Ohhhhh... Got it.

Had my second parent/teacher conference with Lily's teacher this morning.
Amazing how one conversation (or rather, two words) can clarify so much.

First Adolescence.

Wow.
Like a therapeutic breakthrough.
For me.
Not that things will change, today, but it's as though I was gifted with supporting evidence that
this is Lily's World these days.

No Therefore I Am

is how her teacher described it. Apparently in class she's a great kid, a collaborator, and an imaginative spirit. But at home, while Lily isn't so heavy on the nos these days, she is all about asserting her independence in feisty ways which frustrate this Mama to no end.
Or should I say, exhaust.
And make me wonder, how did I get a teenager at age three?
She is an advanced Selective Listener.
She invites me into her world only to then ask me to go back to wherever I was.
And the I Need Privacy statement is every other request.

Last night she insisted on my not coming into the room while she dressed and washed for bed. Thankfully she washed first, and came into the living room smiling - looking as though she had just been on the Log Ride at Great America.
And the bathroom floor was ... puddled.

Go Mama, I need to get my pjs on.

Banished back to the living room.

And today when I asked what she thought she might want to do with her sitter Juliana this morning -

Go Downtown, she replied.

Pumpkin, I think you guys can stay in the neighborhood this morning.

First Adolescence.

"It's hard for them right now" Her teacher said "They're too old to be babies and too little to be with the big kids - so older kids are bothered by them and yet, that's where they want to fit in"

Made me want to laugh. Sing. Elbow Alan and smile over at him.

Ahhh.
Got
It.

Apologies to Simone and Nolia. It is merely loving worship.

Which doesn't make our battles any easier but I can see my
Renegade Child
more
clearly
now.
Wear the high heels.
Wear the three layers with vest with jacket with ski hat with three necklaces one glove and leggings over tights under layered skirts.
Meet me at the elevator.
Carry your own plate over the white shag rug.
Sing about "California Grass" (just lyrics...)

She insists after bathroom breaks in restaurants on meeting me back at the table.
"I will meet you there, Mama."
Even then, half way there, she'll turn around and freeze me with her hand.
Wait Mama, she commands, mouthing the words from a distance.

And so I do.

The other thing her teacher commented on was Lily's active imagination. She takes it everywhere.
It is one of my most favorite facets of her personality.
Even when she's away from the babies, the office, the kitchen/restaurant or doctor (yes, she now plays doctor) when she's playing with blocks, her buildings are an embellishment of her imaginary world.
The other night I heard her clapping and congratulating James and Jayna for mastering hula hoop floor rolls.
She's got good company, my girl, even when alone.
In Jamaica, when she spotted a far off cruise ship - she began shouting to James.
Come HERE! She yelled repeatedly into the horizon.

He came to shore.

I love my soulful, willful, creative, electric three year teen.

When Lily told me she played Doctor at school,
Oh, I said,
Were you sick Pumpkin?
No Mamaaaaaaaa, she smiled,
We were just pretendin'.

Note to self, just a phase.

And a cool one, at that.

Irie. Yeah. Irie.

Just back from Jamaica.

A yearly pilgrimage made even better this year by my brother and his kids, adding another layer of depth and beauty to a special, special place.

Upon arrival Lily, arms outstretched as though embracing the Round Hill universe, yelled and squealed with joy. She had been anticipating this return since our last visit and let's just say her
soul
responds
readily
to
this
place.

As does mine.

And with her cousins Addison and Simone, it was bliss.
She could hold hands with them on our walks to the beach, aspire to do all they could do in the pool, share burgers with them, paint rocks with them, look for mangos with them, pick flowers, collect shells and dance ~
The list goes on.

Repeated daily for a week.

Grandma in the mix too.
Even better.

And I got to ease into the island state of mind - daily conch fritters with my brother, talks on the shore from chairs planted in shallow water, afternoon teas with family - wet with salt water, and gritty sandy toes.

It is a joy to share parenthood with a sibling.

Bonfire evenings, raw reggae,
and a limbo too.

Lily's first.

Simone rocked it, and Lily surely made her limbo-star-dad proud.
Alan expertly navigated it in his day, even with pins and rods adding roots to his spine, he never lost his bend.
Ever.

Quite proud of his limbo abilities, he was.

Smile.

Good family time.

I am mastering the Irie state of mind, just takes a few days to melt into it.
Most easily practiced looking out over blue waters with enveloping rays and a Red Stripe in hand, kind smiles everywhere and marischino cherries atop every lemon freeze.
Oh.
And children's laughter.
And "Aunt Susie look at this!!!"
And Mom!!! Look what I made!!
And the occasional Ninjago fact courtesy of An Expert.
And the soft jingle of hair beads.
And ceiling fan breezes.

Seaweed became bushes in a sand village, snails were left peacefully in their shells, and the ocean swayed us gently, even when a paddle boat drifted off course.
Cuba's not so far...

Irie.

That's right.

Great
State
Of
Mind.

Better. Spring.

Spring appeared, momentarily, as it seems to do in the East.
A few days of warm thaw, enough to coax the blossoms into their pink and white glory,and then we're all swept away again by intermittent, breezy, brisk,
cold.

It always snows petals this time of year.
How quickly temperament changes.
Within
and
without.

That's how Lily and I have been. Anxious for Spring and Summer.
Enjoying our present but on the lookout for change.
I've not been in a great place; moods mercurial, exhausted mind and body, every morning refueled by Lily's spirit but everworn all the same.

Can I say that?

Everworn.

But just the other day in a fleeting moment of warmth,
under the sun I sat,
eyes closed, angled to the sky and just took it all in.
Felt good to have warmth on my face.
A quick recharge which eased my mind and heart a bit.
Reminded me.
Everything is alright.

And it is.
I just have felt battered.
And wish for a slight reprise.

Over the weekend I went out, saw a friend and his life love play acoustic music and it was reassuring to see their bond - hear their present/future - woven confidently together by gracefully planned, wafting notes.

Just how it should always be.

Good Love.
Love Is Good.

And then he surprised me with a beautiful song, and she delivered it with strength and delicacy.

Unexpected Gift.

Over three years out.

Some wounds never heal.
I've known that and always will.
But friends and love are the best antidote around.

So I will cling to it as a promise and also a reminder that things are, and will continue to get
Better. (Listen here)

Whoa Mama.

May no one that knows me run into me today.
Except my Mother-in-Law who unfortunately arrived long before above warning.

My girl was a pain in the butt this morning.
Period.

No wait, there's more.

She insisted on getting herself dressed and then idled so much (we had her 3 yr check up scheduled this morning) rolling around on the floor with her head under a step stool, that a battle ensued.
Not pretty.
And as soon as I got the clothes on, she-who-has-her-own-agenda takes them off, then I forced them back on. It was like a bad scene from The Miracle Worker.

Only I was working no miracles.

I want to wear THHHHIIIIIIIIISSSSSS blah blah blah, clock ticking (Oh. Look! she's topless and shoeless, trying to take her leggings off and it is now officially our appointment time. COOL!)

And then I am no longer able to get ready for work, so I guess Mama will just goes to work looking as though her daughter dressed her. I was fuming with frustration, not pretty in many, many ways.

I mildly boiled-over.

And yelling doesn't help but I was not capable of three-year-old whispering today.
Not.
At.
All.
Did I mention I was also up about five times last night? Lily has a cold and a cough and when she does, her sleep is restless. With her tossing and turning she landed on the floor at one point (on pillows - I did get that part right), and the other time I made quick saves in a midnight stupor - robot mama mode on - ready for anything.
But this morning...
Was
Not
Needed.

We made it to her check-up where her cheery, humorous doctor (that I do love) chirped,

Three is harder than two.

Wow.
Really, reallllllly needed to hear that this morning.

Try hard not to fight with her, it'll just make it harder, she said.

Really?
How to respond to that. How to respond to thaaaaaaaaaaatttttt....
Deep breath. Chuckle. Glance at Granny. Laugh.

Ahhh.
Life-with-my-daughter-who-I-love-so-much-it-hurts-but-sometimes-not-in-a-good-way.

Appointment ended on a good note, Lily is off to ballet and I am off to work - bedraggled, exhausted and then forced to walk down Madison Avenue past bright, cheery botoxed bunned manicured moms who chat idly on street corners in 500 dollar yoga outfits sipping ice coffee looking rested and happily staffed with husbands and help, planning their lunch dates and spin classes with energetic applomb.
And there I was, trudging by, with my tired eyes, humidity hair, feeling unattended and raw.

If it's Spring, why doesn't it feel that way.

Upon arriving at work I spoke to a friend who had recently led a support group for moms and babies in a nearby prison.
They have around the clock help.
It takes a village she said.

Check me into that place.

Now.

(ok not really. but... sort of.)

How Will It Grow.

Lily took her third birthday by storm.

For a week before, the first question at dawn
Is it my birthday today?

She is heavily into the passage of time.
Runs to the clock,waiting for a hand to reach a number I've shown her
It turned Mama!
And in anticipation of other things to come she asks when they'll happen.
I try my best, but ahhh Time ~
To think that I thought explaining "Let It Be" was a stretch.

But the clock turned mama!
Yes Pumpkin, but...
Time
Keeps
Going.
A tough concept to grasp.
To explain.

Watching her grow every day is a dial all it's own.

What I do know is that what was once a green shoot is now truly flowering.
In all directions.
She challenges me with knowledge, offers theories about everything, and is insatiably curious. The outfits are more creatively outlandish.

She is talking about her dad at school, expressing facts
and wishes.

I enjoy her connections. And despite the bitter/sweet discoveries, I can now admire from an arm's length how she instinctively navigates her reality as it evolves.
I will always be by her side - but she is, on her own, stepping a bit further away, coloring her world with ideas, fantasies, and beginning to grasp her own truth.
And all that comes with that wondrous, enlightening and sometimes devastating word.

Such is the way of the world.
And she is growing up.

UP.
(Cue Music/Click Here.)

Into the Sun.

Damn!
Last week I got to sit in on Lily's second ballet class. Typically drop off, but they let caregivers watch this time, so I sat with my mother-in-law watching Lily do her thing.
Beautiful dancer spirit sprite.

Quite a moment.
A "Jesus. Where is her dad for this moment?!"

One of those.

(Of course there were no other fathers present but man would he have relished in this.)

I think he was watching.

She was something.

Wobbling on her tip-toes, managing plie's with determination and un-grace.
She pranced around the room, bells jingling on her arms, and every time she passed us she gleefully smiled or waved to us - as though on a merry go round - reconnecting with every joyful opportunity for eye contact -
On occasion she stepped off her blue plastic dot to run and kiss me on my leg.

Big Love.

We smiled back with pride and suppressed our subtle chuckles over her moves.
Unadulterated exuberance within us all.

And though I was wanting for Alan to be there with us, I had his mom next to me and my girl before me. And my enthusiastic family and friends to whom I can circulate videos and pics, hourly, and have them cheer from afar.

Again, much to be grateful for.

And then I heard a certain song this morning.
It kept the want at bay, and turned ballet day directly toward the sun.
Damn that Mavis is good.

You're Not Alone. (Want to hear it? Click Here.)

Almost Three.

You dream of Dada, Mama?
Yes, I do sometimes Pumpkin.
What he doos in your dream, Mama?
Oh. Sometimes we are in a car together, going somewhere. Sometimes we are taking you to school. He is smiling.

The fantasy begins. Or rather, my fantasy does. Can dreams count as memories? Might those images be ones she can envision and hold on to?
Do her dreams qualify as her own freshly minted memories?

I like to think so.

She spends a lot of time "imaginatin'", as she says.

I want dada to see my big girl bed.
I know you do, Pumpkin. But I think he can see us from all around. So maybe he does!
He is restin' in your heart?
Yes he is. That's a nice thing to say, Lily.
I want him to come back.
Ohhh... That would be nice. I would like that too.

And then, my tears appear. Lily has never seen me cry. And she laughs as she is used to seeing me "pretend cry" when I am dramatically reading her bedtime stories.
(Flourish is important.)
But this time they are real, and I just couldn't keep them within.
I was tired, under the weather, and wishing things were different.
I know there's nothing wrong with a child seeing a parent cry.
But this time I had to explain to her that I was crying because I wished he could come back too. And it ached. I ached.
For me, but mostly for Lily. She deserves to have a father, and she's been so accepting until now of not having one.

If there's one thing I can't stand, it's people advising me "not to make my issues hers". Because I don't.
Ever.
But people don't seem to understand that one can miss something they've never known.
And this weekend, I saw a lot of that void in Lily's beautiful presence. She doesn't complain, whine or get weepy.
But she is noticing with greater awareness that she is indeed missing out on...
Someone.
She makes up stories about him. Wants to be loved by him.

Wants to know if he knew her.
He did, Pumpkin. He saw pictures when you were teeny tiny inside of me and he was soooooo happy to see you there and to know that you'd be coming.

When I have a baby I don't want it to be inside of me.
OK pumpkin, that's fine.

Deep breath.

Lots of dada questions this weekend.
She also asked, from astride her rocking horse, when a friends dad would die.
Hopefully not for a very long time, Lily.
Most people live until they are very very old.

And then, thankfully, on to The Beatles - a new musical favorite of hers.
A breakthrough in our home.
What's dat song mean, Mama? She asks in reference to "Let It Be".

Wow.

Note to self - write book interpreting monumental songs for toddlers.

It's about just letting things... be.

Well done Sus....

Just... leaving things alone, allowing things to be as they are.

Sigh.

Wise words, easier said than done.

Apple.

Lily got married today.
Just like that.
Not even three and I had thought we'd have years together before she flew the coop.
But, no.
I came into the living room this morning where she was playing with her Granny and there she was, donning a much loved turquoise knit summer shrug with sequin border, over her dark wintry outfit and packing up her stroller.
What are you doing Pumpkin?
Gettin' married.
You are?! To whom?
James.
Oh. Congratulations! I really like James, I think he's a nice boy.
Yeah. She says.

Ah me.
James is nice. He is invisible but very present. Just this weekend she was droppin' him off at ballet class and pickin' him up. (Lily has no use for Gs) The other night before storytime I found her sitting on my bed in the dark.
Why is the light off Pumpkin?
James isn't listenin, so I turned it off.
In our building elevators she always presses 10 for him. She is fast, and I am left sheepishly making "surprise" apologies for her to other riders, as though I had no idea that ten would be pushed.
His birthday is nearly every day.
And he has a little sister/boy friend named Jayna.
And sometimes another baby sister named "Stell".
And a mom who is in meetins' a lot.
And sometimes a dad but he works a lot too.

I like to indulge her imagination.
It is a trip for me as well.
A nice one.
She is busy in mind, body and soul.

Alan and I had invisible friends too.
But I will leave it at that.
No need for further grown-up embarrassment.
That's right Sus, Alan echoes from... around.
He's probably bothered that I outed him at all.

But she is a creative spirit.
Clearly the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree.

Days Like This.

There are moments.
Not fun ones.
When I am caught in a memory, or stuck in the present, all alone.
Lily had a sleepover at her Granny's this weekend, and though it allowed me a much needed respite and cherished down time, there are moments when her temporary absence has a reverse effect.
Such as Sunday.
When I woke up to utter silence.
No chatter from her crib, no soft landing & pitter patter to my bed followed by a light kiss on my cheek. No "Mama, is it a school day, Turleta day, Granny day or Mommy day?"
Just quiet.
And this weekend it hurt. And scared me.
Haunted by the fearful thought to self - how would I be if I didn't have her.
My Lily.
The answer is not one I like to ponder.
When Alan passed away - I had a desperate need to hold on to whatever was inside. Lily was barely the size of a gummy bear and I was ever fearful she wouldn't make it.
How could something so delicate ever endure such emotional pain.
I was terrified that my anguish would be the end to my nightmare/dream.

But she held fast, my resilient, determined,butterfly.
And when she did arrive, it was as though it could never have been any other way.
She was healthy. Beautiful. She had made it.

Here.

Much to be grateful for, I remind myself constantly.

But on Sunday I gave myself a scare, wondering how well I was really doing. My loneliness is immeasurable - and cannot be alleviated by even the most wondrous child. And it shouldn't have to be.
May she never feel weighted by such a void.
I took myself out to breakfast, the air too searingly cold for tears, and choked down breakfast I hoped might keep the sobs at bay.
Me and my book at the bar.
Good times.
And then home I went, crawled into bed, and slowly recovered from the morning's darkness.

Lily came back to me and clung fiercely as I lifted her out of the car-seat.
I knew that soon she'd be crying for her Granny & BebeO - transitions are challenging - but it felt so good to feel us each holding on so tightly.
Within the hour she was singing, dancing and told me,
"I am happy Mama, because you gave me blackberries".

I was happy too.
Because Alan gave us each other.

Thank You Patti. (And my everloving flower)

Our year was a good one.
Loaded, but hearty with happy firsts and challenging as the two of us guided one another - teaching ourselves what it is to be parent and child, mother and daughter, friends. I never guessed that a child less than three could be so powerful a force, so sharp yet naive - so energetic - so imaginative - so beautifully self-guided with her movements - and could nearly break me with exhaustion, bring me close to tears with despair and resurrect me with kisses on my brow.

Yes on my brow.

Perhaps she learned it from me.

I wonder often as I marvel at her evolution - which parts are Alan, which parts are Susan and which parts are pure Lily.
As one of my oldest friends reminded me on New Years Eve Day,

she is not a passive child.

And I was comforted by those words. What a gift those words were, Sensei Alexis, ever wise and wonderful friend. My tendency is to blame my skills at motherhood rather than acknowledge that I am growing a little being, and she is who she is. I will steer, but she - already - is making her own roads.

Her brain sparks differently - she said, and it is true.

Some don't get that, she said.
Fellow moms are the ultimate comfort ~ and the ones who are ahead of me, golden.

After our conversation I found myself gifted with an evening to myself. So I rolled off the bed, lethargic, feeling a bit broken but hungry for a lift, took a bath.
A bath.

And then I took myself to see Patti Smith.

A fine last move for 2011.

Her chords enveloped me, her words, her presence - nice to end the year with the encouragement of another strong, most remarkable woman.
She was uplifting.
Invigorating.
Guiding.
Loud, soft, modest, endearing, funny, evocative, electric.
Expressive hands, graceful and masculine.

Another friend cheered me via text "BOLD!!".
So grateful for my friends.

I do have courage - though every now and then it idles.
But the choice to go was easy.
And then Patti was my beautiful reward.
Bold times two.
Bold for two.
And ready for our next chapter.
Excited for a new year.

Grateful to be alive.
And to feel that way as well.

Growin' Up.

It dawned on me the other day as Lily,while brushing her teeth in the buff, said to me:

Mama. Go. I need my privacy.

That I am now truly sharing the bathroom with her.

What?!
She's nearing three, not 12.
She rifles through my make-up.
Insists on her outfits.
Comments on mine.

Mama. Stop singing.

Since when am I not cool anymore?
Isn't this supposed to come later?
Thankfully, I am allowed to sing on occasion. I am permitted to sing her to sleep, I am invited to join in on certain songs but typically I am interrupted, her hands dramatically gesturing, commanding -

No. Stop. Stop.

And with that, I am banished to parentland.

But as consumed as she is with growing up, she is still very much my little girl.
And I love her so.
Last night when I returned home (and found her out of bed)her caregiver declared,

She said she wanted to wait for her best friend to come home.

Ahhhh.
Smile.
Yes, it was a ploy, but I'll take it.
This morning, sitting on my lap as I helped her wriggle into her ballet leotard,

We're good friends, Mama.

She is the best.
Mature and childlike in a beautiful, experimental way. She is exploring what it is to be self aware, she speaks of her feelings, she is sensitive.
She pecks me on the lips when she senses she's hurt me.
She is nurturing toward her older man, Jake.
And just the other night, while running and laughing, hand in hand, Jake looked at her and said

We have so much fun together, Lily!

I will never forget that. And I told her she must not either. Girls don't typically hear such effusive and honest declarations from boys.
Or perhaps they do.
Perhaps she will.
Go Lily.

But not too fast.

And last night as she went down to sleep,
I'm not tired Mama.
OK Pumpkin, just take it easy and I think you will fall asleep.
OK, I will just take a lot of easys and then you will come in on your bed and sing to me?
Yes Sweet Pea. I love you. Sweet dreams.
I love you, Mama.

And again, she is my babe.
To quote a friend's mother as she described her now grown child,

She is the daughter every woman wants.

Winter Blues.

I just took a look at Mt. Tam.
Couldn't help myself.
I woke up with touch of melancholy, feeling out of sorts, tired and yearning for change.
And then I found some pictures of that beautiful mountain and it helped.
A bit.
Its beauty is unparalleled - so much that photos look retouched.
But if you've been there, you know they have not been.

And it made me just want to be above the clouds.
Just for a few minutes, nature in all its glory, undulating hills that breathe with life in utter silence. A blanket of fog resting gently below.

I can't wait to take Lily there, to experience the expanse.
To dance and run along the mountaintop.
If only we could click our heels.
She'd love it. Good air. Dry brush. Smells perfect.
And you really feel above it all.
Nice to get away, even if only in my mind.

Lily was asking about her dad recently and I told her how I like to think of him as being in the nature all around us. That we don't get to see him like other kids see their dads but we can talk about him, look at pictures of him - and feel him in our hearts.
And in the wind and the rain.

We can dream about him! She said.
Yes, we can Pumpkin, we can.

Her "magination" is exploding, she tells me of her dreams, her illustrations are taking shape, her dress up is vibrant, her humor - a riot.
Just the other day after we battled all morning like mother and teen daughter, she followed me into the bathroom,
I want you to be happy, Mama.
I am, Pumpkin, but you need to listen more.
I don't want you to be upset anymore, Mama.
I won't be, Lily, but I'm tired and still a bit upset.
Can you do this, Mama?

I looked down, and there she was smiling at me.

My master manipulator.

(Smile)
Yes I can, Lily.
You happy mama?
She kisses my leg.
Yes Lily, I am.

Most times.
But days like today, I wish we were elsewhere.

Hi My Love.

Today, in my heart, you are 48.
So tonight, as we have done for the past three years, the posse is gathering at Firehouse - to celebrate you. We'll have wings, beer.
Laugh and cheer.
Fries and grilled cheese will be added to the menu, for Lily and her friends.
Jake is mildly obsessed with the legacy of his Uncle Alan.
He and Lily are attached at the hip.
Most times.
They love and bicker like old people.
He will be in attendance, possibly with Stella.
Chris' son Jackson will be there, Raina and Gabe, Ruby and Olivia too.
Your favorites.

Black and Whites, of course, will circulate.

But everyday I celebrate you.
We all do.
You are with us always, yes?

I've snapped a few (OK, many) pictures of Lily recently and they're you at that age.
And she occasionally has an x-ray stare that brings you before us.

We went to the Bay Area for Thanksgiving and she brought a pound of pebbles from "The Wave Hill" for Jiji's garden. She played with her West Coast buddies, Madeleine, Henry, Baby Jacob and Simone and Addison.
She had a blast.
She fed, read and sang to the cat.
"He doesn't like Hello Everybody" she reported.
I assured her it couldn't have been her singing.

"When will I grow up Mom?" She asked me recently.
She is intent on becoming "a bigger girl".

Surprisingly, she was weepy to return home.
Usually she is glad to land in NYC, like her dad, most comfortable in her original surroundings. But this time, she had a bit of wanderlust, happy like her mom, to be on another shore, to breath in the fresh air - scented subtly with burning wood.

I had a great dinner with Gillian and Lois (while my mom succumbed to Lily's ultra-creative anti-sleep tactics) and it warmed my heart to be with them. On the way home I got to blast Over the Hills and Far Away followed by Landslide courtesy of the radio.
And I wept for our landslide and smiled and wept that we only got to walk a while but also because I have so much.
Both beautiful reminders of things past and present -

Yes I'm getting older too.

It all comes back.

Saturday night I went with a good friend to see Gillian Welch at The Beacon and it was a beautiful, serene evening of sweet acoustic guitar and rich, angelic harmonies. A glorious evening to cap a brisk Autumn day. It felt so good to hear live music, adult music, gentle and soulful. I melted into my seat and took it all in. And as my eyes grazed the artfully restored theater I remembered that the last time I had been there was a few years ago. Alan wasn't well, and a friend called me with last minute back stage passes to see some blues rock performers. GO Alan insisted, he was frequently urging me to get out, be social - to divert my attention elsewhere. So I went. Flew twenty blocks South and spent an evening in the wings, being recharged by driving guitars - loud, insistent,encouraging. I felt guilty and invigorated, couldn't believe that I got to enjoy an evening that he couldn't make. The second the show ended I raced home. He was fine, and probably enjoyed the absence of my hovering shadow. Nurse Snoosie he'd call me. I took my role of friend, lover, wife, caregiver oh so seriously. Alan found my Florence Nightingale tendencies amusing.

I loved every time I got a smile or a chuckle out of him.
He helped me laugh at myself too.
Essential.

So this time around I welled up during the first set, marveling, yet again, at what time had delivered. Loss, birth and rebirth. But this time it was Lily who was at home with her beloved Tio and though I felt the guilt of leaving her there (she loves a "music show"), I was able to smile inside, knowing she was just fine - and perhaps she too was relieved to have me out of the house. She had her uncle there to love, direct, and play with. She loves him so.

Alan loved October.
It was his favorite month.
I think it was the seasonal change, the crisp air, the colors.
I like it too.
The trees shed their leaves in preparation for rest.

For reawakening.

I guess that's where I am too right now.

At my mother-in-law's wedding as Lily and her cousin plucked aging leaves from some low and vulnerable branches, her cousin said "Let's let the wind take them! Let's let the wind take them" - a good plan, I reflected.

Some things are best ushered away by the wind.
It'll all come back with Spring, redressed and refreshed.

To be seen in a new light.

A Wedding (and a funeral)

Lily went to her first wedding this weekend, for her beloved Granny.
It was a beautiful, blustery, grey to sunny day.
A child of the new millennium, she witnessed a commemoration only recently legal.
She looked forward to it for weeks, walked flittingly down the garden path, flower basket in the crook of her arm, was all smiles for her family and friends, and was in Puck-like motion throughout the entire ceremony.
She did finally sit.
At the end of the ceremony - that is, after the glass was crushed, as everyone clapped and stood and proceeded to the grass, Lily perched on the edge of her chair.

Still exhausting, my girl.
Forever in motion.
And I missed much of it.

As a consolation, I told myself that if Alan had been there, since it was his mother, I would have offered to do the chasing anyway. But I would have also told him - this is why I wanted to bring a sitter.

Ah me. Still two hands and one heart short.

To think he missed such an important, love filled and monumental occasion.
And his grandfather just passed as well.
At 102.
Where did those genes go?
Alan should have been here.
For both.

Instead, I imagine him up above, in the air somewhere - greeting his Pop, with his dad and Gram at his side.
What a surprise he must have been.
For all of them.
Surely they all sat together and watched approvingly from above.

In that "otherworld" where I envision them all to be, I always imagine their spirits can only feel great happiness and joy. Sadness and disappointment are felt but not to any great depth - they are fleetingly felt and then shed; a brief grey wash and then the warmer colors take over. Pain is no longer a burden, they only see the positive side of things. It helps me to temper my own sadness, to keep a level perspective.

Must have been the palette on Saturday.
Whitewash giving way to golden glow.