June.

Summer is here.
There is so much about it that I love and look forward to, though its arrival seems to have converged with so much other...
stuff.

Steamy heat in NYC brings everyone out of hibernation. Back we go the the parks, to scurry under sprinklers, shed our layers, relish in the outdoors, sneeze among the trees. All good things. But this weekend, as the indoor isolation thawed, families were everywhere - all on their outings together. Granted, I saw a lot of dad's on the periphery of the sandbox, glued to their cell phones, wishing they were golfing (as one friend aptly put it) but none the less, they were there.
And it's hard to see.
And Father's Day is fast approaching.
And we had a picnic with dear friends where Lily couldn't get enough of her courtesy Uncle Miles - chasing him up and down hills, watching him throw a frisbee, "Miiiiiillllles!! Miiiiiiiiiiles!!", holding onto his finger in the stroller - just like she'd do with her dad.
And this time almost three years ago we were in the hospital desperate for answers, and when one finally came, it was the one no one ever ever ever wants to hear.
And we scattered Alan's dad's ashes this weekend. In a beautiful place.
Alan wasn't there.
And Lily is wearing "big girl panties". Day three.
And learning how to pump her legs on the swings.
And she just climbed the round metal ladder arch all by herself at the playground.
And I just attended her soon-to-be pre-school, her first real school, at a meet and greet.
I think everyone was married. One man asked me if my husband was there. I cheerily chirped "No, I'm widowed". I tried to keep it light. So light that I'm not even sure the words registered to him. Without skipping a beat he told me where his wife was in the room.
Good to know.
There were lots of single parents there, but I think their spouses were all at work.

That's how the world looks to me.

The island of Lily and Sus.

And yet we spent many lovely moments this weekend with our own family and dear friends. But as my therapist reminded me, it doesn't take the loss away.

It's always there.

Thank god for beautiful and loving distraction. Our most caring friends and family.

And sunny days.

While dining at a friend's house on Monday - as Lily and I hung out at the potty - I could hear them put some music on. Seconds later, strains of Mona Lisa and Madhatters, an Alan favorite, wafted into the bathroom. And there we were, me and our girl, smiling at each other, marveling at Lily's "achievements".
And happy we had new good friends in the other room.
The words rang true.

I thank the Lord for the people I have found.

Grateful for such people.
And Lily is just like the mandolin.

Sprinkles beauty over the sadness.