loves to help. "Here mom." She says, and hands me a tampon.
Yes.
Or lip stuff. Or my credit card.
"Lilyyyyyyy......" Mama says.
She enjoys going through peoples belongings and then returning them to their owners.
And she is beginning to understand happy and sad.
Sigh.
She is a happy girl. That, I know.

All in the timing.

Sunday was Alan's birthday.
Would have been Alan's birthday.
So as we did last year, and the years before when he was with us, friends and family who knew him well, ate wings, NYC's finest black and white cookies and drank beer in his honor. Babes who were just in formation while he was with us were there, and they all sampled Twizzlers and Red Vines in his honor(both coasts represented). What many in the extended posse do not know is that he was, despite his East Coast roots, in fact, partial to Red Vines.

Truth.

Lily flitted among the tables, and even though she doesn't do well in confined spaces where activity is limited, she managed to wiggle and mingle and play, and was a beautiful embodiment of her dad's spirit, as was everyone present. Everyone there knew not just Alan's humor, but the specifics of it. And they knew him well in so many ways. They all live admirably in his wake - they savor what he cannot.

He'd be pleased to know that.

Lily didn't know what the day was about and I did not mention the significance of the date to her. But before our get together, just awake from her nap Sunday afternoon, channeling something, - in her sweet, gentle voice said:

"Dada come hooooome."


"Oh Pumpkin. Dada can't come home."

Pause.

"Dada home sooooonnn."

"Oh Lily, Dada loves Lily but he, he can't come."


"Dada other house."

"Oh. Not really. Well. Kind of. Sort of."

I was stuck, and crying, and caught off guard, and felt so defeated.
WE TRIED SO HARD.
I had no answer that seemed right.
Alan not being here isn't right. It just isn't.
Lily then went to her drawer of clothes and pulled out legwarmers she hadn't worn since last year on Alan's birthday and began trying to put them on.

What does it all mean. The coincidence. Where and when the questions fall. Maybe it's a message from Alan to the two of us. A way to make his presence known. I don't know. But I do know I miss him.

We all do.

Lay Your Hands Down. (Live Through This Part II)

I think, thus far, the toughest thing I've ever had to do was to accept the fact that there was nothing more humanly possible that could have extended Alan's life in a dignified way. And the next toughest thing was enduring our friends' suggestions and offerings to call doctors they knew, explore one last treatment idea etc..., once we had reached that horrifying conclusion. Obviously, those gestures came from love and desperation to save a very special life, beyond worthy of saving. Yet offers like that, in the eleventh hour, when every resource had been thoroughly exhausted were difficult to field, to digest. It is monumentally challenging to face the searing truth that nothing more can be done. It goes against the fiber of our beings. And once you are able to come to terms with that, however crippling it is, the extraneous attempts from others can make you feel as though you're giving up, when in fact you're finally accepting that everyone has done all that they can do, to restore that life in a healing way.

What drives you in the fight against terminal disease is the hope for a cure, or a treatment that might add time to one's life. And Alan's family and I left no stone unturned. We sought multiple opinions, conducted extensive research, consulted the NIH for trials, scoured the internet for case studies, and asked for help from others throughout the country who might have a lead toward something. Anything. Alan endured more than enough scans and treatments and experimental drugs and prayers.

He wanted life more than anyone.

We all wanted life for Alan more than anyone else.

Much of what he did, was for us.

But there is a time when the expression "quality of life" takes on profound meaning. There is a moment when you must really look at that beloved person who has been through so much and have the courage to wish for them

rest.

And so, if you know someone who is journeying through such an unforgiving landscape, trust that those around them would have walked to the ends of the earth for them. And in many ways, did.

No one ever stops wishing for a miracle. Ever.

If assistance is needed they will ask. It is kind and loving to want to help, but offer gently, and have the sensitivity to step back and say no more.

Nature is indescriminating.
It just gives and gives, and then takes everything back.

Live Through This.

Awhile ago someone asked me for advice regarding what to bring to a friend who was terminally ill. They weren't sure if they should bring gifts of food, or more meaningful gifts and were seeking advice regarding how / what to say if it was a last visit. Many tough but thoughtful, beautiful questions and I was so heartened to have been asked. Visiting and spending time with someone who has been prominent in your life and now may leave it shortly is excruciating; it forces us all to face our own mortality and more immediately gives you a heartbreaking taste of love and loss.

Visits and patients and environments are varied but here are some suggestions from what I felt and experienced with Alan. I can't speak for him, but I was there, in an altered state for sure, but present nonetheless: Food, in our case, wasn't a good idea. If you're a cancer patient often you have undergone or are enduring rigorous therapies that either limit your diet or render you unable to physically eat. Cancer floors of hospitals often prohibit outside food - it can upset those who cannot eat and often isn't something that can be consumed anyway. It can be torturous. The only good that comes of it is as a way to thank the nursing staff. Family and friends, on the other hand, may welcome food - but generally they'll be uncomfortable eating it in front of others and often our appetites were gone too. So consider where you'll be going and ask ahead of time if they'd like something and leave it it that. Don't force, no one has the energy, or interest.

Best gifts? Your presence when the person who's being visited has the energy. Second to your presence? Anecdotes from your shared lives. Memories and stories or even the most basic reminiscences.

Life relived is a gift.

Old photos are perfect conversation material, and one of my/our favorite physical gifts was a tiny potted flower plant. It was small, it was sweet, it was simple, it was life. Flowers NO, plants, yes. Other special thoughts were pictures drawn by our friends' kids.
Whimsical, bright, and loving.
Most importantly, if the friend is lucid and aware of their fate, if you can summon up the courage, let them know in private how much they've meant to you. You don't have to gush, you don't have to be ominous - and you don't have to say goodbye - but you can say, you mean the world to me and I hope to see you again in the next few days (if that's true) but if I can't for whatever reason prevents that from happening, know I love you and will celebrate you and carry you in my heart always. Something like that - honest, from the heart.

It is torturous, I know.

But I think for Alan - despite the heartache and the courage it took for him to listen - it gave him a profound sense of the mark he'd made on the world.

Keep your visits brief.
Seriously.
Watch them for signs. Ten minutes, half hour - max, unless they say otherwise.
Illness is exhausting. Meds are taxing.

Hearts are full.

Don't be offended if they don't want a visit.
Life is hard, death is harder.
Be prepared that if they do want to see you, you may get there and they're sleeping, or they're not up for it or they're being treated for something. Plan with extra time and understand you may not get in.
Emails or letters are wonderful too - someone inevitably will be there to read them aloud.

And for the family of the person who's days are measured?
They're savoring a life. Hanging on to minutes, hours, days.
Don't force walks, showers, coffee breaks, meals out.
The thought comes from a good place but think about it. If your loved one may not make it through the night or the next day , they won't want to leave their side unless the doctors kick them out. Even if I had a year more with Alan I'd be by his side every waking moment. (I would shower, I guess.)
No matter how unhealthy it is, or how much weight one is losing - if company is wanted, they'll ask.

Respect their torment, leave it at that.

Hard. So hard. But if you can live through this, you'll be OK.

Damage Control

Lily's artistic inclinations are emerging. So much so that the other morning she came into the bathroom to get me, "Hahn?" (Hand used to be "ahtch" but we are now closer to the real thing) I gave her my hand, she led me into the living room, over to the TV, where Sesame Street was playing. "Uh Ohhhh..." she said as she pointed to the screen. There, in the raking light of the dawn (read, 7:20am) I noticed the entire screen was decorated with crayon strokes that extended off the canvas onto the radiator cover.

"Lilyyyyyyyyyyy..... No, no Pumpkin, you know that's not where we draw. We draw on PAPER or else we draw on special things in Teacher Barbara's class. Remember how Mama said we only draw on paper?".

"Yesh." she says.

"Where do we do crayons?"

"... Papuh." And silence. Wheels turning. "Mama .... art!"

"Sigh. Yes, Lily, that is art."

She's right. But what she doesn't know is that the apartment is on the market and I'm not sure buyers are interested in the freshly painted walls now embellished with... Color. Lots of it. Thank you Crayola for creating washable crayons. They are remarkably unmarring. I have found crayon on the couch, chairs, dresser and most recently the wall. Thankfully, she drew and then ran to get Kleenex and began wiping it off the wall after she made her "mark".
She is a good helper.

Wash wash wash.

She likes to help mama wash the walls and the couch and the tv and the radiator cover and the chairs and the refrigerator.
She even hums her clean up song she's learned in class.

At 20 months I think we are in "testing" mode, ie., "Let's test mama. A lot."
The uncommissioned murals are still appearing, unannounced, and too much quiet now indicates art in progress.

Crayons on probation. At least for a few hours.

That's OK.

There are other ways to test Mama:

"Yogeet?"
"Lily wants yogurt?"
"Yesh."
"Here's some yogurt Pumpkin."
"No. No yogeet."
"I thought Lily wanted yogurt?"
"No........ Other one."
"Strawberry yogurt?"
"Yesh."
"OKaaaaay. Here's the other yogurt. Lily? You want the yogurt?"
"No."
"What does Lily want for breakfast?"
"Mac n'cheeeeeeeese" she says, smiling and twisting and jumping.
"We don't have mac n'cheese, Sweet Pea"
"Rice n'beeeeeeeans!!!!!"
"No rice n'beans either Pumpkin."

I've let her down.

Wait.
I'm the mom.
Must remember that important fact.

Note to self: Don't bend over backwards all the time. Just some of the time. Like when I'm channeling Job. Must channel often. Because now, when Lily isn't tagging the furniture, she is jumping off of it. She also now enjoys hanging upside-down, and has perfected somersaults. And, she has done some impressive things in the potty recently. No details needed. It may have scarred her for life, but not bad for someone four months shy of two.

Is she really almost two? She even seems older at times. Yesterday she opened the closet and was reaching for the screwdriver.
"Horsie. Horsie!"
I didn't understand until I glanced over at rocking/bouncy Horsie and there he/she was, turned upside down, battery panel exposed for surgery.
"No no Pumpkin, Horsie's fine. Here. Listen."
And with that, Home on the Range and hoof beats filled the air.

That may be the answer. Pretend living on range. Commission arid landscape, leave dirt on floor, import hay.

City Goes Country.

I like that.

More Dada?

It has begun. Lily is asking for her Dada. Nineteen months on the journey alone and now, sadly, her own has begun. We spent a long weekend with her favorite friend and it became glaringly apparent to her that he has a dad.
And so, she is wondering
where
hers
is.

The last three nights at dinner Lily has said "Mama, Dada?" "More Dada?" and with that I pull out photo albums and as she eats we look at pictures of her dad. I identify the people he's with, I show her his smile, him sailing boats, I show her his hands and I tell her that she has the same ones. She does. She has Alan's fingers. They are mini replicas. And I hope that as she gets to know him through me and our friends and family, that her longing for him wont be torturous. But it may be. In fact, it already seems to be heading in that direction.
How could it not?

It is heartbreaking.

Yesterday I peaked in on her in the living room and there she was perched on her little chair at the coffee table, photo album from our honeymoon open in front of her and she was studying the photos, touching them with her fingers, identifying and saying out loud, "Dadaaaaa, Mommyyyyy. Dada, mama" over and over again, singing our names with her "counting numbers" inflection.

So innocent. So dear.

Cruel cruel world.

Night before last at 2:45, "Mama..."
"Yes my love? "
"Dada?"
".... Ohhhh. Dada's watching over you Pumpkin. Dada loves Lily. Shhh shhh... Go back to sleep sweet pea..." And more realistically the next night in bed, "Oh Lily, Dada isn't here. But he loves Lily soooooooo much." One of these days she'll look for him at the door or at me with her questioning fanned out hands.

And so my attempts at toddler explanation have begun. And painfully I know this is now her beginning of what will be a very difficult journey. Last night in the tub "Pictures of Dada?". "OK pumpkin, we'll look at pictures of Dada before bed." So in bed, we began with our wedding album and then transitioned to the Little Engine That Could. And Corduroy. And then after a false start in her crib we cuddled with our own version of The Wheels on the Bus. This time with what people we know would say.
"Dada? Dada Bus?"
"Dada on the bus says 'I LOVE YOU SO!, I LOVE YOU SO!, I LOVE YOU SO!"

And on we went.
She slept through the night, peacefully.
I'm hoping Alan stopped by in her dreams.

Oh So Much. So Much.

It is "find the right pre-school and then get in" season. My first exposure to the NY school system, my first round at finding the perfect home away from home for Lily, where she will explore, grow, learn, play, nap, snack, sing and create. I bit off a large chunk yesterday, went on my first school tour and decided I'd give wearing my ring on the other hand a go. A tall order, a brutal test, got through the tour (though I did tear up at one point) and only lasted with the ring on the right for an hour and a half. Everything just means so much. I'm not sure why I switched hands for the ring other than I was anxious about questions I might get ie "where's your spouse/partner/husband" and I didn't have it in me on an already emotional excursion to field them. I'm not ready or interested in dating despite my crave for companionship I just thought I'd test the waters.
Not fun.
Tour fine, loaded with couples - but of course.
The school wasn't for Lily. Us. To cramped, too dark, and a taste of "let's plan your child's future now" aura. Whoa mama. Not ready just yet. Still wondering how the weather will be tommorow and the next. Still wondering what I'll cook tonight for dinner and fantasizing about having enough energy one day to cook enough home-made options for Lily (and me) for an entire week.
With vegetables she'll eat.
Would be so nice.
But I digress.
Went on another tour today and it was much more up our alley. Lily would thrive and have a blast. Great open space, warm, loving, personal vibe and so much for children to grab hold of, to discover and experience. Parents, too, much more low key which I appreciate because in this new world of parenthood I'd like to like the families of my daughter's friends. A different kind of dating I expect but with a beautiful common bond. My favorite two questions on the tour:
What are the ERBs?
Where does the food come from? (even better, the answer: The Kitchen.)
Cool. I can relate.
I'm so excited for Lily to have a cubby with a ziploc bag full of wardrobe changes - must explain it's only for emergencies, not to accessorize/change her look. (Last night she paraded around our apartment with a grass skirt - courtesy of West Coast Grandma - fresh from Hawaii over her Puma running suit, shell necklace dangling to her thighs, doctors kit - courtesy of East Coast Grandma - on her arm. The swish swish swish of her gait, beautiful.) I can't wait for her to make things, build things, and tell me when garlic bread day is. I can't wait to read the stories she's composed, and hear her day's review.

Back track.
Can I ask that in the Q & A?
Do you have Garlic Bread Day?

Good times ahead. There just have to be.

She already takes a class two mornings a week and she now sits cooporatively on a rug (preferably on the letter Y) and often before bed says to me Teacher. Class. Teacher. Class.
Jump!

She is ready.

Love that girl.
Love her.

Yes Girl.

Lily needs new PJs so online I went. I spent way too much time scrolling over various pairs with designs ranging from owls on branches to ones saying "Daddy's Flower Girl" and "Mom & Dad Love Me" but the one that got me was the pair that cheerfully said "Life is Sweet". I have never, in my adult life, been a fan of message tees and even more so for my daughter. I think she'd want world peace and I do think she loves laughter, love and rock n'roll but having a shirt that says those things seems a bit contrived. She's nineteen months. There will be a time when she can pick them out for herself and that will be her choice, her message, her "thing". But I linger on the clothes with messages that I'm not sure I agree with. They're designed in a moment of commercial whimsy, not profound prophetic spread-the-word intention. But I (and perhaps this is why I never did well on the SATs) tend to read too much into things and get caught up in what it all means. "Life is Sweet" being one of those.
And is it?
In many ways, life is sweet. Or rather, there are sweet things in life.
But that wouldn't sound cute on a pair of pajamas.

There Are Sweet Things in Life.

Hmm.
Not the same ring.
Not the same thing.

Knowing Alan was and is sweet. Sharing parenthood with my dearest friends and my brother is sweet. Lily is the sweetest being. Watching her holding hands, walking and sitting on stoops with her friend Jake is sweet. Hearing her say "I need strawberries" is sweet. Her pride in putting on her own band-aid is sweet. Seeing her at dusk this evening running barefoot down a dirt path, her friend Chloe at her heels was sweet.

But other things like war and cancer and death and poverty and the long long list of life's injustices, not so.

Ahh life.

Alan would never have said life is sweet. He enjoyed much of it but I don't think he ever would have subscribed to that notion. Hence his shirt toting the title of his favorite show, Curb Your Enthusiasm. Our approaches were different but I loved Alan's dry wit and wry take on life. There is much I love in life and I'm not afraid to immerse myself in it. Generally. Although finding my way back into life, post 7/5/08, remains a challenge of epic proportions.

Lily, thankfully, has no intention of curbing her anything.

She is a yes girl. She says it often now. Indescriminately, but I love it.
She is a do-er. A true lifer.
Drunk with life daily.


For now I think I'll stick to owls on branches, but I love Lily showing me how it's done.

Today. 09/08/07.

Today is our anniversary. Three years.
Just this morning Lily was identifying family members in wedding photos that I have framed and she noticed one was of Alan and Tio and Tia and Alan's friends in a subway station. Dubway? Choo choo dubway? Dubway. She is making so many connections and identifying everything in the world around her so she was ecstatic to see them in tuxes at the 102nd Street station. It was a very warm day, not unlike today, and Alan in his usual fashion insisted they'd train it to the Gatehouse, a landmark building in Harlem that had been around for decades but was hosting it's first wedding ever, for us. It was the happiest day of our lives, even Alan in his modesty was calmly excited - he had his Marx Brothers cuff links on and had made an impressive recovery from back surgery and some radiation treatments just a month and a half earlier. He danced, he played guitar and he sang. Just this one time, Alan stepped into the limelight and I'm so glad he did. It was an evening to remember.
Amazing friends and family and food and music. Love all around.

So much has happened since then and just yesterday I was reflecting on how difficult life continues to be. I have never felt so alone, isolated, and disoriented. And there is nothing anyone can do, it is internal scarring that keeps me at sea, no longer treading water but feeling as though I don't belong to any shore. My concrete world is life with Lily - she grounds me and fills me with warmth and unfettered happiness. But when I am not with her, I am lost. It is an agonizing feeling. So painful and so dull all at the same time. Two years out and I can do so much more, function so much more ably, but the disconnect is frightening. And I wonder if it will ever change. Missing Alan is excruciating, still. Just the other night as I read to Lily at bedtime I found myself looking down at us just as I hope Alan does. We were giggling, Lily was impressing me with her ability to identify pine cones, frogs, leaves, feathers and acorns in a favorite story and it was a bright and beautiful moment. I hope he saw it, and was able to see how happy we are together but also know how painful it is for me to not have him there in bed with us to complete the picture. He belongs with us.
We all belong together.

August and everything after.

Lily and I recently journeyed to the my old home in Marin for a good, much needed dose of fresh air and outdoor quiet. She waded in a creek, tasted a wet rock, had her first burrito, and met one of her dad's favorite dogs of all time, Harpo. I wondered if maybe Lily smelled like her dad - if it was a smell Harpo recognized. Curious.

Hoppo? Doggie? Baby?
Hoppo? Doggie? Baby?
Hoppo. Doggie. Baby.
Baby-O. Baby-O!

Her sitter asked yesterday what Hoppo meant.
She also met Baby Henry (who was overshadowed by Harpo's licks), she was doted on by big girls, fed ice cream and cheese puffs by her cousins, raged at a 1st birthday party for a "baby" Maddy, who in truth is just 5 months younger than Lily - but put up very well with Lily's older persona. (And hijacking of barely unwrapped toys). She watered plants with her Jiji, had her first dim sum with her grandpa, and ate mac n'cheese - natchee, she calls it,(From 8am on, I might add)for almost 10 days straight. She acquired two more hand me down babies who have now been strolled, chewed, kissed, fed cheddar bunnies, and stripped of their clothes. New words are teacher, happy, shoe (jew), elbow, rinse, whoah!, wow! and an abridged version of octopus. She has graduated to one nap a day, has attempted multiple climbs out of her crib and will now only eat meals in her little chair, positioned at the coffee table - so that our once white shag rug is now the receptor for couscous (goosgoos) and strawberries that never made it to their destination. And she insists on laps around the room between bites and I am a tired mama trying to remember she is still just a babe.

We SIT when we eat, Lily.
No Lily, sit please.
Lily?! Please come back.
No Lily, no keys until you finish eating.
Lily, I don't think Baby wants couscous.
OK. That's nice. Come sit Lily. Sit Lily, please. Sit with Mama.

And
so
on.

She will not give up her three daily bottles and refuses milk in any other container. If it isn't the way she wants it she indignantly hands it back to me or she casually knocks the milk sippy cup off the table out of her site. She is happy without milk but she has a jones for the baba. Milk in a box? No. Milk in a cool new cup? No. She doesn't really even engage in the debate. Baba or bust.

WOW. Which battles to choose.

In the tub she likes to wash her hands repeatedly ("watch, watch, watch")and she will forever attempt a sip of soapy wawa. She also tries to blow bubbles a good few inches above the water's surface. A few inhalations, in the water, have set us back a bit...

And so she grows.
And learns.
And explores.
And defines herself.

Nearing 18 months, going on 12 years.

Nothing slows our girl down, not even 95 degree heat with a heavy dose of humidity. Ahh August. But Summer is full of long days, sprinklers and fun, so it's a season I never like to leave - and Lily seems to grow in the sunlight.
But Fall? It will be welcome, whenever it comes.

So long, Papi.

July kept up it's reputation for being a difficult month. Alan's dad, Lily's grandfather, my father-in-law passed away after a rough bout with complications related to cancer treatment. Another link to Alan lost, another man in our family, lost, a relative who Lily loved and loved her back, lost. I think I always comforted myself when Alan passed by imagining special moments in her life when she'd be accompanied by other immediate family members. And Papi, was to be her soccer coach, and a part of her entourage during her first days of school among countless other events I look forward to witnessing. Just recently the two shared mashed potatoes and laughs together at a diner and shortly before that, she had mastered his name. She would often say it so many times I'd have to call him so she could demonstrate her developing communication skills. But now, he's in our hearts and memories and photos. How I wish he could have seen Lily grow up just a bit more.

The other night while we were in California, Lily awoke about 3am, inconsolable, and ended up in bed with me for a bit. It's strange how you can lie in bed next to someone in the dark and hear them thinking. And I could tell, despite Lily's stillness, that she was quietly awake.

Mama. She whispered.

Yes Lily. I whispered back.

Papi.

Yes baby. We love Papi, and Papi loves Lily.

Silence.

Later that night as I was carrying her back to her crib she said in her dreamy voice, Tio.

Yes Lily. Tio loves Lily too. We'll see him soon.

Thankfully Lily has two uncles in her life who love her, and her Tio Robert sees her often. He is our last male link to Alan and Alan's roots and I cherish the connection the two of them have. I just wish. I just wish Alan and Gary could be here too - so that we could really feel whole as a family. Lily loves men. She does. It's the most interesting thing - I often wonder if it's because of the absence of them in our everyday life or if it's just a girl/boy developmental thing. But Lily has a habit of stalking sunbathing men in the park, waving to them on the subway, and charming them in restaurants. She is a consummate flirt when it comes to men. While out in California, she called for Dada many times. She saw a man that could have been Alan and called him dada and then one morning as she ran down the halls heading out to the pool where my brother was - again, Dadaaaaa, Dadaaaaa.... She looks for the man she has seen in so many photos and heard so much about.

How painful it is to witness the ends of lives. It is new loss combined with old loss - so much comes up to fester old wounds.

Tonight. Tomorrow.

This weekend two years ago was the worst I've ever endured. Lily was just a glimmer of hope. Life was beyond grim. It was as though I was waiting for the world to come to an end. And shortly after, much of my world, did. I look back, reluctantly, and see the dismal fog we were in. Hospice is honest, and raw and yet surreal - some families practically move in with their loved ones - as we did. But the shock and dismay to find yourself there is overwhelming, it tears your heart asunder, your emotions and awareness are heightened and yet part of you is rendered numb. I tried so hard to be everpresent during Alan's last days - I wanted to live with him through every unbearable last moment, to savor and relish in the lucid moments that Alan managed to muster up... He was so beautiful and brave and generous.

And then he was gone. Just like that, he gave in, or his body did. As he/it should have. No one deserves the unfairness that terminally ill patients endure. And Alan left behind with me the most remarkable little being. Knowing Lily now, I understand how she survived his passing and my grief - she is intensely determined, and tough as nails. Soft on the inside but Teflon in demeanor. She is willful and impassioned -Just today we went with friends and family to her first concert and she flitted among the crowd, ingratiating herself to every parent and child she could. She had no time for stillness, too busy, had to take in the music, the rocks and sticks and grass, and was all smiles in 95 degree heat.

I am trying to make this weekend a happy one again, and Lily Alan certainly provides the most wonderful incentive - but it is an effort to block out certain sights and sounds and despite the sadness they bring, I don't ever want to forget anything about the life I shared with Alan. So it is a balancing act. But the joy that Lily brings to the world, with her Eskimo kisses, expanding vocabulary, insatiable curiosity and dance moves is wonderful. She helps to keep all of Alan very much alive, much of him shines through her in behaviour and much of what she exhibits is different and new. I pray he can see her as she blossoms, today she was all Puck - free, whimsical, sneaky and endearing.

Now we are home - Lily is fast asleep. Fireworks rumbling in the distance... Thankfully, I stumbled upon one of Alan's all time favorite movies playing on TV, Coppola's "The Conversation" with Gene Hackman. I remember watching it with him, as he pointed out directorial decisions and artful moments - he loved movies such as this one - classic casts and genius directors. Good solid acting - he knew every shot, every scene, he had a keen understanding of what made an effective editor and to this day I so wish he had gotten a chance to work on something that he would deem monumental. But I hope he understood how powerfully he touched the lives of all the people who's paths he crossed, and that the life he led was full indeed. Cut short way too soon but he left his mark in so many ways. I'm so grateful for the time we shared together and with others we loved ~ Now with Lily here we'll just keep living and loving and celebrating who he was and what he gave us to carry on.