There is so much I miss about living with my other half. I will always long for Alan, but the hollowness that once was unbearable, is much more "manageable" now. Still present, but not crippling, freshly filled up with love for our girl. Holidays are especially hard because of the hype, but really, everyday has monumental challenges. I wish we could parent together.
The days leading up to Mother's Day, usually filled with uneasy yet hopeful anticipation, this time around, were joyful. I love hearing Lily's upbeat chatter as I near the front door and her elated footsteps as she sprints to greet me. This week, numerous freshly crafted cards awaited me. She opened them for me, excitement not to be contained, my favorite envelope decorated with band-aids.
Her artistic choices never fail to charm me.
The best came Saturday night as I was closing the door at bedtime.
Thank you Mama. Happy Mother's Day.
Did she really just say that?!
I love being a mom.
Even if the thank you came after two attempts to avoid sleep - one "potty ploy" and the other "Mama, wanna talk to you."
I will always wish Alan could spend days with us, special or otherwise. I think this year they would have gotten bagels for the occasion, and banged away in the kitchen together concocting some sort of fruit smoothie. Alan was a noisy cook and proud of his culinary inventions. Gratefully, friends included us in their Sunday plans and we both had a beautiful morning. I got many flowers and messages from friends and family.
I was reminded that Alan has tremendous back-up covering for him.
He manages to take care of us from all around.
He must have been trailing Lily in the park as she gleefully ran in every direction except our destination, keeping an eye on her when she repeatedly abandoned her scooter to chase squirrels and birds with spontaneous delight. I was the mother, barely keeping up - juggling stroller and scooter as I chased after her, calling her by her first and middle names for impact, an homage to my parents.
I love her name and to hear her dad's aloud as part of it.
Alas, no response from my escape artist. My free bird.
She was retrieved by friends.
But that is the nature of childhood, and this Mother's Day the best gift was seeing how happy she is.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Root and Rise.
Sometimes I'm afraid to stop. Really stop. But this morning I treated myself to my first yoga class in three years (not counting the ones with Lily within).
I managed.
I was graced with some peaceful prep in Jamaica just last week. Lily, my mom and I spent a week on the beach. Digging in the sand, resting in the sun, and swaying to "real" music as Lily called it. Live music. Music that floated weightlessly through the air heavy with heat.
It sounded good.
And it didn't hurt... so much.
Only when Otis Redding's "Dock of the Bay" was piped into the bar.
But that was on day one, and I know it was Alan joining us, to watch his girl flit among the candles and plantain chips, stopping only for the occasional sip of sparkle water.
And in the downtime, as Lily drifted through four hour naps with a sitter watching over her, I sat in the shade, dipped in the ocean, and cleared my mind of most things. I felt quiet within and peace all around me.
It was a relief.
Alone time with no distraction can be daunting, but this time the sadness didn't prevail. Melancholy still hovers and the sadness is always there, but last week I didn't feel so... broken. Perhaps it's that I felt a bit more rested, maybe it's because I heard news that two books I've written for Lily (and others in her shoes) have found a home with a publisher. Whatever it was, I actually felt good.
Feels good to feel good.
So today as I breathed in and breathed out to the theme of "harmonious expansion" I felt like I was finding a place for myself in this world again. Taking a bit of space back - filling in my own footprints again. I keep seeing Lily with her watering can, recklessly pouring the ocean into her beach molds and sandprints and that's how it felt.
Filling up again.
I was never not here, but over the last few years I have been lover, caregiver and now nurturer. I resent none of it, but you have to take the back seat when other lives are leaning on you.
You just do.
And I know I have the love and strength to do so.
I will always be that tree, deeply rooted and there for those who need an extra stronghold - but today it felt nice to reach up into the air and to reclaim some space around me.
I managed.
I was graced with some peaceful prep in Jamaica just last week. Lily, my mom and I spent a week on the beach. Digging in the sand, resting in the sun, and swaying to "real" music as Lily called it. Live music. Music that floated weightlessly through the air heavy with heat.
It sounded good.
And it didn't hurt... so much.
Only when Otis Redding's "Dock of the Bay" was piped into the bar.
But that was on day one, and I know it was Alan joining us, to watch his girl flit among the candles and plantain chips, stopping only for the occasional sip of sparkle water.
And in the downtime, as Lily drifted through four hour naps with a sitter watching over her, I sat in the shade, dipped in the ocean, and cleared my mind of most things. I felt quiet within and peace all around me.
It was a relief.
Alone time with no distraction can be daunting, but this time the sadness didn't prevail. Melancholy still hovers and the sadness is always there, but last week I didn't feel so... broken. Perhaps it's that I felt a bit more rested, maybe it's because I heard news that two books I've written for Lily (and others in her shoes) have found a home with a publisher. Whatever it was, I actually felt good.
Feels good to feel good.
So today as I breathed in and breathed out to the theme of "harmonious expansion" I felt like I was finding a place for myself in this world again. Taking a bit of space back - filling in my own footprints again. I keep seeing Lily with her watering can, recklessly pouring the ocean into her beach molds and sandprints and that's how it felt.
Filling up again.
I was never not here, but over the last few years I have been lover, caregiver and now nurturer. I resent none of it, but you have to take the back seat when other lives are leaning on you.
You just do.
And I know I have the love and strength to do so.
I will always be that tree, deeply rooted and there for those who need an extra stronghold - but today it felt nice to reach up into the air and to reclaim some space around me.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Giant Step.
Confronted regularly now, and consumed by Lily's persistent inquiries after her dad I summoned up the emotional strength to meet with a professional who has extensive experience with children who have endured loss. It was a challenging yet empowering moment - I have been anticipating these conversations with Lily for some time and thus far, have handled them thoughtfully; but I wanted to make sure the language, and concepts, were appropriate for a two year old.
A precocious two year old with a huge heart, and insatiable curiosity.
The therapist's thoughts were comforting and blunt, truthful and bold.
Honesty, she said was the best, even at an early age.
I just say he died? I asked.
Yes.
Dada died. He got very very sick, not a sickness like what you or I get when we go to the doctor, but a different kind of sickness. One where medicine doesn't work, and his body stopped working.
His body stopped working - the note I wrote down.
His body stopped working.
Note to self, his body stopped working.
Sigh........
Tears.
Deep breath.
Okaaaay... So that's what I say? Just like that?
Yes. This will be a long process for her and over the years she'll begin to understand more and more and you can elaborate appropriately. For now she'll take in only what she can handle and she may ask over and over again. She won't understand much of it, but it's a beginning. Some day you'll say he had a disease called cancer, but you'll reassure her that most people die when they're very, very old.
A beginning.
I created her dad for her and now I must take him away.
And her Papi too, who passed away last summer.
Who she knew and paints for frequently.
I have never misled her and always told her we can't and won't see them, but "died" took it to a whole new level. Perhaps more so, for me.
I wonder if I should have mailed Lily's valentine to Alan.
She made him one, I mailed it.
I did.
The address just said Dada.
And I put it in the box on my way to work.
Sure enough, 6:34 the next morning, from the crib, she asked.
Wanna see Dada.
Wanna see Dada on Sunday. (Weekdays now a large part of our vocabulary, in no particular order)
Sitting up in bed, with a cheery voice I said, He died, Pumpkin.
Dada died. And I gave her the scripted explanation.
She gazed toward the window, processing the information.
Dada died, she said.
And then she asked again.
I repeated myself.
She asked about Papi.
Same thing.
Two deaths, one morning.
But it went OK. I said we can look at pictures of them and talk about them.
That is always a nice idea to her. We do that a lot. A comfort to me too.
And it was OK.
On to talk about the day ahead.
I had told the therapist re. heaven that I believe in a more Buddhist approach - that Alan is everywhere - in our hearts, in the nature all around us, in the fiber of her being.
That his spirit is everywhere.
Can I say that?
Sure she said.
Dada's spirit is still with us. Within us. Around us.
She'll take in what she can.
And so she did.
One large step forward, with Alan by our sides.
A precocious two year old with a huge heart, and insatiable curiosity.
The therapist's thoughts were comforting and blunt, truthful and bold.
Honesty, she said was the best, even at an early age.
I just say he died? I asked.
Yes.
Dada died. He got very very sick, not a sickness like what you or I get when we go to the doctor, but a different kind of sickness. One where medicine doesn't work, and his body stopped working.
His body stopped working - the note I wrote down.
His body stopped working.
Note to self, his body stopped working.
Sigh........
Tears.
Deep breath.
Okaaaay... So that's what I say? Just like that?
Yes. This will be a long process for her and over the years she'll begin to understand more and more and you can elaborate appropriately. For now she'll take in only what she can handle and she may ask over and over again. She won't understand much of it, but it's a beginning. Some day you'll say he had a disease called cancer, but you'll reassure her that most people die when they're very, very old.
A beginning.
I created her dad for her and now I must take him away.
And her Papi too, who passed away last summer.
Who she knew and paints for frequently.
I have never misled her and always told her we can't and won't see them, but "died" took it to a whole new level. Perhaps more so, for me.
I wonder if I should have mailed Lily's valentine to Alan.
She made him one, I mailed it.
I did.
The address just said Dada.
And I put it in the box on my way to work.
Sure enough, 6:34 the next morning, from the crib, she asked.
Wanna see Dada.
Wanna see Dada on Sunday. (Weekdays now a large part of our vocabulary, in no particular order)
Sitting up in bed, with a cheery voice I said, He died, Pumpkin.
Dada died. And I gave her the scripted explanation.
She gazed toward the window, processing the information.
Dada died, she said.
And then she asked again.
I repeated myself.
She asked about Papi.
Same thing.
Two deaths, one morning.
But it went OK. I said we can look at pictures of them and talk about them.
That is always a nice idea to her. We do that a lot. A comfort to me too.
And it was OK.
On to talk about the day ahead.
I had told the therapist re. heaven that I believe in a more Buddhist approach - that Alan is everywhere - in our hearts, in the nature all around us, in the fiber of her being.
That his spirit is everywhere.
Can I say that?
Sure she said.
Dada's spirit is still with us. Within us. Around us.
She'll take in what she can.
And so she did.
One large step forward, with Alan by our sides.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Wait. What? (for real?)
Confession. After watching an episode of Downton Abbey, I stumbled on a reality show about a woman who I think guides soon-to-be-parents through pregnancy prep. All I caught was one couple who felt as though the arrival of their child was doomsday and were in denial of the the wife's largess and then another couple who HAD A FOCUS GROUP to evaluate names for their child.
Come ON.
OK. Yes, it's a reality show (in NYC) and as "real" as they are they're scripted and staged to the nines so perhaps the couple was roped into this idea.
I hope they were.
I hope they were horrified by the idea but wanted to help a desperate producer/friend out. Because it was... Appalling.
Perhaps I'm bitter.
No... No. No. Not over that.
Who leaves a name, that will carry one through life, up to strangers? The last thing I wanted to know was how strangers might feel about our names. One bad association and it's engrained in you forever. Then you can't use it.
Miffed.
Alan and I chose names from a hospital bed. And the best ones had been mulled over for years. We had options for a girl, a boy, two girls, two boys, a girl and a boy, and triplets.
The twins, Alan decided, George and Gracie.
The triplets? Larry, Curly, Mo.
And no, it wasn't the Fentanyl, or morphine talking.
Lily Alan's dad at his finest.
But I am envious of partners who got to plan their entrance into parenthood together. My pregnancy was pretty dark, with dashes of sunlight. There were family members and friends that wanted to be a part of it - wanted to share it with me - and they did. To an extent. But I didn't want anyone but Alan.
I wanted my husband. I wanted the father. I wanted him.
Here.
And I had a minor complication with the pregnancy so nothing seemed like a done deal. I just wanted to get to the finish during what should have been a joyful sabbatical from everyday life. Deep down I was overjoyed at the prospect of our child but it was hard to balance the tangible, death, with the intangible - life-on-the-way.
Life Saver on the way.
Lily was my lighthouse and all I wanted was a healthy child.
So the bitterness? It's more about fortunate people who don't know how good they have it.
Pregnant?
Buck up, you got yourself there.
With ease.
And you probably had fun too.
No needles, hormones, ice-packs. Chemo.
So don't whine about how you can't deal with baby-proofing, where your "you time" is going, or the over-tanned man who doesn't like the name... Bowen. Jesus.
Bowen?!
(See? Good thing they don't know me.)
Is this really what some lose sleep over?
Lucky people. Lucky kids.
Life.
You get a life out of this.
Period.
Rant... Over.
Come ON.
OK. Yes, it's a reality show (in NYC) and as "real" as they are they're scripted and staged to the nines so perhaps the couple was roped into this idea.
I hope they were.
I hope they were horrified by the idea but wanted to help a desperate producer/friend out. Because it was... Appalling.
Perhaps I'm bitter.
No... No. No. Not over that.
Who leaves a name, that will carry one through life, up to strangers? The last thing I wanted to know was how strangers might feel about our names. One bad association and it's engrained in you forever. Then you can't use it.
Miffed.
Alan and I chose names from a hospital bed. And the best ones had been mulled over for years. We had options for a girl, a boy, two girls, two boys, a girl and a boy, and triplets.
The twins, Alan decided, George and Gracie.
The triplets? Larry, Curly, Mo.
And no, it wasn't the Fentanyl, or morphine talking.
Lily Alan's dad at his finest.
But I am envious of partners who got to plan their entrance into parenthood together. My pregnancy was pretty dark, with dashes of sunlight. There were family members and friends that wanted to be a part of it - wanted to share it with me - and they did. To an extent. But I didn't want anyone but Alan.
I wanted my husband. I wanted the father. I wanted him.
Here.
And I had a minor complication with the pregnancy so nothing seemed like a done deal. I just wanted to get to the finish during what should have been a joyful sabbatical from everyday life. Deep down I was overjoyed at the prospect of our child but it was hard to balance the tangible, death, with the intangible - life-on-the-way.
Life Saver on the way.
Lily was my lighthouse and all I wanted was a healthy child.
So the bitterness? It's more about fortunate people who don't know how good they have it.
Pregnant?
Buck up, you got yourself there.
With ease.
And you probably had fun too.
No needles, hormones, ice-packs. Chemo.
So don't whine about how you can't deal with baby-proofing, where your "you time" is going, or the over-tanned man who doesn't like the name... Bowen. Jesus.
Bowen?!
(See? Good thing they don't know me.)
Is this really what some lose sleep over?
Lucky people. Lucky kids.
Life.
You get a life out of this.
Period.
Rant... Over.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Alan Around.
Lily turned two at the end of February and I recently found myself thinking about how her actual birthday celebration didn't break me down emotionally as it might have. And I marveled at how I pulled through it with such joy. And then I remembered a moment during the party in which I did find myself in a bubble - looking out at the families around us - moms and dads doting on their kids - feeding them pizza and cupcakes - snapshots of what the two of us are but also what we might have been.
Had we been three.
It was then as I was kneeling next to Lily, perched at the head of her long long table, that I whispered my gratitude for her in her ear and told her how much she is loved by me and her dad and everyone that was there. It was a fleeting moment but one that the two of us shared.
I am grateful that she is such a happy little person, and that our lives are graced by so many old and new friends and family members. It is beautiful to watch her forge friendships - I love hearing her yell to a friend across a room or playground to come swing with her, to come jump with her - I love to hear her exclaim to her teacher "look at me!!" when she and I are dancing together in a class, or to a neighbor as we gallop down our hallway, to her Tio and Tia as they enter a room or to her Granny when she has something to show her. "Do it!!" she'll say to a friend if she wants them to experience the joy of a party blower, or if she wants you to repeat something you've done that she finds hilarious.
She lives life with the transparency of a two year old.
Confident, shy, ebullient, skeptical.
I hope Alan can see how she's evolving into a little girl. No matter how she and I go about our daily lives together, not an hour goes by that he isn't in my thoughts. In our thoughts, as Lily mentions him too. Often.
I want to ride a bus with Dada.
Dada come to Lily's house.
I wanna go there with Mama and Dada (pointing to a picture of me and Alan in Yankees Stadium).
I never want anyone to forget Alan. In snippets I introduce Lily to him every day. Yet every day as she grows closer to him in knowledge, his physical presence here, is one day further away.
But within the last month I was reminded by two different people - how Alan is remembered. And those moments were the best gifts I could ever receive. One acquaintance who had only mingled with Alan at occasional parties commented to me how she remembered his quiet, ever observational presence, his sweet unassuming demeanor; and a dearer friend mentioned to me that Alan had been on his mind a lot last week and proceeded to reflect on Alan's character in so many nice ways.
Then he launched into his disdain for the overly commercial new Yankee Stadium.
And another friend joined in about the scoreboard crowded with logos, & barely visible scores.
Alan was chiming in from above. Nodding his head.
Spitting out sunflower shells as he did.
I know it.
I heard him. I could see him.
Unexpected, heart-stopping, gifts.
I love to talk and to hear about Alan.
Moments like those help to reassure me that his presence is very much alive.
Yes, he's gone, but he's still here.
And Lily will know him.
Through herself, through me, and through the eyes of others.
Had we been three.
It was then as I was kneeling next to Lily, perched at the head of her long long table, that I whispered my gratitude for her in her ear and told her how much she is loved by me and her dad and everyone that was there. It was a fleeting moment but one that the two of us shared.
I am grateful that she is such a happy little person, and that our lives are graced by so many old and new friends and family members. It is beautiful to watch her forge friendships - I love hearing her yell to a friend across a room or playground to come swing with her, to come jump with her - I love to hear her exclaim to her teacher "look at me!!" when she and I are dancing together in a class, or to a neighbor as we gallop down our hallway, to her Tio and Tia as they enter a room or to her Granny when she has something to show her. "Do it!!" she'll say to a friend if she wants them to experience the joy of a party blower, or if she wants you to repeat something you've done that she finds hilarious.
She lives life with the transparency of a two year old.
Confident, shy, ebullient, skeptical.
I hope Alan can see how she's evolving into a little girl. No matter how she and I go about our daily lives together, not an hour goes by that he isn't in my thoughts. In our thoughts, as Lily mentions him too. Often.
I want to ride a bus with Dada.
Dada come to Lily's house.
I wanna go there with Mama and Dada (pointing to a picture of me and Alan in Yankees Stadium).
I never want anyone to forget Alan. In snippets I introduce Lily to him every day. Yet every day as she grows closer to him in knowledge, his physical presence here, is one day further away.
But within the last month I was reminded by two different people - how Alan is remembered. And those moments were the best gifts I could ever receive. One acquaintance who had only mingled with Alan at occasional parties commented to me how she remembered his quiet, ever observational presence, his sweet unassuming demeanor; and a dearer friend mentioned to me that Alan had been on his mind a lot last week and proceeded to reflect on Alan's character in so many nice ways.
Then he launched into his disdain for the overly commercial new Yankee Stadium.
And another friend joined in about the scoreboard crowded with logos, & barely visible scores.
Alan was chiming in from above. Nodding his head.
Spitting out sunflower shells as he did.
I know it.
I heard him. I could see him.
Unexpected, heart-stopping, gifts.
I love to talk and to hear about Alan.
Moments like those help to reassure me that his presence is very much alive.
Yes, he's gone, but he's still here.
And Lily will know him.
Through herself, through me, and through the eyes of others.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Word Girl. (Conversations)
Lily has her mama's gift of gab.
Chatty Cathy her dad would have called her.
She has a good ear. And mind.
Her language is colored with imagination, her observations wonderfully specific.
A recent snippet overheard with her animals and dolls went like this:
No. No. Listen. Listen. So ummmm... You have a jacket? Go to museum? See butterflies and dinosaurs? OK. Let's go. Let's go.
Recent responses/interactions with her include:
Oh, just playing.
No thank you, I'm just fine with my water.
C'mon Sister, let's go to the airport. (OK pumpkin,where is it?)
On Broadway.
I have my wallet to go to Whole Foods.
And on a recent sunny daytrip to the park, as she gazed up at the sky:
The moon is smiling.
A recent phone conversation:
Hi Mama! How are you?
I'm fine pumpkin! How are you? Are you having fun?
Yes. Had a lollipop!!!!
Oh! Was it yummy?
Yeah. We need playdough.
OK, I'll get some more.
Jake and Jojo coming over!
Oh great! Are you going to share toys with Jake?
Yeah. Lily's toys...
Favorite expressions that emerged before her second birthday: "I just love it." "I'll be right back!" "Just one minute" "Just two seconds" "Just ONE second".
"Hmmm. Where could it be?". "It's lost. It's lost. It's lost."
And at her two year check-up with the doctor:
C'mon Mama, let's go.
At a party this weekend, which was probably my first in about three years, conversation was amusing on a... different level.
The best of the best coming from a guy I once dated.
So... How's married life treating you?
My friend Sam and I had a good laugh later as only dear friends and fellow widows/widowers can do with me. We contemplated responses.
Hmmmmmm. Not so good... Not so good.
Not
so
good.
Even Alan would have laughed.
Maybe he did. Somewhere.
Sitting on the bright yellow larger-than-life moon that night.
Instead, surprised but not taken aback by his not knowing,I responded,
"Actually I'm widowed."
Oh... Sorry... He says fumbling awkwardly. Actually, pathetically.
"Yes. He passed away almost three years ago. Well, two and a half years ago."
He's still stuttering feebly, looking at his feet. (How old are we now?)
Helping him out, "But I have an awesome two year old girl, and she's the best."
STILL mumbling and shuffling, staring at his drink muttering Oh. Wow....
I had to walk off. I couldn't bare his uneasiness. I felt bad for him.
What's wrong with that picture... I gave him a break.
Went to the food table. Couldn't handle his not being able to handle.
Baba ghanoush was good.
Wow is right.
I did get to a party. And I spoke to adults.
Grown-ups we call them.
A challenging first but I think I did just fine.
But nothing beats talking with my two year old.
Chatty Cathy her dad would have called her.
She has a good ear. And mind.
Her language is colored with imagination, her observations wonderfully specific.
A recent snippet overheard with her animals and dolls went like this:
No. No. Listen. Listen. So ummmm... You have a jacket? Go to museum? See butterflies and dinosaurs? OK. Let's go. Let's go.
Recent responses/interactions with her include:
Oh, just playing.
No thank you, I'm just fine with my water.
C'mon Sister, let's go to the airport. (OK pumpkin,where is it?)
On Broadway.
I have my wallet to go to Whole Foods.
And on a recent sunny daytrip to the park, as she gazed up at the sky:
The moon is smiling.
A recent phone conversation:
Hi Mama! How are you?
I'm fine pumpkin! How are you? Are you having fun?
Yes. Had a lollipop!!!!
Oh! Was it yummy?
Yeah. We need playdough.
OK, I'll get some more.
Jake and Jojo coming over!
Oh great! Are you going to share toys with Jake?
Yeah. Lily's toys...
Favorite expressions that emerged before her second birthday: "I just love it." "I'll be right back!" "Just one minute" "Just two seconds" "Just ONE second".
"Hmmm. Where could it be?". "It's lost. It's lost. It's lost."
And at her two year check-up with the doctor:
C'mon Mama, let's go.
At a party this weekend, which was probably my first in about three years, conversation was amusing on a... different level.
The best of the best coming from a guy I once dated.
So... How's married life treating you?
My friend Sam and I had a good laugh later as only dear friends and fellow widows/widowers can do with me. We contemplated responses.
Hmmmmmm. Not so good... Not so good.
Not
so
good.
Even Alan would have laughed.
Maybe he did. Somewhere.
Sitting on the bright yellow larger-than-life moon that night.
Instead, surprised but not taken aback by his not knowing,I responded,
"Actually I'm widowed."
Oh... Sorry... He says fumbling awkwardly. Actually, pathetically.
"Yes. He passed away almost three years ago. Well, two and a half years ago."
He's still stuttering feebly, looking at his feet. (How old are we now?)
Helping him out, "But I have an awesome two year old girl, and she's the best."
STILL mumbling and shuffling, staring at his drink muttering Oh. Wow....
I had to walk off. I couldn't bare his uneasiness. I felt bad for him.
What's wrong with that picture... I gave him a break.
Went to the food table. Couldn't handle his not being able to handle.
Baba ghanoush was good.
Wow is right.
I did get to a party. And I spoke to adults.
Grown-ups we call them.
A challenging first but I think I did just fine.
But nothing beats talking with my two year old.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Mama Lost?
A fellow widowed blogger is plotting a move to a foreign country - now that the future she had planned with her man has ... dissolved.
And I am envious.
How I long for a new beginning.
A fresh start.
A chance to re-channel the rest of my, hopefully long, life. Find myself again.
Lily is by no means holding me in place. She is my anchor and my dreamgirl. She helps me to take flight during the hours of a day. Visit imaginary places. Gives me a glimpse at the wondrous future that she will experience. She is a delightful dance partner. And gives me tickets to every place she's visiting. Last night we went on a picnic, to the airport, to Central Park, we sat on a bench. Sometimes we just sit and wait, or watch the images in our minds float by. I follow her lead when it's time to move on. She is a wonderful companion.
The most beautiful reason to live.
Most of me says, "It's her turn now."
It is.
But a tiny part of me says "I'd like another turn too." Turn at what? Not so sure. I'd like a new home, with more space and a chance to cook and entertain with the wedding gifts we never got to enjoy. Sounds unfair and selfish in light of Alan not being here ~ to mix drinks or to torch his excellent Bananas Foster for all to enjoy.
To live.
But what else can I do?
I'd love to love again but that's just a dream. Not sure how to do it anymore. Not sure if I'm capable of it anymore, except for that which I shower on Lily. My love for her knows no bounds. But I am lonely for adult companionship. I am envious of others who go on family vacations, weekend getaways. I am envious of the co-parenters who share responsibility and can let one finish a meal while the other tends to the child. One who can stay home while the other goes out - without watching the clock as the tab runs for a sitter. One who can take the kid to breakfast while the other sleeps in. I know dual parent households have their own constraints with work and multiple kids and infinite exhaustion - but there's still that ability for one to get rest, or alone time sometime. Sometime.
Lily and I could go on a vacation but I am exhausted, so trips that just the two of us embark on are never restful because I don't... rest. I rarely get out at night and if I do, my next morning begins anywhere from 6:15 - 7am. No break. Ever.
Wouldn't use that lounge chair much.
To think I'm finally up early enough to snag the good one with an umbrella on the beach and yet, I'd never use it. Good for drying towels. Diaper changes.
I relish in our time together. But mama needs some breathing room.
A teensy weensy bit of space. Just a little bit.
And one 8am wake-up. "Just One", as Lily says when she lobbies for a lollipop.
Ahh me. How pathetic this all sounds. But it is how I feel,some of the time.
Much of the time.
Bad mama me.
The guilt that comes with that confession. Whew.
And yet, I cannot imagine a Lily-less world. It's an impossibility.
She is my world. She charms the universe.
She hangs the moon for me just like her dad did.
I only know myself through her these days.
But somewhere in there is Susan, Susie, Sus.
I just need to find her again.
And I am envious.
How I long for a new beginning.
A fresh start.
A chance to re-channel the rest of my, hopefully long, life. Find myself again.
Lily is by no means holding me in place. She is my anchor and my dreamgirl. She helps me to take flight during the hours of a day. Visit imaginary places. Gives me a glimpse at the wondrous future that she will experience. She is a delightful dance partner. And gives me tickets to every place she's visiting. Last night we went on a picnic, to the airport, to Central Park, we sat on a bench. Sometimes we just sit and wait, or watch the images in our minds float by. I follow her lead when it's time to move on. She is a wonderful companion.
The most beautiful reason to live.
Most of me says, "It's her turn now."
It is.
But a tiny part of me says "I'd like another turn too." Turn at what? Not so sure. I'd like a new home, with more space and a chance to cook and entertain with the wedding gifts we never got to enjoy. Sounds unfair and selfish in light of Alan not being here ~ to mix drinks or to torch his excellent Bananas Foster for all to enjoy.
To live.
But what else can I do?
I'd love to love again but that's just a dream. Not sure how to do it anymore. Not sure if I'm capable of it anymore, except for that which I shower on Lily. My love for her knows no bounds. But I am lonely for adult companionship. I am envious of others who go on family vacations, weekend getaways. I am envious of the co-parenters who share responsibility and can let one finish a meal while the other tends to the child. One who can stay home while the other goes out - without watching the clock as the tab runs for a sitter. One who can take the kid to breakfast while the other sleeps in. I know dual parent households have their own constraints with work and multiple kids and infinite exhaustion - but there's still that ability for one to get rest, or alone time sometime. Sometime.
Lily and I could go on a vacation but I am exhausted, so trips that just the two of us embark on are never restful because I don't... rest. I rarely get out at night and if I do, my next morning begins anywhere from 6:15 - 7am. No break. Ever.
Wouldn't use that lounge chair much.
To think I'm finally up early enough to snag the good one with an umbrella on the beach and yet, I'd never use it. Good for drying towels. Diaper changes.
I relish in our time together. But mama needs some breathing room.
A teensy weensy bit of space. Just a little bit.
And one 8am wake-up. "Just One", as Lily says when she lobbies for a lollipop.
Ahh me. How pathetic this all sounds. But it is how I feel,some of the time.
Much of the time.
Bad mama me.
The guilt that comes with that confession. Whew.
And yet, I cannot imagine a Lily-less world. It's an impossibility.
She is my world. She charms the universe.
She hangs the moon for me just like her dad did.
I only know myself through her these days.
But somewhere in there is Susan, Susie, Sus.
I just need to find her again.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Ready to Play.
Our girl is almost two. She mentions it to passers by and is perfecting the peace sign with her fingers to indicate her age. To commemorate her milestone she climbed out of her crib last night. Twice. She is a wild child.
A wild flower, rather.
Full of energy and light.
With actions of delicacy and moments of speed.
Just the other night I sighed exhaustedly as I watched my mother chase her through a Vietnamese restaurant.
"Want to say 'Hi'" she says.
"You can say hi to everyone after dinner, Lily".
She then reached for her third pair of chopsticks, which she handles expertly.
Just like her mama.
Except when she's running around restaurants.
Then she's her dada.
A few days ago Lily walked into the livingroom with a baseball card of Don Mattingly.
"Here Mama, Dada."
She had found in one of Alan's drawers a few pages of baseball cards that had been a gift to him during one of his hospital stays. Alan was not Donnie Baseball but he would have ben honored by the comparison. He had many great catches and hits of his own in the playing fields of Central Park. Somehow, Lily managed to pull out the card of his all-time favorite Yankee.
Hi Babe. We miss you. Thanks for the message.
It had to have been a hello from above.
We love you. And Lily has now filled up her purses with the entire collection. She will need a tutorial on all of the players, so when the time is right we will have Uncle Ron, Auntie Jill and Uncle Steve (all longtime friends of ours) come over to give her the details she'll need to follow her dad's footsteps right into the stadium.
I will be on hotdog duty. And sunflower seeds if need be.
Oh to be almost two. So much life ahead of her.
And boy could she run the bases.
A wild flower, rather.
Full of energy and light.
With actions of delicacy and moments of speed.
Just the other night I sighed exhaustedly as I watched my mother chase her through a Vietnamese restaurant.
"Want to say 'Hi'" she says.
"You can say hi to everyone after dinner, Lily".
She then reached for her third pair of chopsticks, which she handles expertly.
Just like her mama.
Except when she's running around restaurants.
Then she's her dada.
A few days ago Lily walked into the livingroom with a baseball card of Don Mattingly.
"Here Mama, Dada."
She had found in one of Alan's drawers a few pages of baseball cards that had been a gift to him during one of his hospital stays. Alan was not Donnie Baseball but he would have ben honored by the comparison. He had many great catches and hits of his own in the playing fields of Central Park. Somehow, Lily managed to pull out the card of his all-time favorite Yankee.
Hi Babe. We miss you. Thanks for the message.
It had to have been a hello from above.
We love you. And Lily has now filled up her purses with the entire collection. She will need a tutorial on all of the players, so when the time is right we will have Uncle Ron, Auntie Jill and Uncle Steve (all longtime friends of ours) come over to give her the details she'll need to follow her dad's footsteps right into the stadium.
I will be on hotdog duty. And sunflower seeds if need be.
Oh to be almost two. So much life ahead of her.
And boy could she run the bases.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Shipmates.
My birthday came and went quietly, celebrated with a few friends and family. I was, as usual, beyond exhausted, and also blue. What can I say, loss lingers.
Forever.
My favorite part of the day was in the morning when Lily climbed into a plastic container and said, "Lily sailing with Dada. Lily sailing with Dada and Mama! Come on Mama, come in boat?" So in I climbed. And off we went. For a couple of beautiful minutes we rode the waves on our yellow carpet and I imagined wind on our faces, all three of us, looking ahead, with nothing but the sound of waves lapping up against our boat.
It felt good, the quiet togetherness.
Lily is very into birthdays these days so she sang to me and other people whose birthdays had passed or were to come. She is very excited for hers which she reminds me, everyday, is "coming up". She also likes to say that presents she sometimes gets are "from Dada". Sigh.
And again, sigh.
I used to tell Alan about how I always loathed February as it was a cold and dreary month and when I was little I had to postpone my party due to pneumonia. I sulked inside my tee-pee on a hand-me-down beanbag chair. He loved that anecdote. When we learned our babe would be due in February he said "Sus, now it'll be a good month!".
He was right. (Yessssss, Alannnnnn. You were right...)
This very cold month has been laced with pretty snowfall and with me resides the prettiest snowflake of all. Lily can brighten any blue period. And her influence is instant. Although this month has had it's struggles - I think we're sailing through just fine.
Forever.
My favorite part of the day was in the morning when Lily climbed into a plastic container and said, "Lily sailing with Dada. Lily sailing with Dada and Mama! Come on Mama, come in boat?" So in I climbed. And off we went. For a couple of beautiful minutes we rode the waves on our yellow carpet and I imagined wind on our faces, all three of us, looking ahead, with nothing but the sound of waves lapping up against our boat.
It felt good, the quiet togetherness.
Lily is very into birthdays these days so she sang to me and other people whose birthdays had passed or were to come. She is very excited for hers which she reminds me, everyday, is "coming up". She also likes to say that presents she sometimes gets are "from Dada". Sigh.
And again, sigh.
I used to tell Alan about how I always loathed February as it was a cold and dreary month and when I was little I had to postpone my party due to pneumonia. I sulked inside my tee-pee on a hand-me-down beanbag chair. He loved that anecdote. When we learned our babe would be due in February he said "Sus, now it'll be a good month!".
He was right. (Yessssss, Alannnnnn. You were right...)
This very cold month has been laced with pretty snowfall and with me resides the prettiest snowflake of all. Lily can brighten any blue period. And her influence is instant. Although this month has had it's struggles - I think we're sailing through just fine.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Comes With Love. A Fairly Easy Lesson.
If you do love someone, with every fiber of your being - whether it be a child or partner - there are things you owe yourself, and them, to do. Alan and I were somewhat prepared, yet many of the crucial issues we addressed in the 11th hour. I am grateful we did, but it was an uncomfortable, sobering scramble and not something you want to deal with when you're savoring a life.
This what I'm talking about:
Wills.
Reconciling bank accounts.
Locating the life insurance policy / finding out if there's one through work - you never know.
Clarifying instructions regarding a DNR/DNI end of life care.
Consulting a lawyer if there will be remaining sperm/eggs/embryos if you did assisted reproduction.
Organ donation.
What you'd like for yourself re. burial/cremation.
Much to contemplate, all of it of dire importance.
Bottom line? Do it. You can handle it.
If you have a spouse, especially if you have a child, if you are employed - or not, get life insurance NOW. Do it. It is painless, you call an insurance broker, they do a brief review of your medical history, send someone to your home to do bloodwork and then they issue you a policy. It is easily implemented and takes less time than the usual procrastination.
Do your DNR/DNI form NOW. You can find basic ones on line, but they are state specific so make sure you find one for where you live (here). Spell out how you want your end of life care whether you're in an accident or struck ill or live until you're 102 like Lily's great grandfather. You owe it to your loved ones who will also be your caregivers to tell them whether or not you want to be on breathing tubes, kept alive if brain-dead, given enough pain-killer to be pain free, put in a hospice facility, taken care of - if possible - at home. Yes, these are heavy, terrifying issues to contemplate but trust me, you will be grateful there is no second guessing/hoping praying you're honoring someones wishes when you cannot communicate with them.
Wills also can be found on line and will need to be notarized. If there will be multiple beneficiaries or if it is going to be complicated, get a lawyer.
List - somewhere safe - all of your bank account numbers, passwords, policy numbers etc... in an place that a loved one knows about. If you find yourself in an untimely, dire situation, try as best you can to transfer or empty all cash bank accounts into the soon to be survivor's name. Name your beneficiaries on ALL of your accounts. Now. Here's the deal. When someone passes on, their accounts technically should be inaccessible and will become what's known as part of "the estate". It may be frozen if there is debt to pay, bills to negotiate, etc... If your loved one's finances are already in your name it allows you to protect some assets or at least have them readily available for immediate needs. Estates can be frozen for MONTHS. There will be bills to pay, funeral expenses, post-mortem taxes to prepare for your loved one, and you may not be psychologically/spiritually able to return to work. I wasn't.
And I was pregnant.
You may need all the financial help you can get.
Do it by February 14th. Is it a Hallmark card? No.
A deep way to show your love? Yes. (And you can do both. Woo hoo!)
When I look at Lily she is the embodiment of all of Alan's love and mine, combined. And everyday I consider her Alan's valentine to me.
She is well worth all of the planning above.
This what I'm talking about:
Wills.
Reconciling bank accounts.
Locating the life insurance policy / finding out if there's one through work - you never know.
Clarifying instructions regarding a DNR/DNI end of life care.
Consulting a lawyer if there will be remaining sperm/eggs/embryos if you did assisted reproduction.
Organ donation.
What you'd like for yourself re. burial/cremation.
Much to contemplate, all of it of dire importance.
Bottom line? Do it. You can handle it.
If you have a spouse, especially if you have a child, if you are employed - or not, get life insurance NOW. Do it. It is painless, you call an insurance broker, they do a brief review of your medical history, send someone to your home to do bloodwork and then they issue you a policy. It is easily implemented and takes less time than the usual procrastination.
Do your DNR/DNI form NOW. You can find basic ones on line, but they are state specific so make sure you find one for where you live (here). Spell out how you want your end of life care whether you're in an accident or struck ill or live until you're 102 like Lily's great grandfather. You owe it to your loved ones who will also be your caregivers to tell them whether or not you want to be on breathing tubes, kept alive if brain-dead, given enough pain-killer to be pain free, put in a hospice facility, taken care of - if possible - at home. Yes, these are heavy, terrifying issues to contemplate but trust me, you will be grateful there is no second guessing/hoping praying you're honoring someones wishes when you cannot communicate with them.
Wills also can be found on line and will need to be notarized. If there will be multiple beneficiaries or if it is going to be complicated, get a lawyer.
List - somewhere safe - all of your bank account numbers, passwords, policy numbers etc... in an place that a loved one knows about. If you find yourself in an untimely, dire situation, try as best you can to transfer or empty all cash bank accounts into the soon to be survivor's name. Name your beneficiaries on ALL of your accounts. Now. Here's the deal. When someone passes on, their accounts technically should be inaccessible and will become what's known as part of "the estate". It may be frozen if there is debt to pay, bills to negotiate, etc... If your loved one's finances are already in your name it allows you to protect some assets or at least have them readily available for immediate needs. Estates can be frozen for MONTHS. There will be bills to pay, funeral expenses, post-mortem taxes to prepare for your loved one, and you may not be psychologically/spiritually able to return to work. I wasn't.
And I was pregnant.
You may need all the financial help you can get.
Do it by February 14th. Is it a Hallmark card? No.
A deep way to show your love? Yes. (And you can do both. Woo hoo!)
When I look at Lily she is the embodiment of all of Alan's love and mine, combined. And everyday I consider her Alan's valentine to me.
She is well worth all of the planning above.
Monday, January 10, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
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.
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.
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