Tonight. Tomorrow.

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

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

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

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

Teen Spirit. Rant.

Lily's vocabulary is expanding and with it has come NO! No! NoooOH. NO!

NO.

I think she turned thirteen the other day. I could have sworn she just celebrated her first birthday a few months ago but I must be mom. Oops, wrong. I must be wrong.
Wrong Mom.
Favorite words are Mommyyyyy, baby, E L M O, ELmo. elMO? elmo. ELMO. elmo elmo elmo, hat, haT hah t and days now seem to feature NO often accompanied by long, whiny noises that come from her gut and go up the scale lasting a good seven seconds. At least. And then an object is flung impressively long distances. Turkey flies, broccoli is thrown, little toys jettisoned all within the blink of an eye. And I only have two.
Eyes.
And I am tired.
I have no downtime except for naptime.
Not sure people get that. They think I'm militant about sleep schedules and I am - but fifty percent of that is for ME. Mommy. Mommyyyyyyy. MOMyyyyy. I have no downtime. If Lily sleeps, I do. Period. I may be under house arrest while she does, but I'll take it. And if she doesn't nap or we skip it so we can make everyone else happy - I feel like ____ . And that's how it is, how it goes...
I can't hand her off and say I'll be back in an hour. I can't run an errand without her. I can't shower unless she's in the crib with a stack of books or watching Elmo. Elmo. Elmo. elmo. I cannot leave her to get the mail/laundry/milk. I cannot run out to get ice-coffee and sit on a bench and read ONE article or a book for FIVE minutes. I cannot go to the bathroom with the door closed. I can hire a babysitter and then a twelve dollar movie becomes a fifty dollar outing. And returning an item of clothing is no longer a financially prudent move - if I pay a sitter, it's a wash. Even when I do have a sitter I SPRINT everywhere. Clock ticking. If I'm paying, it's adding up, if it's gratis they have lives too. Hmmm.

Ahh me.

Oh, and - Father's Day. That's right. I miss my man and my daughter's dad. How nice it would be to have Alan here to love and hug and play with and to let me go get ice-coffee. I called my brother to wish him happy father's day and he laughed and said "You too!!Jesus, you're doing both!".
It was the kindest acknowledgement I've gotten in a long time.

But she still is awesome, our not so delicate flower. Our rough and tumble girl who blows kisses, dances and claps with zeal to live music, has a beautiful smile and an infectious giggle. She's becoming a little person - full of urges and curiosities, and entertaining antics. She loves babies - so dolls now are fed, taken into the tub and put into strollers. Lily could spend a half hour easily trying to figure out buckles. The stroller buckles, the high chair buckles. Shoe buckles. She is a young Houdini and her focus can be itense. Her imagination is soaring and she's a good mimic - talks on the phone with pretend noises and takes care of baby with pretend noises. She fascinates me and even with the frustration and exhaustion, I still can't get enough of her. But I will say I can't wait until YES becomes a part of her vocabulary.

And I Still Love You.

So much has happened in the last few weeks. For some it would seem like nothing but for us it's leaps and bounds. We've had some fun evenings with other families who have kids around Lily's age and it's been a joy to see her play like crazy in other people's homes and gardens. She's had a blast digging into their toys, running with sheer excitement - no destination needed, endless curiosities to explore whether it be a tub of ice, a chair just her size or discovering the addictive qualities of Bugles. It's all new to Lily, and me. It feels like were now in the "family stage" where our world grows with old and new friends who have children as well. And it feels good to be doing so -I just thought, I had always imagined, that Alan and I would be sharing these special moments together - watching our girl get filthy, seeing her share sippy cups with abandon, interact with other kids openly in an entirely uncensored way. It's all very sixties - free love, wah wah for everyone - and Alan and I would reminisce at the end of every evening, shocked and awed over the fact that we were actually parents, that our girl actually had said and done the very things we had witnessed earlier that day. But he isn't here. Not physically at least. And as I reach out into this new world it is beautiful to watch Lily's life take shape and I relish in every moment. But the ache is profound. All last week I couldn't get a song that Alan had sung at our wedding out of my head. I didn't want to. But I ached to hear it and longed to hear him. And at the end of a lonely evening the other night I came home to the James Taylor/Carole King concert on PBS - and just as I tuned in, they sang this for me.
Alan must have had some part in it.

You Can Close Your Eyes

Well the sun is surely sinking down
But the moon is slowly rising
So this old world must still be spinning 'round
And I still love you

So close your eyes
You can close your eyes, it's all right
I don't know no love songs
And I can't sing the blues anymore
But I can sing this song
And you can sing this song when I'm gone

It won't be long before another day
We gonna have a good time
And no one's gonna take that time away
You can stay as long as you like

So close your eyes
You can close your eyes, it's all right
I don't know no love songs
And I can't sing the blues anymore
But I can sing this song
And you can sing this song when I'm gone


I do keep singing that song and others, and Lily has a beautiful voice as well. The last three days have been filled with the chant eeeiiieeeeiiiooooohhh... She's got a good musical ear, that girl, just like her dada.

We hear him and see him in every note.

As my second year without him approaches, I miss him more than ever. But we did have a good time and no one can ever take that away. Yes I've got some major blues, but I'm grateful for the love that came our way.

Widow Country.

More of the same, but succinctly put. Hope the link works, click on the title of this entry and that should do it. Otherwise you can cut & paste:
http://mkintner.wordpress.com/2010/05/16/because-youre-a-widow-too

Days Ahead.

Lily and I had a good weekend. We were busy, we were more social than usual, we had a good dose of outdoor fun and we visited our bench. But this last week has had it's challenges, as usual, and though they're ones I've been anticipating, they still caught me off guard. On a work call someone asked me if I was married and I stuttered with the answer. A rush of fear shot through me as I heard the question and what came out was, "sort of". The listener left it at that but I think what he imagined was that I was in one of those in limbo relationships where you might as well be married but you're not. Regardless, I felt stuck by the question - not comfortable elaborating but for me there wasn't a straight answer. That said, this same week when answering questions for my college's alumni database I was asked my marital status and again I felt trapped.

"What are my options" I asked.

I went with widow.

She was no longer interested in the age of my daughter. Must have figured Lily was now an adult.

This weekend came the big one.
A toddler asked me where Lily's dad was.
Well, I said, he can't be with us. He's in Lily, and his spirit is everywhere, but he isn't here in the same way that your dad is.
My response was accepted and back she went to her play.
I let out a sigh of relief.
Lily continued, blissfully unaware.

I have been bracing myself for all sorts of questions and this time I got off relatively easy. It was an OK first run. But as I begin considering preschools for Lily I know it's just a matter of time before she faces the same ones. When surveying a school's website recently I lingered on a photo of a classroom project. Again, my heart in my throat. It was individual houses, adorning the walls and the heading above them said "Who's in your family?". Below were photo montages of children with parents and siblings and relatives - each household reflecting something different. I imagined Lily's. One image was just of the two of us, the other required an apartment building for every extended family member and courtesy aunt and uncle. Lily will get that question and many others, and I won't always be there to help her field them.

That makes me anxious and sad.
Parents say how heartbreaking it is to watch their child through a classroom window not get a seat at a classroom table, or play alone as others pair up. What goes through my head when I envision Lily on days when they're making Father's Day projects or having a dad's visiting day, is brutal. I've already read of so many incidents of children in Lily's situation on days just like those - and many haven't been handled well. Together, we'll prepare. But there are many children missing a parent and I long for a curriculum and an understanding that thoughtfully incorporates them.

Differences for children can be alienating and no matter how thoughtful teachers will promise to be, they won't always be there for her either. I've written a couple of children's books for Lily and others in her shoes and I long for the day when we can read them together and when she can hear them during story time, listening anonymously, surrounded by others. Children are beautifully open to new ideas and if they see that Lily's dad is very much a part of her, they'll understand that he's always there. And they'll realize that about their parents too - that although they're all on their own at school, their parents are very much with them - in their mannerisms, in their coloring, sometimes in the way they see things, or in their stride. Much of growing up is based on knowing who you are, and my greatest wish for Lily is that she recognize the strength and beauty she already possesses.

She'll get through those days. We both will.
But I don't look forward to them.
At all.

The Joneses.

Just the other morning, entirely unprompted by me, Lily wandered over to a photo of me and Alan together, took it in her hands and kissed him . I caught her in the act and a wave of love and happiness and sadness washed over me. Could she, does she know who he is? I think so. It has to be that way. And surely he knows his daughter.

As I near the second anniversary of Alan's passing I realize more and more that year one was loaded with grief but the day to day goal was just coping and survival. Fighting to get from one day to the next, straddling medical bill and insurance settlements, estate issues, and a pregnancy. Now, with much of that behind me, I am often sapped with heavy sadness. I think so much of it has to do with seeing Lily develop into the amazing person that she is - with every new move there is one set of admiring eyes missing. He must be watching. He has to be. Because I think Lily can feel him. There are times when she points into the air just past me and is fixed on something I cannot see. She babbles into the air, at something I am sure.

Must
be
her
dad.

There is a family that lives down the hall from us, around the corner. And just as Lily and I finished playing with their kids in the hall last week, I heard their dad make his grand entrance home at the end of his workday. Their front door closed shut and I could hear the screams and yells of delight over his arrival. They were ecstatic, and his bellows in response echoed down the hall. I had to carry Lily back toward our apartment, as she reached, arms outstretched for theirs - all the while whispering in her ear that she had a dad too, he just doesn't come home in the same way.

And now she knows how to knock.
So when our front door opens, she's off - out of the starting gate, making a beeline for their door. She knocks on it, it opens and in she goes without even a look back to me for acknowledgement. Smiling, I apologized, as she did this a few evenings back (for the second time that day, I'm told) and before I could catch up to her she had made her way into their apartment and straight through to their master bedroom where kids and dad were lounging on the bed spending their evening hours together. Their mom said "Say goodnight to Lily guys", they did, and up she came into my arms. I apologized again, feeling as though we had invaded a family time that was not ours, smiled sheepishly and carried our girl home. Do they know she has a dad? Do they wonder where he is? What do they think of us...

Oh the pain.
Still so excruciating.

And yet our hours together are filled with smiles and laughter, all she really knows is joy. And that, fills me with happiness. But Lily loves other children and is often much more at ease in the arms of a new man than a woman she already knows.
Curious.
Wish Alan could hold her. She isn't one for stillness these days but in his arms, I know, she'd be perfectly at rest.

Ahh Jamaica... Feel Alright.

I am desperately trying to hold on to my Jamaica-state-of-mind. And the return to NYC has been a challenge. Our week in Montego Bay was beautiful - Lily digs the island life. She spent every day exploring gardens, the beach, and the pool. Chasing birds, collecting rocks, backing up to steps to perch on, climbing up and down, up and down, up up and then down down every stair, digging in sand and taking dips in the pool and ocean. Drunk with limitless energy.

She loves the sound of blenders.

She has inherited my flare for what Alan referred to as my interpretive dance and moved with delight to the pianist every evening at the bar. Between songs and sips of water she handed off her purse to every man she could find and then, on cue, returned to the dance floor.

She collected flowers and mini unripe avocados and followed the gardener each morning.

She enjoyed rinsing the sand off her feet at the garden hose and now quite enjoys a gushing faucet.

She napped as though she had never slept before.

How she has grown in just one week. This morning I peeked out of the kitchen to check in on her and there she was, standing and smiling on the couch. She is very near climbing out of her crib and I'm not sure how to handle all of this. Confinement does not agree with Lily and last week was utter bliss for her.

I felt good to be in the warm sun and to take her swimming for the first time. See her warm up to the gentle lapping waves that spilled over her toes. There were so many families there and she made a point of meeting the other kids. It was hard seeing dads with them, I couldn't help but imagine Alan with Lily in his arms gliding across the surface of the pool or taking her on a walk down intriguing garden paths - they would have relished together in the environment. But it feels good to say that we did just fine on our own, though we saw him in the moon and the stars and heard him in the bird calls and the crickets' evening songs. My mother was with us - so together, the three of us played and explored, indulging in energetic days, and soporific balmy evenings. Lily was known to all the staff (as though they went back years together) and I was known as Lily's mom and her Jiji was known as Lily's grandmother. I didn't mind being nameless, she's my connector and conduit to my newly changed world - she is the best of travelling companions.

Earth Girl.

Sometimes I really long for California. For Lily especially. If she had been born there, she would have been fourth generation on my side - and I want so much for her to experience living in such a beautiful and peaceful place, it is in her genes, her geographical DNA. Though her ancestors come from abroad she has good old-American stock and when I watch her in motion, she is indeed a pioneer. She is an intrepid explorer, and when she's on the march, she forges on, with little turning back. She chases birds, has noticed her shadow, enjoys dirt and sticks, ditches and sand. How I wish I could take her to play amid the redwoods, smell the damp earth, hear the quiet babble of creeks hidden by ferns and greenery, feel the soft moss, rub her cheeks on the furry bark of ancient trees. I'd like to take her cardboard sliding on the tall brown grass that blankets the rolling hills and let her feel the crisp air in places like Tahoe, dip her toes in it's cool water, let her lug a giant pinecone around.

It amazes me that our girl can fall asleep on warm evenings, windows open, even if a car alarm is going off or people are yelling in the street. But I'd much prefer her world to have more music and less noise - for her to fall asleep to fog-horns or barking seals. I remember watching Sesame Street when I was little and the stoop was so cool - I had never seen anything like the buildings in its neighborhood. Only the trash can I recognized. Now when I watch it with Lily perched in my lap, transfixed, hands resting softly on my legs, I see her world. The one in which she is now very much a part. Her landscape is very different than the one I knew as a child - how I'd love her to experience both worlds. Her dad was a Brooklyn boy, and I grew up in Northern Ca. suburb - and Lily is very much a city kid. But I know she'd also flourish in a more outdoorsy place, where she could thrive in another way.

This weekend we are off to Jamaica and I'm looking forward to letting Lily play with clean, pure sand, in fresh fresh air. Perhaps all I/we need is a brief respite from the Big Apple but I am excited for her to be somewhere lush and easygoing, where the vibes are gentler and pace, slower. She is already a Marley fan so I think we're well on our way.

In my dreams.

Last night I dreamt about Alan. He briefly appeared and it was good to be with him. He seemed happy, carefree and it had been months since I'd seen him. He was healthy. His neurosurgeon was in it too but Alan didn't care, and his doctor's presence seemed incidental. Regardless, to see someone so dear to you who's passed on - is a gift. Nights continue to be dark, though just as my mind was spinning the other night, Lily giggled in her sleep. That moment, too, was a gift and it put my mind at rest. To hear her dreams aloud in such happy moments help to ease my mind. There was a moment a month or so ago where she awoke crying and when I checked on her she was standing in her crib, arms raised in front of her, hands wringing together a la Lady Macbeth as she wept. What could upset such a little spirit so early in her years? I hope it was fleeting, her life is too new.

I don't think that Alan, Lily and I were in my dream together. That would have been even better. I'll wait. But the past few mornings Lily has taken his picture in her hands when she wakes. Perhaps he's been in hers.

Sometimes it's just too much. Got a comment the other day from someone infamously yet unwittingly insensitive about the fact I still have my wedding ring on and it got to me. I'm in awe of people who can sprint through life without taking a moment to take a deep breath and actually pause for some self reflection. Listen to the words that come out of their mouths, consider the person on the receiving end of those exclamations, stop - really stop to consider how their thoughts might be felt by someone else. But the people who say those things, generally aren't capable of much introspection - possibly because the running they're busying themselves with 24/7 is an escape from their own demons. If they ever really had the strength to contemplate what I have been through, what I face daily, or tried to imagine what it might be like to go through it themselves it just might be too painful. I get it, and know the intention wasn't to hurt. I'm generally able to let it roll right over me but this time - it just got me to the core.

I think I'm doing pretty damn well as a women who lost her husband of ten months twenty-one months ago, and brought a child into the world eight months later. I will always feel married to Alan. Will I ever find room in my heart for someone else? Maybe. I did for Lily and while I loved her the second I knew a baby was growing within, I worried about my ability to love so fully again . She proved me wrong the second she started her acrobatic midnight performances when I was pregnant and jump-started my heart the second I laid eyes on her, held her in my arms, seconds after she was born. Might I love someone else again? Anything is possible, but I still long for Alan, he was my man, my other half, the father of our girl.

Everyday Blues.

Sunday morning I slipped out to a restaurant, tax prep materials in hand while Lily went out with her grandmother. It was a cool but sunny spring day and I felt good. I could relax, enjoy a quiet breakfast, tally some ominous numbers and not feel as rushed as I usually do. And as I happily brought my perfectly toasted, perfectly melted, scrambled egg sandwich to my mouth a thought interrupted my momentary near-enjoyment;

"God damn. I am so sad."

There it was. Didn't even see it coming. No warning sign as with my migraines, or a rude postal worker, it just showed up. Reared it's ugly head and knocked the wind out of me. And Lily is the most beautiful antidote for pain but even she, the second wonder of my world, can't always soften the blow. My heart just constantly aches and I am still getting used to the fact that it's never going to go away. Nothing the sandwich could do about it either. I have marvelled recently at the fact that even though I have always loved food and relished in anything delicious, nothing tastes that good to me anymore. Truly. Ever since Alan floated away nothing satisfies other than holding Lily. Foods I once loved no longer do it for me. Of course I still go after them, in hopes that perhaps I'm merely having an off day (or else the chef is) but as a food lover, it's as though I've lost one of my senses. The deadening continues even though every day I really do choose life. It's just this constant gnawing. Sondheim sums it up aptly in "Everyday a Little Death" - it's written and sung in a different context but I hear it as the more you love the more you hurt and the more you have to love, the more you have to loose. How very true. How tricky life is. Well worth it, but painfully true.

Oh New York

The weekend was a beautiful one. Spring has begun to show itself and it was liberating to come out of hibernation with a t-shirt on. Lily has hit the park over the last few days with only a sweatshirt - so she is even more agile when it comes to collecting bits of nature wherever she roams. Unfortunately yesterday, the second we got to the playground my daughter made a beeline for every single piece of trash in sight. First it was a shopping list, then a popsicle wrapper, then a juice box. Not sure Woodsy Owl would be pleased - of course Lily was drawn to their color and shine - but I found myself overjoyed to fish leaves and sticks and pebbles out of her mouth because at least they weren't trash. I love NYC but I don't love the carelessness with which people throw wrappers into the street, toss cans and bottles into bushes. I remember Alan berating me for berating a man in Times Square for littering - it took me a few years to understand that in New York City, people aren't all approachable and that confrontation can take a life if you're not careful. But when it comes to the playground it saddens me to see it - Lily saw a plastic bag flutter toward the play structure and while it did have its own beauty as it floated through the air I didn't want her chasing it. On the subway recently some teenage kid glared at me and told me to switch seats and yesterday I sat next to a foul mouthed girl on the train who was proud of her attitude and seeming toughness. All of the sudden I am now regarding the world through the watchful eyes of a parent and I'm even less in love with what I see and hear. Grit is fine, dirt is fine and I love that this city is overflowing with color and music and plenty of unusual and dimensional personalities. But my child is defenseless, and a sponge for all that she sees and hears. She is beautifully undescriminating and I have much to learn from her. But I often feel like a mine detector these days, constantly on the look out for danger ahead. It is a joy to see her fast asleep at night, arms sprawled over head, one knee bent and flopped to the side, the other leg carelessly hanging between the rungs of her crib. In her most quiet moments it is a relief to see her so free - wandering safely in the confines of her dreams.

More firsts.

Everywhere I look, I see families. That was the hardest thing about Valentines Day. Not seeing couples on dates, Alan and I weren't big on the holiday, but seeing new parents out with their babes celebrating their new love as a family. That hurt. I was out and about, frantically doing errands while a sitter watched over Lily and I was almost oblivious to the day except for the families I saw in cafes and on corners. Many widows struggle with images of happy couples, walking the streets in bliss, but that never really gets to me. I'm genuinely pleased for their love and it reminds me that I, too, had it. It was short lived, but I was graced with it. But when I see parents together, oggling over their little ones - exchanging glances with one another, speaking that language that only parents share with one another, that is painful. My envy is immeasurable.

And that is how it goes. I am showered with photos of friends and their newborns, or families on momentous occasions and just like wedding photos, they consist of all family combinations and parent/baby portraits - I am fine until I see the father/child segment and then I fall apart. I recently had to see a slide show of images that covered close to forty years of a marriage and as the images progressed I had to avert my eyes. So many memories, trips, parties, moments - it was unbearable. Beautiful, but much too painful to watch.

How I wish I had just one photo of Alan adoring Lily.

This last weekend she turned one. She had a ball on her birthday, I think she knew it was a special day. In the morning she played the guitar and pet her new rocking horse, midday she celebrated with a hearty portion of mac and cheese with family and other mac and cheese loving kiddies, and she toddled all afternoon with energy she must have been reserving for the day. She was all smiles and busier than usual - had no time for cake, or naps. Sunday she went for her first haircut. Dramatic as it was she remains a stunner, inside and out, and even though she refuses hair-clips, I can now see her dreamy eyes once again. As I wheeled her home - locks of hair attached to a certificate - carefully tucked away, I longed for Alan. These are moments of a lifetime, and I feel such guilt that he's been deprived of them, and such sadness that we couldn't share the experience together. Lily's new "do" brings her even closer in resemblance to her father but as I observe her everchanging behavior and evolving personality she really is one of a kind. I know if he were here that we'd marvel at her animated antics - in jest we'd look suspiciously at each other if she did something "inherited", and we'd celebrate with humor and affection our truly unique sprite.

Just yesterday morning I caught a glimpse of her as she fairy flew (as her grandmother so aptly put it)the distance of her crib. It was 6:14am, and I've no idea what it was in her little mind that propelled her with such excitement as she reached the other rail - but she was awake and full of life, ready to cover more ground. I cannot believe we've already journeyed for a year together - quite a milestone for the two of us and her everloving dad.

Baby Steps.

I read the other day on a widow's board about a woman's concern that a year and half "out" she was no longer a neat freak, had little care for her appearance, was eating junk food and all she could do was get food on the table for her kids. She was wondering if her current state was something to worry about. What followed were seven to ten posts by women all experiencing the same thing. Any of them could easily have been mine. Recently, along with the usual grief which does not fade, I've been consumed with similar thoughts. (Alan interjection: Neat freak? OK, fine. Not that part. And I'm not eating junk food. But I really just care about what goes into Lily's body.) And although it is not a new problem with me, I now struggle with the push and pull of that horrible feeling of apathy coupled with the desire to reclaim bits of my former life that I miss. Much of me, on an intellectual level, is beginning to yearn for elements of earlier, happier times - whether it's seeing live music, going to a show, visiting a museum or just socializing. But the second I contemplate those, until now, nascent feelings, I slip back into the darkness and am immediately overwhelmed by those thoughts. Much of me is afraid I can't handle it. I have been to restaurants, surrounded by the living, and wanted to weep. I hear music over a speaker and it is overpowering - the thought of live music is absolutely frightening. I'm not sure I can bear it. I'm not sure I can let something so evocative into my soul in a public setting. It is a force to reckon with. As much as I loath my current appearance, there is little motivation to change it. I am inspired in spurts but find myself quickly weighed down with melancholy. Being apathetic over almost everything is staggering for someone who once felt so charged with life.

It is much easier to look at the world through Lily's eyes than mine.

Through her I see all that is good. We look at birds and dogs and trash and dirt and to her, it is all an exploration, a wonder. She is all smiles and she begins every day with an open mind and excitement. She is fearless, or rather, she is unaware of consequence. She nose dives off of the bed or couch, she climbs up things and falls down regularly, often crashing into things first with impressive impact. And usually she's up before I can even check for injury. I love her carefree abandon, adventurous spirit and busy nature. She is a study in motion. She makes saying yes to life look easy, and her enthusiasm is infectious. Unbeknownst to her, she is luring me back into the world. It is odd to feel, as the parent, that I'm the one that needs training wheels - but that is where I am right now. Unsteady on my feet, afraid of more sadness and I still feel in my heart like an animal that is desperately looking for it's lost mate. I know much of Alan is alive and well in our soon to be one-year-old creation and at times I feel as though bits of my soul mate are waddling back and forth in front of me; bag of goldfish in one hand, keys in the other. Just last week when Lily awoke, the first thing she reached for from her crib was a picture of Alan that rests above it. She took the photo in her hands, then placed it in the crib, adjusted it a few times against the rungs and then decided she'd bring it with her while she had her morning drink. Moments like that reassure me that he remains very much a part of our lives. How little she knows how reassuring she is. My pint sized dose of life affirmation coaxing me into the present, drawing me into the future.

Mosey Girl.

Now that Lily is upright she's a wanderer. She is content with a set of keys or any item found along the way, in one hand, while she moseys around our cramped apartment. She explores every nook, and her route changes depending on the mission. She has become an effective transporter and re designer of all things. Books come off of shelves, shoes are moved to the shelves, shapes go inside of stacking cups, table top items within reach are slowly removed and casually discarded en route to somewhere else, and frequently she heads to the corner behind the bedroom chair where Alan's guitar lives. There she plucks a few strings, walks away for a few seconds and returns to make some more music. And it is music she plays - she plucks very deliberately and listens. This is no ordinary strummer, Lily is channeling her dad yet again. Just when I was envisioning her future as an interior decorator, I imagine her on a stage, guitar in hand and this time she's singing and playing. So many possibilities in a life so new. My favorite daydreams are about Lily's future and the (hopefully) carefree years that lie ahead. My dreams now are all for her, a new reality that I assume comes with parenting.

It never ceases to amaze me when she displays some mannerism or trait that resembles either me or Alan. Her moves are organic and instinctively driven - she bops to music, grabs her shaker for accompaniment, music moves her physically as it does me. She pitter patters quickly when hoping to catch a glimpse of the two kids who live around the corner, she is hungry to socialize with other children - both Alan and I loved making friends but her "aggressive" pursuit of others is all her own. Just yesterday in a store after paying for Lily's new shoes, I turned to find her zeroing in on a two year old boy who she ended up throwing herself on. She was smiling as she stood before him, belly to belly and then she just lunged. Her excitement over slightly older kids is palpable and to see her chase after the ones who live down the hall is beautiful to watch and gut wrenching to witness. How I already wish I could offer her a sister or brother - someone for her to push in a wagon, someone for her to push out of the way, someone with whom she can laugh and play with all day long. A partner in crime, and more family to go around. I want to give her so much and if I can't bring her dad back how I wish I could give her someone else. More for me to love with all my heart. Not an attempt to fill a void, just another step toward the picture that Alan and I had painted in our minds. And they could have each other for the rest of their lives, long after I'm gone.

As we near Lily's first birthday it amazes me to think that this time last year I was waiting for her entrance into the world, my loneliness and grief immeasurable. She kept me alive then just as she does now. I love waking up to her every morning, no matter how early. And when she falls asleep in my arms as she did two nights ago, hands folded across her chest in the exact same position as Alan would sleep, I count my blessings that this beautiful creature who is so busy by day and so still at night has come into my life. There is another person home with me now, who walks the floors that her dad graced and delights in so many curiosities that Alan and I knew she would. It breaks my heart he isn't here to see it - but perhaps he has the best view in the house.

Here we go.

Saturday, Lily and I went to her favorite restaurant for lunch. Thankfully she is now eating off the menu which makes our outings easier as I no longer have to pack a meal for her. She loves the diner. It is loud, bustling, has seats that attach to the table and if she's lucky, she'll be seated in a booth with a mirrored backdrop so she can show herself french fries in the reflection and leave her fingerprints behind. She eats with gusto, and is well practiced at loading up a mouthful as though food were going out of style. She devoured grilled cheese bits, fries, had some pancake and sausage - all while occasionally turning around to point to the men in the booth behind us. Lily now identifies everything as "dah" and typically she is quick to find all children in the restaurant. She then fixates on them, offering an occasional shriek or squeal to get their attention - and is thoroughly entertained as she eyes them while dabbling with containers of creamer and metal spoons. But Saturday it was all about the two men facing her when she turned around. And for a moment my heart sank. As she pointed to them she said "dah" and with that my mind began spinning. Immediately I wondered of she thought one of them was her dad. They really bore no resemblance to Alan but she sees pictures of him all the time and on a superficial level, they did share characteristics. They had scruffy faces and dark hair. Possibly enough for an eleven month old to believe. It was my first taste of "is she looking for him?" and I must brace myself for more similar experiences to come. I dread the ache she will feel when she sees other kids walking to school, swinging from the hands of parents on either side. I dread the absence she'll feel when being picked up at the end of the day. Many children face similar situations with just one parent but I am envious that some of them know that they'll see their father at dinner or perhaps he'll tuck them in that night. And if not that night, sometime soon they'll see them.

Some have told me that what children never know, they don't miss. That idea is both a comfort and nightmare. I want Lily to know who her dad is, was, I want her to know his many wonderful qualities. I want her to be able to imagine the softness of his voice, the strength of his arms, the warmth in his heart. I want her to feel as though his arms are always around her, and that whispers in the wind are his words of encouragement, that he's always there right by her side - In her steps as she walks with me to school, and in my excitement as I lift her into my embrace when I pick her up at day's end. I don't want her searching for him, I want her to know that she's found him within her. My greatest wish is that she feel complete - loved by us both, always.