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.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Monday, October 17, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
There She Goes.
For some time Lily has been saying
"I'm going to school in September."
And after a fun school picnic a week ago, staged outside a beautiful and imposing church, she's now been inside.
There was much anticipation, discussion, a bit of apprehension and outfit changing. She refused hair clips and ponytails, in favor of her let-it-flow shag, finally paired a shirt with leggings, insisted on bringing a purse, a ladybug backpack with additional purses, a few music shakers and other important items inside.
They all remained in her cubby.
She spent the morning in somewhat of a quiet, observational mode.
Just like her dad, taking it all in.
But some of her energetic spark broke through - she cooked in the kitchen, took care of six babies, washed her hands three times at the perfect height sink, found and hoarded scarves and shakers, did a few puzzles. I was able to step outside the room a couple of times, to minimal protest, and when class finished she rushed to the door, poked her head out and excitedly told me "Mama! School's over!". She made it through a transitional hour just fine, and even exclaimed "that was fun!". She later recounted to her Granny that her favorite part of the morning was snack.
Just like her mama, Alan would surely have joked.
Big day.
For us both.
Moving forward separately, together.
She has an insatiable curiosity and days are loaded with questions, which are getting harder to answer. I'm hoping her teachers will help me out.
Why did Humpty Dumpty fall? Why couldn't they put him back together?
Did his body break? (Loaded? Or straight-forward question?)
Why was the baby/cradle in the tree?
Who put it there? (Irresponsible lyrics.)
And as of last night, Why is Bonnie in the Ocean?
How does one explain to a two and a half year old that Bonnie means pretty, should really be paired with Lass which is another name for a girl and that she lies over the ocean, not in it, which means she's really on the other side of it, and that the sea is kind of like an ocean?
Please, Raved-About-Lauded-WidelyPraised-Wonderful-School,
help
me
out.
"I'm going to school in September."
And after a fun school picnic a week ago, staged outside a beautiful and imposing church, she's now been inside.
There was much anticipation, discussion, a bit of apprehension and outfit changing. She refused hair clips and ponytails, in favor of her let-it-flow shag, finally paired a shirt with leggings, insisted on bringing a purse, a ladybug backpack with additional purses, a few music shakers and other important items inside.
They all remained in her cubby.
She spent the morning in somewhat of a quiet, observational mode.
Just like her dad, taking it all in.
But some of her energetic spark broke through - she cooked in the kitchen, took care of six babies, washed her hands three times at the perfect height sink, found and hoarded scarves and shakers, did a few puzzles. I was able to step outside the room a couple of times, to minimal protest, and when class finished she rushed to the door, poked her head out and excitedly told me "Mama! School's over!". She made it through a transitional hour just fine, and even exclaimed "that was fun!". She later recounted to her Granny that her favorite part of the morning was snack.
Just like her mama, Alan would surely have joked.
Big day.
For us both.
Moving forward separately, together.
She has an insatiable curiosity and days are loaded with questions, which are getting harder to answer. I'm hoping her teachers will help me out.
Why did Humpty Dumpty fall? Why couldn't they put him back together?
Did his body break? (Loaded? Or straight-forward question?)
Why was the baby/cradle in the tree?
Who put it there? (Irresponsible lyrics.)
And as of last night, Why is Bonnie in the Ocean?
How does one explain to a two and a half year old that Bonnie means pretty, should really be paired with Lass which is another name for a girl and that she lies over the ocean, not in it, which means she's really on the other side of it, and that the sea is kind of like an ocean?
Please, Raved-About-Lauded-WidelyPraised-Wonderful-School,
help
me
out.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Addendum to yesterday.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Forever Remembered.
It is hard to believe that this day, ten years ago, loss happened over and over and over again. I did little in commemoration today, but I can't say it takes a day like this to remember and honor every life that was so senselessly taken. I doubt anyone that lived in this city or it's boroughs will ever forget the all consuming grief, shock and despair. The spontaneous comraderie and the feeling of helplessness. It all resonates with me. I have wondered how all of the children, unborn at the time, are faring - having lost a beloved parent they never met. It's my greatest point of reference, a tragic source of kids who are living and learning about the parent they never knew.
Eight years ahead of Lily.
I think they must be shining.
And they must know that they carry beautiful spirits within them.
I remember during one of Alan's hospital stays, he had a roommate that was either a policeman or a firefighter and we were fairly confident from visitors and overheard conversations he had been a 9/11 responder. He was married with kids and he'd be angry if his wife was home with them or working. There was a moment when he really needed something and I went to the other side of the curtain to help. When his wife showed up he was angry, vulnerable and scared.
You just lost your man, he said.
I'll never forget it.
Nor will she.
But what do you do when you're financially tapped and you're torn between watching over your kids or your husband? She was tormented and I could hear the desperation in both of their voices. I prayed that wouldn't be us. And to hear tonight that still, cancer patients that were there, working amid such toxic dust are not yet compensated for their treatment disgusts me. The selflessness of everyone that put their lives on the line and are now, consequently losing their own, was remarkable. Healthcare coverage in this country, or lack thereof, is discriminating enough and the torment of wondering if you can afford to try to save a life as you struggle to save it is torture enough. So to see this country we live in, deny its greatest heros of well earned assistance, is ... is... shameful.
They deserve more than thanks.
Lily and I visited a fire station and I'm sure many firefighters today have survivor guilt.
Not fun.
But they were quietly kind, inviting and gracious and it was sweet to hear my girl, prompted, say
Thank you for helping to keep us safe.
Too early for a lesson about 9/11 but never too young to understand the kindness and generosity of New York's Finest.
Yesterday, flitting in the sprinklers with her closest buddy, he asked her where her daddy was. Without skipping a beat, wiping water from her face she said, "He died".
They went on playing.
She is learning to cope, and comprehending in her own way what she can. When I saw some of the 9/11 in utero babes (now pre-teens) today, standing courageously and proudly next to their surviving parent - honoring those who cannot be with them, I felt sure that Lily will be OK.
There will be a life long void. But she has Alan's strength, our combined resilience,a thoughtful soul, and role models in these surviving kids.
I hope from them she will draw strength and inspiration.
Eight years ahead of Lily.
I think they must be shining.
And they must know that they carry beautiful spirits within them.
I remember during one of Alan's hospital stays, he had a roommate that was either a policeman or a firefighter and we were fairly confident from visitors and overheard conversations he had been a 9/11 responder. He was married with kids and he'd be angry if his wife was home with them or working. There was a moment when he really needed something and I went to the other side of the curtain to help. When his wife showed up he was angry, vulnerable and scared.
You just lost your man, he said.
I'll never forget it.
Nor will she.
But what do you do when you're financially tapped and you're torn between watching over your kids or your husband? She was tormented and I could hear the desperation in both of their voices. I prayed that wouldn't be us. And to hear tonight that still, cancer patients that were there, working amid such toxic dust are not yet compensated for their treatment disgusts me. The selflessness of everyone that put their lives on the line and are now, consequently losing their own, was remarkable. Healthcare coverage in this country, or lack thereof, is discriminating enough and the torment of wondering if you can afford to try to save a life as you struggle to save it is torture enough. So to see this country we live in, deny its greatest heros of well earned assistance, is ... is... shameful.
They deserve more than thanks.
Lily and I visited a fire station and I'm sure many firefighters today have survivor guilt.
Not fun.
But they were quietly kind, inviting and gracious and it was sweet to hear my girl, prompted, say
Thank you for helping to keep us safe.
Too early for a lesson about 9/11 but never too young to understand the kindness and generosity of New York's Finest.
Yesterday, flitting in the sprinklers with her closest buddy, he asked her where her daddy was. Without skipping a beat, wiping water from her face she said, "He died".
They went on playing.
She is learning to cope, and comprehending in her own way what she can. When I saw some of the 9/11 in utero babes (now pre-teens) today, standing courageously and proudly next to their surviving parent - honoring those who cannot be with them, I felt sure that Lily will be OK.
There will be a life long void. But she has Alan's strength, our combined resilience,a thoughtful soul, and role models in these surviving kids.
I hope from them she will draw strength and inspiration.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
September
Today is our anniversary.
Four years. (Would have been.)
But we never made it to one.
Together that is.
Sigh.
Still miss him and love him like crazy, and it's hard to believe so much has happened since then.
I had our girl.
And she's growing up.
It is easier to measure my life, post Alan, in Lily minutes - because it is mostly she who has kept me afloat and helped me to find my sea legs in the past two and a half years.
But I am here, and grateful for it.
This time four years ago we were on the eve of newly wedded bliss.
We got a taste of it. Buzzing on a moped in the Aeolian islands, on ocean roads in Sicily, wandering the streets of Florence. But even at the end of our honeymoon, Alan's hand often rested on his chest. I can forever see him posed that way. His ribs were hurting, we knew something was up. We had coasted since a major surgery in July, so, I guess, we were due for a reality check.
Got it.
Still wildly happy in love, and achingly saddened by what hung in the balance.
New tumors, cracked ribs.
Italy at least still lingered, fresh in our minds.
And the love and excitement that floated us through an amazing, family and friend filled celebration, had left our hearts near bursting with happiness and the kind of joy that always feels good to remember.
It still is hard for me to wrap my mind around the fact that Lily is aware of none of it/this. She knows her dad and will continue to do so through me and her extended family. I just wish she could have a moment with Alan. To experience his humor, to climb into his lap, sit on his shoulders, taste his Bananas Foster.
Mmmmmmmm... Yummyyyy!! She'd say. That's GOOD. She'd exclaim.
I love hearing her satisfaction.
September now marks the eve of pre-school.
Lily is ready.
Dressing herself with regular wardrobe changes, testing the boundaries, challenging my decisions, picking my outfits, riding her tricycle and scooter with ease, doing everything herself.
And she continues to fill the air with song.
I used to love hearing Alan hum. It filled me with happiness to hear him momentarily unfettered by dark thoughts.
And now Lily buzzes around gleefully (most of the time) and I savor the repeat performances.
Recently while we were playing together, with her back to me, she said -
You happy mama?
Yes Pumpkin I am.
Why?
Because you're here and you make me soooo happy. Are you happy Lily?
Yes, she says quietly, focused on her beads.
May
she
always
be.
Four years. (Would have been.)
But we never made it to one.
Together that is.
Sigh.
Still miss him and love him like crazy, and it's hard to believe so much has happened since then.
I had our girl.
And she's growing up.
It is easier to measure my life, post Alan, in Lily minutes - because it is mostly she who has kept me afloat and helped me to find my sea legs in the past two and a half years.
But I am here, and grateful for it.
This time four years ago we were on the eve of newly wedded bliss.
We got a taste of it. Buzzing on a moped in the Aeolian islands, on ocean roads in Sicily, wandering the streets of Florence. But even at the end of our honeymoon, Alan's hand often rested on his chest. I can forever see him posed that way. His ribs were hurting, we knew something was up. We had coasted since a major surgery in July, so, I guess, we were due for a reality check.
Got it.
Still wildly happy in love, and achingly saddened by what hung in the balance.
New tumors, cracked ribs.
Italy at least still lingered, fresh in our minds.
And the love and excitement that floated us through an amazing, family and friend filled celebration, had left our hearts near bursting with happiness and the kind of joy that always feels good to remember.
It still is hard for me to wrap my mind around the fact that Lily is aware of none of it/this. She knows her dad and will continue to do so through me and her extended family. I just wish she could have a moment with Alan. To experience his humor, to climb into his lap, sit on his shoulders, taste his Bananas Foster.
Mmmmmmmm... Yummyyyy!! She'd say. That's GOOD. She'd exclaim.
I love hearing her satisfaction.
September now marks the eve of pre-school.
Lily is ready.
Dressing herself with regular wardrobe changes, testing the boundaries, challenging my decisions, picking my outfits, riding her tricycle and scooter with ease, doing everything herself.
And she continues to fill the air with song.
I used to love hearing Alan hum. It filled me with happiness to hear him momentarily unfettered by dark thoughts.
And now Lily buzzes around gleefully (most of the time) and I savor the repeat performances.
Recently while we were playing together, with her back to me, she said -
You happy mama?
Yes Pumpkin I am.
Why?
Because you're here and you make me soooo happy. Are you happy Lily?
Yes, she says quietly, focused on her beads.
May
she
always
be.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Comes With Age. (I guess?)
Two and a half this month and although Lily has always been a particularly independent child, she has become even more so. Tantrums fill the air after Cybil style comments like this:
I want them
I don't want them
No I want THEM!!!
No I don't want them
Mama I waaaaaaannnnnnttt them
NO I don't want them.
OK. Whew. Cold pancakes now going in garbage after sitting untouched for an hour, igniting tantrum #1 for the day at 9:15am.
Exhausting. I think this is about being 2.5? Control of ones actions and the need to assert oneself? I will hope that this ends in six months if not sooner. But it ominously reeks of adolescence and I'm definitely not accepting that it's beginning now.
No thanks.
Oh. And does taking a little chair over to the front door and undoing two Medeco locks and letting oneself out into the hall fall under the same assert-my-independence category?
Not.... cool.
I also clearly recollect my mom laying out my outfits the night before school. Can still see the the plaid dress with white turtleneck there on the rocker, its outline bathed in moonlight. But Lily, not yet in school now picks out her own outfits most days. And I am not to help her.
Mama.
Go in da other room.
OK Pumpkin, just call me if you'd like some help.
OK. She says definitively, with distracted excitement, focused determination.
GO.
She's pretty good. Color matching a bit off, things sometimes inside out, but generally, maybe I should regard this as myteen toddler making mornings easier? Lies them out on the floor first, after multiple selections are reviewed and makes her selection.
Perhaps Alan is trying to assist from above. To lighten the load? Maybe that's why she briefly went for the heavy knit Yankee sweater this morning with the outside air already in the mid to high 70s... We were successful in diverting her attention and she then came out with a perfect, slightly large, woven hand-me-down shift dress (for a four year old, but we're looking ahead, right?)and she donned it skillfully with only distanced supervision from her Granny who subtly assisted with a mis-routed arm.
The dressing I can take, the front door exits and tantrums I can do without.
But maybe those are next on Alan's list.
I want them
I don't want them
No I want THEM!!!
No I don't want them
Mama I waaaaaaannnnnnttt them
NO I don't want them.
OK. Whew. Cold pancakes now going in garbage after sitting untouched for an hour, igniting tantrum #1 for the day at 9:15am.
Exhausting. I think this is about being 2.5? Control of ones actions and the need to assert oneself? I will hope that this ends in six months if not sooner. But it ominously reeks of adolescence and I'm definitely not accepting that it's beginning now.
No thanks.
Oh. And does taking a little chair over to the front door and undoing two Medeco locks and letting oneself out into the hall fall under the same assert-my-independence category?
Not.... cool.
I also clearly recollect my mom laying out my outfits the night before school. Can still see the the plaid dress with white turtleneck there on the rocker, its outline bathed in moonlight. But Lily, not yet in school now picks out her own outfits most days. And I am not to help her.
Mama.
Go in da other room.
OK Pumpkin, just call me if you'd like some help.
OK. She says definitively, with distracted excitement, focused determination.
GO.
She's pretty good. Color matching a bit off, things sometimes inside out, but generally, maybe I should regard this as my
Perhaps Alan is trying to assist from above. To lighten the load? Maybe that's why she briefly went for the heavy knit Yankee sweater this morning with the outside air already in the mid to high 70s... We were successful in diverting her attention and she then came out with a perfect, slightly large, woven hand-me-down shift dress (for a four year old, but we're looking ahead, right?)and she donned it skillfully with only distanced supervision from her Granny who subtly assisted with a mis-routed arm.
The dressing I can take, the front door exits and tantrums I can do without.
But maybe those are next on Alan's list.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
City Mouse/Country Mouse.
We got out of town.
Lily, James (invisible friend) and I.
The plane ride to Ca. is a long one, and Lily, as only Lily seems to be able to do, remained amped and awake the entire flight until the pilot announced the descent. Then she crashed hard, as though sleeping potion induced, to my relieved but frustrated consternation at this travel pattern she has mastered.
5.5 hours.
My mother and mother-in-law have now witnessed this "flying style" first hand.
They think it's amusing.
But touch down had me elated and Northern Ca. immediately restores my spirit.
Was sooo nice.
Too quick, ever busy, but we got some fresh air.
More hand-me-downs.
And love.
From cousins and grandparents and aunties and a loving uncle and friends. Her NY Granny and BebeO came with us for part of the time so Lily got to show them around her garden, and we were able to share with them some Left Coast Family Hang Time. Was very, very nice. Lily, very much like her Grandpa, enjoys having the entire family together. So she was ecstatic to have so many friends and family join us for a kick-off dinner.
We also relished in lots of outdoor quiet.
So nice to relax under the stillness of the sun, warm rays, no noise but distant leaf blowers or rustling leaves. The sounds of birds taking flight from their perches. Barking dogs. Pool sweep random spouts of water.
Ahhh, suburbs....
We breakfasted outside and Lily unintentionally shared her waffle with a Blue-Jay.
It was a bit unsettling for her but we thought maybe it was a Mama Bird who flew off to her nest to share with her family so then Lily didn't feel so violated.
She was finished anyway. She-who-has-entered-a-hopefully-short-term-era-of-tantrums is protective of her belongings, even if not using them - but she took the waffle abduction in stride, and busied herself with watering the patio and it's plants instead.
We also had sleepovers with her cousins and that was the icing on the cake. We drove with her Uncle Dave (Unca Dave!! Unca Dave!!) to pick them up at camp - so Lily toured their classrooms and delighted in their playgrounds. Pre-school begins next month so it was a taste of the New World for her to see a school up close. Addison and Simone scaled structures and swung from monkey bars while Lily scrambled up and down curly slides, lounged on "the moon" (a tunnel), washed her hands and opened/closed doors in multiple playhouses.
She trailed them with excitement and awe.
We also ventured to Santa Cruz for some beach and rides and fries, and perhaps the best part, for me, was turning around in the front see to see them all asleep in their car seats. Family frozen in rest mode, as we curved past redwoods, and cruised alongside dry, brown, rolling hills crowned with stately oaks.
Beautiful in so many ways.
When we returned to NYC, Lily greeted the closets and crib and made sure our apartment was in order. Like her dad, she doesn't like to be far from home for too long.
Trying to balance a California/New York state of mind.
Will channel husband and daughter.
Lily, James (invisible friend) and I.
The plane ride to Ca. is a long one, and Lily, as only Lily seems to be able to do, remained amped and awake the entire flight until the pilot announced the descent. Then she crashed hard, as though sleeping potion induced, to my relieved but frustrated consternation at this travel pattern she has mastered.
5.5 hours.
My mother and mother-in-law have now witnessed this "flying style" first hand.
They think it's amusing.
But touch down had me elated and Northern Ca. immediately restores my spirit.
Was sooo nice.
Too quick, ever busy, but we got some fresh air.
More hand-me-downs.
And love.
From cousins and grandparents and aunties and a loving uncle and friends. Her NY Granny and BebeO came with us for part of the time so Lily got to show them around her garden, and we were able to share with them some Left Coast Family Hang Time. Was very, very nice. Lily, very much like her Grandpa, enjoys having the entire family together. So she was ecstatic to have so many friends and family join us for a kick-off dinner.
We also relished in lots of outdoor quiet.
So nice to relax under the stillness of the sun, warm rays, no noise but distant leaf blowers or rustling leaves. The sounds of birds taking flight from their perches. Barking dogs. Pool sweep random spouts of water.
Ahhh, suburbs....
We breakfasted outside and Lily unintentionally shared her waffle with a Blue-Jay.
It was a bit unsettling for her but we thought maybe it was a Mama Bird who flew off to her nest to share with her family so then Lily didn't feel so violated.
She was finished anyway. She-who-has-entered-a-hopefully-short-term-era-of-tantrums is protective of her belongings, even if not using them - but she took the waffle abduction in stride, and busied herself with watering the patio and it's plants instead.
We also had sleepovers with her cousins and that was the icing on the cake. We drove with her Uncle Dave (Unca Dave!! Unca Dave!!) to pick them up at camp - so Lily toured their classrooms and delighted in their playgrounds. Pre-school begins next month so it was a taste of the New World for her to see a school up close. Addison and Simone scaled structures and swung from monkey bars while Lily scrambled up and down curly slides, lounged on "the moon" (a tunnel), washed her hands and opened/closed doors in multiple playhouses.
She trailed them with excitement and awe.
We also ventured to Santa Cruz for some beach and rides and fries, and perhaps the best part, for me, was turning around in the front see to see them all asleep in their car seats. Family frozen in rest mode, as we curved past redwoods, and cruised alongside dry, brown, rolling hills crowned with stately oaks.
Beautiful in so many ways.
When we returned to NYC, Lily greeted the closets and crib and made sure our apartment was in order. Like her dad, she doesn't like to be far from home for too long.
Trying to balance a California/New York state of mind.
Will channel husband and daughter.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Some days. (All I Want)
Some days are much better than others.
Today is not one of THOSE.
In fact this week, this month, feels pretty shitty much of the time.
Just does.
I am lonelier than I have ever been.
I am finding it hard to breathe in such a small space for me and my two and a half year old. And the options seem... in far away places with no job prospects.
Ugh.
The hope has been, post Alan,to move to Brooklyn - mainly for a few more trees, quieter streets, and a family community that isn't suburbs but isn't city either. But the neighborhoods that are established are exhorbitently priced and I'm not sure I like the choices so much anymore.
I grew up in the suburbs.
And while I don't want that necessarily for Lily, nor myself, I would like a happy medium. Some more trees on the streets, a bit more breathing room, fewer car alarms, less trash, exhaust, and did I say breathing room?
Breathing Room.
Feels good just to look at the words.
I don't want an apartment with amazing city views. Honestly? That image makes me contract (OK, I'd take Central Park). I would like green branches outside our windows. I don't want a roof deck with a view of an industrial waterfront, I don't want to have to march up four floors, I don't want windows looking onto brick walls and stairwells, the thought of a massive apartment complex gives me claustrophobia.
I want neighborhood. A garden. Sunlight. Space. A non closet size room for Lily. Love for myself. A stimulating job. Closet space. A breeze through the window. A kitchen with a large counter-top.
And a washer & dryer.
Please.
I can dream.
When Alan and I were planning together we contemplated life in towns on the Hudson River. And Brooklyn. And Jersey. With him - we could have afforded a home in those areas and as a family,as a FAMILY of three or perhaps more, we might have been more isolated but we'd have neighborhood friends and the comfort of our own company. We wouldn't have needed so much at our doorstep. But as an only parent with a toddler I think those areas wouldn't be a wise move.
More isolation. More loneliness.
So the world seems to be shrinking, rather than expanding. And I'm not happy about it. Today, at least.
Though two friends just lifted my spirits up tremendously in different ways.
I need a neighborhood of sorts that we can immerse ourselves in, so there is contact with other life - sounds extreme, but that's how I feel.
That's what I need.
What I'd like.
What I crave.
I have always been OK with doing things on my own, that, I actually enjoy. But because I am a "lone" parent I need human contact.
Not colonnades in suburbia.
And there is SO much I do love about NYC. It is wildly stimulating and gushes with life - even with the grime and AC drips. There is a clip in a Sesame Street episode where an artist constructs an animal out of plastic bags, attaches it limply to a subway sidewalk vent and it comes alive with hot air (click to see) as the underworld passes by.
That is what I do love about this place.
Unexpected beauty, unconventional creativity.
Maybe it's not all so bad. Just had to vent. Get it out.
Yell from the mountain top. Sometimes I feel like that deflated bear.
So then I think of Lily.
The quickest fix of all.
Today is not one of THOSE.
In fact this week, this month, feels pretty shitty much of the time.
Just does.
I am lonelier than I have ever been.
I am finding it hard to breathe in such a small space for me and my two and a half year old. And the options seem... in far away places with no job prospects.
Ugh.
The hope has been, post Alan,to move to Brooklyn - mainly for a few more trees, quieter streets, and a family community that isn't suburbs but isn't city either. But the neighborhoods that are established are exhorbitently priced and I'm not sure I like the choices so much anymore.
I grew up in the suburbs.
And while I don't want that necessarily for Lily, nor myself, I would like a happy medium. Some more trees on the streets, a bit more breathing room, fewer car alarms, less trash, exhaust, and did I say breathing room?
Breathing Room.
Feels good just to look at the words.
I don't want an apartment with amazing city views. Honestly? That image makes me contract (OK, I'd take Central Park). I would like green branches outside our windows. I don't want a roof deck with a view of an industrial waterfront, I don't want to have to march up four floors, I don't want windows looking onto brick walls and stairwells, the thought of a massive apartment complex gives me claustrophobia.
I want neighborhood. A garden. Sunlight. Space. A non closet size room for Lily. Love for myself. A stimulating job. Closet space. A breeze through the window. A kitchen with a large counter-top.
And a washer & dryer.
Please.
I can dream.
When Alan and I were planning together we contemplated life in towns on the Hudson River. And Brooklyn. And Jersey. With him - we could have afforded a home in those areas and as a family,as a FAMILY of three or perhaps more, we might have been more isolated but we'd have neighborhood friends and the comfort of our own company. We wouldn't have needed so much at our doorstep. But as an only parent with a toddler I think those areas wouldn't be a wise move.
More isolation. More loneliness.
So the world seems to be shrinking, rather than expanding. And I'm not happy about it. Today, at least.
Though two friends just lifted my spirits up tremendously in different ways.
I need a neighborhood of sorts that we can immerse ourselves in, so there is contact with other life - sounds extreme, but that's how I feel.
That's what I need.
What I'd like.
What I crave.
I have always been OK with doing things on my own, that, I actually enjoy. But because I am a "lone" parent I need human contact.
Not colonnades in suburbia.
And there is SO much I do love about NYC. It is wildly stimulating and gushes with life - even with the grime and AC drips. There is a clip in a Sesame Street episode where an artist constructs an animal out of plastic bags, attaches it limply to a subway sidewalk vent and it comes alive with hot air (click to see) as the underworld passes by.
That is what I do love about this place.
Unexpected beauty, unconventional creativity.
Maybe it's not all so bad. Just had to vent. Get it out.
Yell from the mountain top. Sometimes I feel like that deflated bear.
So then I think of Lily.
The quickest fix of all.
Friday, July 29, 2011
Beanstalk.
Lily is almost two and a half and has taken to offering her fashion opinions when I get dressed.
And I listen.
Something is wrong with that picture, I think.
And she takes great care with her own outfits as well.
Things MUST match.
We have had morning meltdowns due to pairings she deems do not go together.
"They don't maaaaaaaaatch!!!!!!!!!" and then she collapses into a frog position on the floor, with dramatic Duse-style whimpering.
She regularly insists on dressing herself and is not bad at it. Often pants are on backward but generally she's quite good at it. I must confess that occasionally things are backwards on me as well, such as this morning when I discovered I had my pajama lounge pants on in reverse.
Can I pass it off as "One Tired Mama Syndrome"?
Maybe it wouldn't do any harm to heed her advice after all.
She loves swimsuits and insisted on wearing a favorite over her pjs one recent evening.
And she can be insistent about donning unseasonal clothing - which, in 90 degree heat can be considered negligent on my part.
It is not easy convincing a fashion "determined" toddler that a lined ultrasuede Fall coat isn't appropriate for late July - or that mittens aren't great for dense, steamy days - yet I do manage to redirect her interests with multiple reasons and other options.
Why? She says.
And then I offer an answer.
Why? She says again.
And another.
Why?
Because. I say. And that is how I emphatically leave it.
I now find that I am frequently fresh out of answers. Bad Mama.
I cannot wait for her pre-school mornings to begin so that I may learn too.
I am also looking forward to her having to respond to authority and to being reminded how to follow directions. She is so ready.
As am I.
She has become a very nice little helper - enjoys cleanup(on good days), likes to clear her plates, carry dirty paintbrush water in a saucer over white shag rug to Mama in kitchen.
Here Mama. She says, black water dripping down arm onto floor.
Also likes to wash things. Even if not dirty.
What I love most about Lily at this age is that we can communicate on so many levels and she can expertly converse, manipulate or be helpful. Overall, she is
maturing.
And I think that's what took my breath away in a recent music class. As I watched her sing, dance thoughtfully and drum, I was caught in a moment of near misty-eyed disbelief that this little girl is indeed
A Little Girl.
Our Little Girl.
We do trips without the stroller. Do art projects. Make phone calls.
We have regular music jam and dance sessions.
She showed me which clothes she liked in a catalogue.
Opinions pronounced.
Rainbows, stripes. Flowers.
Good taste that girl has.
Oh. And I caught her singing "You Can Close Your Eyes" so sweetly.
Just like her dad did.
Growing growing growing.
Up.
And I listen.
Something is wrong with that picture, I think.
And she takes great care with her own outfits as well.
Things MUST match.
We have had morning meltdowns due to pairings she deems do not go together.
"They don't maaaaaaaaatch!!!!!!!!!" and then she collapses into a frog position on the floor, with dramatic Duse-style whimpering.
She regularly insists on dressing herself and is not bad at it. Often pants are on backward but generally she's quite good at it. I must confess that occasionally things are backwards on me as well, such as this morning when I discovered I had my pajama lounge pants on in reverse.
Can I pass it off as "One Tired Mama Syndrome"?
Maybe it wouldn't do any harm to heed her advice after all.
She loves swimsuits and insisted on wearing a favorite over her pjs one recent evening.
And she can be insistent about donning unseasonal clothing - which, in 90 degree heat can be considered negligent on my part.
It is not easy convincing a fashion "determined" toddler that a lined ultrasuede Fall coat isn't appropriate for late July - or that mittens aren't great for dense, steamy days - yet I do manage to redirect her interests with multiple reasons and other options.
Why? She says.
And then I offer an answer.
Why? She says again.
And another.
Why?
Because. I say. And that is how I emphatically leave it.
I now find that I am frequently fresh out of answers. Bad Mama.
I cannot wait for her pre-school mornings to begin so that I may learn too.
I am also looking forward to her having to respond to authority and to being reminded how to follow directions. She is so ready.
As am I.
She has become a very nice little helper - enjoys cleanup(on good days), likes to clear her plates, carry dirty paintbrush water in a saucer over white shag rug to Mama in kitchen.
Here Mama. She says, black water dripping down arm onto floor.
Also likes to wash things. Even if not dirty.
What I love most about Lily at this age is that we can communicate on so many levels and she can expertly converse, manipulate or be helpful. Overall, she is
maturing.
And I think that's what took my breath away in a recent music class. As I watched her sing, dance thoughtfully and drum, I was caught in a moment of near misty-eyed disbelief that this little girl is indeed
A Little Girl.
Our Little Girl.
We do trips without the stroller. Do art projects. Make phone calls.
We have regular music jam and dance sessions.
She showed me which clothes she liked in a catalogue.
Opinions pronounced.
Rainbows, stripes. Flowers.
Good taste that girl has.
Oh. And I caught her singing "You Can Close Your Eyes" so sweetly.
Just like her dad did.
Growing growing growing.
Up.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Three.
3 years.
Three years.
Three years.
Have passed.
This time I know where the time went. It went into watering and feeding and loving and growing a two year old who's first line in the mornings is often, "I'm a bigger girl now!".
She is.
Must be the sun.
And the multitude of hugs and kisses she is showered with hourly.
Her dad's spirit is definitely giving her a boost of energy (not that she needs it) and I sense he's on damage control as well.
I hope so.
Recently she called me at work and after her caregiver briefed me on a fall from a ladder in the playground, assured me she was fine, Lily came on the line.
Hi Mama! I falled down!
Are you OK Pumpkin?
Yeah! Had a lollipop.
Smile.
All is well with my stunt-girl.
Later that day I came home to another accident story. This time a spill off the scooter. She was fine.
Helmet was on.
Good Girl.
Apparently a butterfly landed TWICE on her leg and was reluctant to leave as she rode home in her stroller.
Twice.
That was Alan. Her princely escort.
I know it.
And the following week I returned home from work, Lily already off to bed, and her nanny brought out a picture that Lily had crafted earlier that day.
I thought you should see this... She said, somewhat breathlessly. I was cooking dinner when she brought it in...
It left me beyond breathless too.
Trembling, in fact.
It was Alan.
Not only that, it was Alan as Alan once doodled himself.
As an adult.
I was shaking.
He felt so close.
It's impact so... immediate.
And the wave through my body wasn't about our two year old Picasso-esque Prodigy Child (I leave that to the grandparents), it was as though...
Alan was speaking to me, through our child.
Our messenger, a medium.
Our shared heart.
A conduit.
No idea if Lily had intended to draw a face, but the next morning as we drew she was intent on drawing eyes, ears, and limbs.
Heart still skips when I look at it.
To me, it is the most direct message from Alan.
He's very much with us, and very much within Lily.
Yes, three years apart, but he's really not so far.
And while I ached for him dearly this past month, I did feel like
we
are
three.
Three years.
Three years.
Have passed.
This time I know where the time went. It went into watering and feeding and loving and growing a two year old who's first line in the mornings is often, "I'm a bigger girl now!".
She is.
Must be the sun.
And the multitude of hugs and kisses she is showered with hourly.
Her dad's spirit is definitely giving her a boost of energy (not that she needs it) and I sense he's on damage control as well.
I hope so.
Recently she called me at work and after her caregiver briefed me on a fall from a ladder in the playground, assured me she was fine, Lily came on the line.
Hi Mama! I falled down!
Are you OK Pumpkin?
Yeah! Had a lollipop.
Smile.
All is well with my stunt-girl.
Later that day I came home to another accident story. This time a spill off the scooter. She was fine.
Helmet was on.
Good Girl.
Apparently a butterfly landed TWICE on her leg and was reluctant to leave as she rode home in her stroller.
Twice.
That was Alan. Her princely escort.
I know it.
And the following week I returned home from work, Lily already off to bed, and her nanny brought out a picture that Lily had crafted earlier that day.
I thought you should see this... She said, somewhat breathlessly. I was cooking dinner when she brought it in...
It left me beyond breathless too.
Trembling, in fact.
It was Alan.
As an adult.
I was shaking.
He felt so close.
It's impact so... immediate.
And the wave through my body wasn't about our two year old Picasso-esque Prodigy Child (I leave that to the grandparents), it was as though...
Alan was speaking to me, through our child.
Our messenger, a medium.
Our shared heart.
A conduit.
No idea if Lily had intended to draw a face, but the next morning as we drew she was intent on drawing eyes, ears, and limbs.
Heart still skips when I look at it.
To me, it is the most direct message from Alan.
He's very much with us, and very much within Lily.
Yes, three years apart, but he's really not so far.
And while I ached for him dearly this past month, I did feel like
we
are
three.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Mama's Day Off. (There IS a downtown.)
Lily had her first sleep over, ever, last weekend and I think it was a remarkable experience for us both. I was so overwhelmed with the prospect of an unscheduled day I was almost paralyzed with the freedom it promised. And nervous about how it would go. For both of us. But we prepped gently during the weeks before, and then...
Off she went.
It didn't help that she was beyond sweet and well behaved and awesome on Saturday morning before her pickup. But it did feel good to hand her off in good form.
My first day/night without my girl, and while I was needy for updates, ever wondering how she was doing, I did manage to indulge myself with some alone time.
Did I say remarkable?
I read, in the sun, and slowly sipped ice coffee while doing so.
I headed down to a favorite neighborhood and revisited it like a tourist just returning to NYC after a long hiatus. I treated myself to a long, hedonistic lunch and cold beer with lime at an old haunt from my pre-parenting days - and leisurely read and ate and drank to the vibes of soul and Latin beats - a NYC soundtrack that I hadn't enjoyed in a very, very long time.
I wandered streets aimlessly, visited a crafty bazaar, treated myself to funky jewelry and never glanced at a clock.
I did think of Lily throughout, and checked my phone regularly for updates and emergency calls. But I love to think about her, she is an instant upper even when not physically by my side. The calls never came and the updates told me she was fine at her Granny's so I did manage to
relax.
It was almost indescribable.
An afternoon with no constraints or obligations.
I comforted myself with the thought that this could be considered Alan's shift. He would have given me some afternoons off to regroup and recharge - so that's what I tried to do and it eased the guilt tremendously.
Lily could never be a burden. She is my greatest joy.
But I now understand even more fully what a parent means when they say "I need to take care of myself so I can be a better parent".
I am now a better parent.
But I'll take more sleep-overs too.
I want to be even better.
I went to a movie.
I watched TV in bed.
I awoke automatically at 6:44am but was able to get myself back to sleep until 8:59.
Not bad for a novice.
And when I was up I had my morning coffee on the roof again, and recharged some more in the sun.
And my girl? She visited her Granny's nail salon (no polish yet), went swimming with BebeO, dined outdoors, climbed out of her travel crib numerous times, fell asleep in bed alongside her Granny, played in her tent, scratched her ankle, went successfully (when she was in the mood) on the potty, went to their playground and
slept
her
latest
yet...
I guess some things are a tradeoff...
Fair enough.
And as my friend told me in anticipation of this event, "she will never look so delicious as when she returns".
SHE DID.
I couldn't get enough of her.
I hugged her and kissed her and hugged her and kissed her and off we went to swimming class where she clung to me a bit more fiercely than usual.
Felt good.
So so good.
Off she went.
It didn't help that she was beyond sweet and well behaved and awesome on Saturday morning before her pickup. But it did feel good to hand her off in good form.
My first day/night without my girl, and while I was needy for updates, ever wondering how she was doing, I did manage to indulge myself with some alone time.
Did I say remarkable?
I read, in the sun, and slowly sipped ice coffee while doing so.
I headed down to a favorite neighborhood and revisited it like a tourist just returning to NYC after a long hiatus. I treated myself to a long, hedonistic lunch and cold beer with lime at an old haunt from my pre-parenting days - and leisurely read and ate and drank to the vibes of soul and Latin beats - a NYC soundtrack that I hadn't enjoyed in a very, very long time.
I wandered streets aimlessly, visited a crafty bazaar, treated myself to funky jewelry and never glanced at a clock.
I did think of Lily throughout, and checked my phone regularly for updates and emergency calls. But I love to think about her, she is an instant upper even when not physically by my side. The calls never came and the updates told me she was fine at her Granny's so I did manage to
relax.
It was almost indescribable.
An afternoon with no constraints or obligations.
I comforted myself with the thought that this could be considered Alan's shift. He would have given me some afternoons off to regroup and recharge - so that's what I tried to do and it eased the guilt tremendously.
Lily could never be a burden. She is my greatest joy.
But I now understand even more fully what a parent means when they say "I need to take care of myself so I can be a better parent".
I am now a better parent.
But I'll take more sleep-overs too.
I want to be even better.
I went to a movie.
I watched TV in bed.
I awoke automatically at 6:44am but was able to get myself back to sleep until 8:59.
Not bad for a novice.
And when I was up I had my morning coffee on the roof again, and recharged some more in the sun.
And my girl? She visited her Granny's nail salon (no polish yet), went swimming with BebeO, dined outdoors, climbed out of her travel crib numerous times, fell asleep in bed alongside her Granny, played in her tent, scratched her ankle, went successfully (when she was in the mood) on the potty, went to their playground and
slept
her
latest
yet...
I guess some things are a tradeoff...
Fair enough.
And as my friend told me in anticipation of this event, "she will never look so delicious as when she returns".
SHE DID.
I couldn't get enough of her.
I hugged her and kissed her and hugged her and kissed her and off we went to swimming class where she clung to me a bit more fiercely than usual.
Felt good.
So so good.
Monday, June 20, 2011
I Love This Child.
The weekend came and left us, relatively unscathed. Lily happily marched through the days to her usual independent drum and I was, as always, relieved to see her living with abandon with no visible remorse for what she doesn't have. It is comforting and difficult, for me, to observe. I am overjoyed that her sunny disposition, thus far, shows no mark of loss - and while she recognizes the difference in our family composition - she doesn't yet seem pained and envious of what many other children have.
But she loves the dads.
Talks about them frequently.
Casually, as if we might meet them for a beer.
And though I brace myself for a deeper recognition to pierce her daily life more pointedly, for now, I find solace in her contentment.
But this weekend I was grateful, sad, and resentful.
Saturday morning she expertly clambered out of her crib, as I watched, eyes half open - with curiosity and concern. She did it very skillfully, teetering a bit on the rail before landing on the other side. And later we went to a barbecue where I sat for all of six minutes and spent the rest of the time ( I mean, all of it)chasing her around and pleading with her to leave the kids' rooms inside, so I could be outside with grownups. At one point I left her for a few minutes under what I thought was the watchful eyes of a friend only to hear her yelling for me gleefully from an undisclosed location. After a brief Marco Polo exchange I traced her to the neighbors yard.
Hi Mama!!!
There she was.
On her own.
Heart in mouth.
All was fine.
But those are the moments when I am insensitively reminded - shit.
I am really
on
my
own.
And -
I
am
all
she
has.
Can't get a moment of mind-at-rest.
Not sure why I bothered with the party.
I was hardly able to talk to anyone except an ex.
Joy.
And Rapture.
What's with that?!!
Come onnnnnnnn.
Please Alan, can you do something about that?!
I finally get to a few social engagements and they're who I'm stuck exchanging niceties with?
Twice now that's happened.
It's annoying.
In retrospect I guess... thank God for Lily and her wanderlust.
The car rides were nice.
But Lily the Exploradora is a handful. Life with her is exciting and draining and it would have been nice to say
Babe. Can you watch her for a few minutes?
And then on Sunday in swimming class when one mom turned to me amid splashes and water songs to tell me how proud her daughter's dad was watching from the edge, I wished I could have said the same.
And then we would have turned to wave.
Instead, I smiled.
Focused on our mermaid, who had just gone underwater TWICE.
Look at meeee!!!
She would have shouted.
And Alan would have waved and gotten a towel ready for her.
But she loves the dads.
Talks about them frequently.
Casually, as if we might meet them for a beer.
And though I brace myself for a deeper recognition to pierce her daily life more pointedly, for now, I find solace in her contentment.
But this weekend I was grateful, sad, and resentful.
Saturday morning she expertly clambered out of her crib, as I watched, eyes half open - with curiosity and concern. She did it very skillfully, teetering a bit on the rail before landing on the other side. And later we went to a barbecue where I sat for all of six minutes and spent the rest of the time ( I mean, all of it)chasing her around and pleading with her to leave the kids' rooms inside, so I could be outside with grownups. At one point I left her for a few minutes under what I thought was the watchful eyes of a friend only to hear her yelling for me gleefully from an undisclosed location. After a brief Marco Polo exchange I traced her to the neighbors yard.
Hi Mama!!!
There she was.
On her own.
Heart in mouth.
All was fine.
But those are the moments when I am insensitively reminded - shit.
I am really
on
my
own.
And -
I
am
all
she
has.
Can't get a moment of mind-at-rest.
Not sure why I bothered with the party.
I was hardly able to talk to anyone except an ex.
Joy.
And Rapture.
What's with that?!!
Come onnnnnnnn.
Please Alan, can you do something about that?!
I finally get to a few social engagements and they're who I'm stuck exchanging niceties with?
Twice now that's happened.
It's annoying.
In retrospect I guess... thank God for Lily and her wanderlust.
The car rides were nice.
But Lily the Exploradora is a handful. Life with her is exciting and draining and it would have been nice to say
Babe. Can you watch her for a few minutes?
And then on Sunday in swimming class when one mom turned to me amid splashes and water songs to tell me how proud her daughter's dad was watching from the edge, I wished I could have said the same.
And then we would have turned to wave.
Instead, I smiled.
Focused on our mermaid, who had just gone underwater TWICE.
Look at meeee!!!
She would have shouted.
And Alan would have waved and gotten a towel ready for her.
Monday, June 13, 2011
And Again...
Last fall I wrote a post, Live Through This (you can click on it for a refresher) and did a follow up as well Live Through This Part II and after reading the Sunday Times (at least part of it...) I thought it might be a helpful revisit for some. Regardless, there was an article "What To Say To Someone Who's Sick" in the Fashion and Style section.
Funny.
That is, that it was in the Fashion and Style section.
But it reiterates the reality of what it's like to be on the receiving end in grim situations, and offers helpful perspective on what words and actions prove to be the most genuine and helpful. Worth reading, as it could be/will be useful to all of us, now or sometime later in life. Since Alan passed away I have met others enduring similar challenges, and I too, still struggle with what to say and how to say it. Difficult situations will always be awkward, sad and challenging - but I feel a lot better when I acknowledge the current reality of the situation and acknowledge the reality of the circumstances. You don't have to be a downer, nor doom and gloom prophet, but if you can just be there with them and follow their lead on whatever seems to brighten their moment, you'll do just fine. Always remember that however hard it is for you, it's a hundred times more difficult for them. Remember that before this person was ill and perhaps throughout it, they had and still have other interests, a job, passions, aspirations. So conversation along those lines - whatever inspirations once filled their hours - that diverts from the seriousness of one's situation is welcome.
Yes, even gossip, as the article's author shared.
Good stuff.
It brings them back.
Illuminates that they're very much alive.
I will never forget someone very very very dear to me, while fighting cancer, saying (with humor that I'll always admire) "People look at me like I'm a dead man!".
And I got it.
Because when we hear such grave diagnosis, we can't help but imagine the worst outcome and we fast forward unnecessarily to the end we fear most.
Doesn't help the afflicted.
So do your best, while avoiding lies and phoney platitudes, to remain in the present and to focus on where one is in the moment. There are happy outcomes, miraculous recoveries, returns to good health. It is a delicate balance, I know, but yesterday's article and others' experiences can act as helpful guides to get you through very difficult times.
Lastly, the author's section on "What Can I Do to Help", couldn't be more true. So take some cues and pass the info on. If you really want to help,and can follow through with it, start a blog or online calendar with family and friends and sign them up to do everything we usually take for granted. And insist that they do just those tasks; ie., don't linger for coffee or tea or a meal with whomever you're helping as they'll end up feeling pressured to be company and host. And they'll end up with dishes and more fatigue. And unnecessary feelings of guilt or embarrassment or vulnerability.
A tall order, yes.
But you'll be appreciated for your support, attentiveness and strength.
And most importantly, love.
And everyone will be emotionally stronger because of it.
Funny.
That is, that it was in the Fashion and Style section.
But it reiterates the reality of what it's like to be on the receiving end in grim situations, and offers helpful perspective on what words and actions prove to be the most genuine and helpful. Worth reading, as it could be/will be useful to all of us, now or sometime later in life. Since Alan passed away I have met others enduring similar challenges, and I too, still struggle with what to say and how to say it. Difficult situations will always be awkward, sad and challenging - but I feel a lot better when I acknowledge the current reality of the situation and acknowledge the reality of the circumstances. You don't have to be a downer, nor doom and gloom prophet, but if you can just be there with them and follow their lead on whatever seems to brighten their moment, you'll do just fine. Always remember that however hard it is for you, it's a hundred times more difficult for them. Remember that before this person was ill and perhaps throughout it, they had and still have other interests, a job, passions, aspirations. So conversation along those lines - whatever inspirations once filled their hours - that diverts from the seriousness of one's situation is welcome.
Yes, even gossip, as the article's author shared.
Good stuff.
It brings them back.
Illuminates that they're very much alive.
I will never forget someone very very very dear to me, while fighting cancer, saying (with humor that I'll always admire) "People look at me like I'm a dead man!".
And I got it.
Because when we hear such grave diagnosis, we can't help but imagine the worst outcome and we fast forward unnecessarily to the end we fear most.
Doesn't help the afflicted.
So do your best, while avoiding lies and phoney platitudes, to remain in the present and to focus on where one is in the moment. There are happy outcomes, miraculous recoveries, returns to good health. It is a delicate balance, I know, but yesterday's article and others' experiences can act as helpful guides to get you through very difficult times.
Lastly, the author's section on "What Can I Do to Help", couldn't be more true. So take some cues and pass the info on. If you really want to help,and can follow through with it, start a blog or online calendar with family and friends and sign them up to do everything we usually take for granted. And insist that they do just those tasks; ie., don't linger for coffee or tea or a meal with whomever you're helping as they'll end up feeling pressured to be company and host. And they'll end up with dishes and more fatigue. And unnecessary feelings of guilt or embarrassment or vulnerability.
A tall order, yes.
But you'll be appreciated for your support, attentiveness and strength.
And most importantly, love.
And everyone will be emotionally stronger because of it.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Momentary Escape Needed.
Confession.
I love my daughter but tonight I do not like her.
I came home with a headache and my sweet child came home happily high from her music class only to come crashing down in temperament ten minutes later. Oh, said her awesome nanny... By the way she didn't nap today.
Warning One.
Then she whips out a bag of new hand-me-down trinkets from bigger girls she knows.
Warning Two.
It is filled with easy to break and lose toys and did contain a barbie which I hid the second I discovered she had left it behind before heading off to music class.
No barbies for many years for my girl. And now I have the challenge of somehow extracting the clothes that remain for barbie in precious new hand-me-down bag.
Lily forgets nothing so the clothes will never escape our lives even if there is no buxom plastic long legged creature to model them. And missing barbie will haunt us too no doubt.
And her Big Girl Panties are off.
Warning Three.
No interest in the potty this evening, nor diapers or anything else.
Cool.
Headache more prominent.
Battle to get her into the tub. Three negotiations to get her to sit. One concession to get out of the tub to use the little potty, no big potty, no little potty, no big potty.
She went.
Fleeting moment of happy-joy -feelin-alright-whoopin-it-up for mother and child.
Wondering if I have any Tylenol. Or anti-kryptonite antidote.
Back in tub, good groove going in the water, mom feelin ok.
Out of the tub and bedtime story go nicely. I thought we were OK.
Crib proved to be unwanted. Screams, moans, tears, I want chewy (frozen teething thingy), I don't want chewy, no blankettttt, yes blanketttt... More tears.
I closed the door and turned on kitchen sink to drown out noise.
Dishes never so much fun.
Sink off, I hear chewy hurled out of crib. Then cries - I want chewwwwwwy!!!!!
More cries.
Crying stops, transition to singing and clapping.
Then a few conversational yells - Mom! MOM!
MOM!!
Quiet.
Oops. Jinx. More singing.
She is cute.
But I am tired. Mono style tired. It is still light out and all I want to do is sleep.
Sleeping Beauty Style Sleep.
I'll take the prince wake up too.
I love my daughter but tonight I do not like her.
I came home with a headache and my sweet child came home happily high from her music class only to come crashing down in temperament ten minutes later. Oh, said her awesome nanny... By the way she didn't nap today.
Warning One.
Then she whips out a bag of new hand-me-down trinkets from bigger girls she knows.
Warning Two.
It is filled with easy to break and lose toys and did contain a barbie which I hid the second I discovered she had left it behind before heading off to music class.
No barbies for many years for my girl. And now I have the challenge of somehow extracting the clothes that remain for barbie in precious new hand-me-down bag.
Lily forgets nothing so the clothes will never escape our lives even if there is no buxom plastic long legged creature to model them. And missing barbie will haunt us too no doubt.
And her Big Girl Panties are off.
Warning Three.
No interest in the potty this evening, nor diapers or anything else.
Cool.
Headache more prominent.
Battle to get her into the tub. Three negotiations to get her to sit. One concession to get out of the tub to use the little potty, no big potty, no little potty, no big potty.
She went.
Fleeting moment of happy-joy -feelin-alright-whoopin-it-up for mother and child.
Wondering if I have any Tylenol. Or anti-kryptonite antidote.
Back in tub, good groove going in the water, mom feelin ok.
Out of the tub and bedtime story go nicely. I thought we were OK.
Crib proved to be unwanted. Screams, moans, tears, I want chewy (frozen teething thingy), I don't want chewy, no blankettttt, yes blanketttt... More tears.
I closed the door and turned on kitchen sink to drown out noise.
Dishes never so much fun.
Sink off, I hear chewy hurled out of crib. Then cries - I want chewwwwwwy!!!!!
More cries.
Crying stops, transition to singing and clapping.
Then a few conversational yells - Mom! MOM!
MOM!!
Quiet.
Oops. Jinx. More singing.
She is cute.
But I am tired. Mono style tired. It is still light out and all I want to do is sleep.
Sleeping Beauty Style Sleep.
I'll take the prince wake up too.
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