Karma. Please.

Whew.

Yesterday found me wanting to rescind my parenthood membership.
Unsubscribe.
Retire.
Fold.

Pack it in. Skip town.
Hop on the bus Gus.

Not fun.
At all.

Little did I know that yesterday morning's discussion with daughter-formerly-known-as-lily (and no, today she gets no caps) regarding whether or not Santa Claus uses mouthwash would be the loveliest, kindest, most thoughtful exchange of the day.

Would have savored it more.

Instead, a birthday party that began with calming focused yoga but topped with an icing loaded cupcake was the precursor to a very unpleasant afternoon.
In my shell-shocked recollection, the decline began with a discussion over afternoon scootering and it just
plummeted
from
there.

My exhausted threenager, a term someone generously shared with me recently, became an ornery, out of control dervish and I thought I would loose my mind.
I may have.

Admission,I did.

I'd like to rent a parent.
Just for a week.
Not a day, a week.
For consistency.
Someone to back me up. Massage my shoulders. Say go get some air.
You're Mother's Right.

They might also say:
You look fucking awesome today.
or
I like you. (Thank you Laura)
But those would be optional.

What
Is
That
Like?

The co-parenting thing.
Support from a room-mate.
In house counsel.

Even if it's not all it's cracked up to be, it's got to be good sometimes.

Sweet Relief.

And now I must snap out of IT, recharge, reboot, buck up, buckle up and jump back in.
Block out the bad, focus on the good.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Repeat.

Focus on The Good.
It's there, I know it.
Just not feelin' it
today

Dawn.

A new year has begun.

The other morning Lily climbed into bed a bit too early.
I felt her settle but she lay
silently awake.

Mama?

Silence.
Praying for sleep.

You were really really sad when Daddy died but then you went to the doctor to get me and then you weren't sad anymore, right Mama?

My eyes opened into morning night.
Heart grateful and relieved I hadn't quieted her when I'd heard her inhale, her thoughts floating, words perched,
lips ready to part.

That's right Pumpkin.
I was very very sad, but I was so so happy to know that you were on the way, and so so very happy when I had you.

Quiet.

We drifted.

Another year, and we're off.

A soft launch, with our winter trip to California still fresh in our minds.
I'm holding on to the ocean cool,
the far away sun with its gentle-sweet reach,
the air that awakens as you move through it,
breathe it in.

So much that is old is new, again.

Lily has a growing friendship with the girl next door.
And that girl's mom was my friend next door,
Many
Moons
Ago.
They're following in our footprints, filling in with their own shadows,
the same routine -
knocking on front doors,
riding the same sidewalks,
beneath the same trees.

California always lifts me up.

I had my mom, Lily had her Jiji.
An uncle,cousins, an aunt, friends and kids all
swooped
in.
For love and meals and play.
For music and a mountain.
It will always be home.

We made it to my favorite place.
Lily's first visit to the ridge beneath Mt. Tam.
Henry and Jakie in tow.
Firsts for all, they trudged through tall, wet grass,
dragged branches,
discovered burrowed holes,
delighted in the vastness of their surroundings -
Kings and Queen of mountains.

Just as I had at the very same age.

I remember a picnic there, on a cool gray day, spying bedded down grass where deer had slept, animal remnants, feeling the freedom of never-ending play space with only trees to herd us into view.

A beautiful reprise, but now with our children.
Thankfully, some things never change.

I told Lily to take a deep breath.

Listen, I said
To what mama?
The quiet.
What is it mama?
It's nothing, just silence - only nature sounds Lily, just nature.
We both inhaled a la Harold and Maude.
Took it all in.

Felt
So
Good.

And the city girl who often yearns for her home
didn't
want
to leave.

Smile.

Yes, Joy. (Love to Newtown)

Found myself singing Oh Happy Day on my way to work this morning.

When Lily heard her first gospel last year she jived with her eyes closed to it.
It was a beautiful moment.
She felt the music and the words.
Washed right through her.

And it is a Happy Day.
Today.
It is.

I feel it.
The Joy.

Every morning when I hear Lily bursting with song from behind closed doors as she busies herself in the bathroom.
I feel it when she proudly shows me her Yellow Taxi Box constructed at school,
as a friend climbs in behind her and requests a ride to 86th Street.
I feel it when I think of my friends in Portland.
California.
New York.

And family.

Of fellow moms with whom I share this voyage.
As we relish and commiserate, laugh, hug, rant and cry over the blessings and aches of parenthood.

I feel it when gentle fog keeps a morning soft.

I feel it when our President is such a man
That he sheds expected armor for grief.
Shows us that human strength can be measured with tears and compassion.
Takes us right back to Rosey Grier singing It's Alright to Cry.
(Go on, click it.)

Because it is.

And so many hearts are weeping through these December days.
And will weep and weep until they feel as though the pain can't cut any deeper.
Though it surely will.
Through the bone and the heart and the roots and the deep deep dirt.
It will crumple and crush until all the air seems gone.

So I must let myself feel the joy.

That I get another day with my girl.
And she gets another day with so many who love her.
And that there are some things I can do to fulfill my part of the job as best I can.
Shower her with love.
Hold her hand crossing the street.
Buckle her in.
Feed her good food.
Say no as I wrap my arms around her.

I struggle.
A lot.
And fear is no friend to any mom or dad.
All we want is the best for our children.
They mean so much to us
It
Is
Indescribable.

Beloved Treasures.

Our beautiful little animals who's scents we inhale every night.
Feed and bathe and stroke and pat and nudge.

Lily and I often say to one another
I Love You More Than Words Can Tell.
And though she may not grasp the depth of the lyric, I love feeling her hot breath as she child-whispers the words sweetly and indelicately into my ear.

This morning she yelled them from the bathroom.
Followed by, I love you more than ice creeeeeeeeam!
and
I love you more than crocodiles!

Smile.

Lucky day.
Lovely day.
Every day is a joyful day.

When we get to be with them.

Please.
May we all have many, many
more.

Oh November...

What a number this November has pulled.
Around us lives were washed away.
From our backyards.
From arms.
Loving arms.
Swept
Away

just like

that

Not a believer that things happen for a reason - they do, but I don't believe some presence somewhere directs. Unless it's a beloved spirit watching, guiding, loving from above.
Nature just .... is.
Happy, angry, reactive, vulnerable

so like my girl. too.
and her mom.

We can be a torrential team.
And our recent home-life has endured it's own storm of sorts.
Filled with love and fun but also battles of will.
Like mother like daughter, we are stoic forces
with wispy,
fragile insides.

A month of unrest.
And I, a mother of unrest.
Lily is moving, growing, shaking like the earth, reaching stunningly to grab hold of something but I'm not sure what it is.

Could be Alan.
Maybe not.

But she is trying valiantly, to steady herself, and I as well.
It's not easy being three going on twelve.
And it's sure as hell not easy being an only parent.
A lonely, only parent
(why am I now singing that to the tune of Rhinestone Cowboy?)

Puts the hardest job
over
the
top.

Tops the top.

She wants to know what her dad sounded like.
Rich, deep, velvety.
I play her a recorded framed picture I have of us.
Hi Sus. I love you Sus.
He says.
She wants to know what Halloween candy he liked.
This one mama? This one? She asks
Yes, yes, no, no ... KitKat, Nerds, Twizzlers.
Weeks ago on a walk home from the park
Is Daddy alone mama?

Oh to have one's darkest fears articulated by a child.

I don't think so pumpkin,
I think he is with others and they all love each other.
Very much.
And yesterday, is he with Papi and Charli doggie?
Are they together mama?
Yes Pumpkin, I think they are.

Is he in Jake's heart?
Yes, Lily, I think he is.

I love nature but I don't like how it takes away.
So unfeeling at times.

Hurts...

Hurts.

Portlandia

How nice it was to head West for the weekend. The good vibes began with a passenger playing acoustic at the gate in Newark and it just got earthier from there.

Love
Returning
to the
North
West

Lily and I embraced Oregon to the hilt.
Stayed with a favorite family and it was
The Best.
It all began with a bumper sticker on their wall that read
What's
Going
Well?

Hilarious.

New York needs a bit more of that perspective.
Or perhaps I do.
Let's all hit the trails, grow beards and drink micro-brews.
Attend cool, ecclectic radio shows.
(Kudos, Rob. Kudos to you)
I generalize... but damn that fresh air was FRESH.
The trees were green.
Really green.
And people were ruddy complexioned, book loving, slow food eating,
Smiling
Happy
People

(seemingly).

I embraced Wordstock, got to introduce my book to a beanbag chair audience with Lily by my side. She was a perfect co-presenter, my muse - except when she took the stage during the next author's presentation - stating to me as I quietly ushered her off that she was about to do some "speakin in Spanish".
I later moderated a panel of memoir-ists who have written wonderfully lyrical, dark and inspiring accounts of their lives until now. It was a rich and surprisingly uplifting way to close out the festival.

A good reminder that life goes on, in many positive directions.

Lily loved the "book show" and was in heaven running up and down stairs with Sam and Aliza as her destinations for three days straight. Siblings almost, they showered her with never ending attention and genuine friendship. I got the same from their parents and from my mom and brother who came up from Ca.
Lucky people we are, surrounded by such love and kindness.

So yes,

Much
Went
Well

Moved.

Done.
We did it.
The long awaited, much anticipated transition from the only home Lily's known and the one where Alan and I spent our lives together finally happened.
Hard.
So very hard.
I am not sure other than the moment right after Alan passed away I've ever felt so alone.
Moving is hard enough. And when there's no partner to share it with it's even more of a challenge. Not to mention I was leaving Alan's home that he so proudly bought, not to mention there were anonymous people who have no care for one's personal possessions - handling my husbands things, my things, my daughters things.
It was an invasion.
A frenetic, overwhelming thrust out of one home into another.
And it's not that I wasn't excited to move.
I
was
ready.
We were ready.
But.
I just didn't know my sense of alone-ness could be any greater.
And yet, it was.
Set
my
own
record.

Knocked the wind out of me.

And all I could do was sprint through the day, chasing carts and clinging to memories left in their wake.

Release an empty apartment echoing with sobs at the end of a terminal day.

Life.

Shit.

Happiness.Pain.Love.Death.New life.
Cycles.
All cycles.
My very own marathon.

Our new apartment is the perfect stepping stone for wherever we'll head next.
Me and my girl.
Still close to where we once were, but looking forward to what lies ahead.
And it feels good.
As I write - I'm in my own room, and she in hers.

Like we both just got to college.

Strange.
Special.

So we're doing OK. Landed fine.
But the home stretch was trying on us both.
Moved us inside and out.
Lily's been an easy rider, some roughness around her edges, but she's taken on her new digs with admirable cool.
And I'm just on the other side of the wall, rediscovering and loving new found adult space and weening myself from my babe who's really a girl now.

A dear-friend-soul-sister shared a thought with me that illuminated exactly what I've been grappling with - we can be surrounded by family and friends who love us and who we love but it's still a singular journey.

Singular
Journey
It
Is.

Wait...

First day of school had a soft launch.
All of a sudden back-to-school seemed routine, with curious anticipation and generally tempered excitement.
Her teachers had already come to visit us at home, so I guess that was all she needed.
Lily was ready.
Why am I not surprised?

She picked out her clothes, and two relatively undramatic wardrobe changes later, we walked to the bus, happily re-connected with school buddies and upon arrival she was...
off.
sprinting delightedly with her friends,
flying up church steps,
reeling through the "pushing doors",
and there we were, round two - second year bigger than the first.

How
Time
Flies

Her cubby was waiting, teachers energetically in place, Lily entered the room and didn't look back.
Five minutes in,
I want you to go Mama.

And I was... dismissed.
Love
Independence
Independence
Love.

Happy/Sad I left the room, spying on her playdoh play, and not so emotional - just... jolted. Somewhere Alan must have been saying,
Go Sus,
go.
Maybe he lingered with her, or maybe she gently nudged his spirit away too ~
Surely he was with us today.
Many were with us -
An old friend who knew him and new friends who know of him, so they rounded out the picture ~

Plenty of beauty in the air today.

As my brother recently shared with me, Bruce has added a chant to his shows - to honor beloved band members no longer alive:

If you're here,
And we're here,
Then they're here.

Sigh.

Must be.

Must be.

Oh August.

This month.
A milestone.
Many milestones.
Much seems to culminate in a season's closing month.
We reached California at just the right time - it allowed me space from distance travelled in NYC.

I needed it.

I had just handed down my maternity clothes.
Handed off a baby swing, a bouncy chair.
Recently offered up the breast pump.
Sold my baby carrier.

Logical decisions for some, for me, so loaded.
Each item endowed with memories from unusual and beautiful times spent with Lily.
Little does she know how life saving her anticipated presence and emergence were.

Are.

And to acknowledge that most likely I no longer have need for those same cherished items was painful.

Is painful.

But I did it.
Surrendered.
Shared.
Grew.

And I do feel stronger.
I am OK.
Not to self - been through much worse.
Much, much worse.
So with August has come some perspective.
I see where I've been, I am proud of the ground I've covered.

And still much more ahead.

Sure there is much I long for.
And the dreams I once had still remain.
Can't shake 'em.
Hell, I deserve them.
But many of us deserve that which we don't get.
Lily, for example.
Not to mention her dad.

I wish he was here Mama so I could run to him and run back, and run to him and run back....

I know you do Pumpkin, I know.

But as I remind myself and Lily in less poignant moments, now that she's heard THE song ~
You can't always get what you want...
But if you try sometime, you'll find.... you get what you need.

And I do.
We do.
We have a lot.
And for that, I am grateful.

August Days.

Summer is folding its arms, sleepily closing up shop.
Taking it's time, as it should.
And as steamy days inched toward closure here, Lily and I jumped ship and visited the West Coast.
It was a perfect trip.
We lived so much in a week.
I think all we mostly said was Yes.

It felt good to... go.
Let ourselves go.

Old friends and newer lives to reconnect with.
Bubbles in the sun, spontaneous meals, rocks in a creek,
Redwood cool,
ever-dirty-back-and-forth-barefoot-feet.
Three generations of women, ever-doting-over-everything... Grandmothers, mamas and girls.
Just as we had pretended when we were small.
Real 'house' now.
So much more than we had imagined.

Loving cousins, cool Uncle, and proud Grandpa.
Dim Sum, Cable Cars and a steam train through the woods.

And no weighty fog this time.
It hovered across the bay, kept it's distance.
Sunny days, every day.
I had always wished for Alan days like this - but maybe the blustery cold on our visits was designed for his favorite warm sweaters, and rough sails.

Happy hours were spent in vineyard heat & outdoor showers. Lily ran gleefully through gardens, over gravel and bark, trailing two big girls who were full of spirit, innovation, and devotion, while I relished in moments with a dear old-soul friend and model mama.
We fed chickens, picked candy strawberries, pink apples and fresh vegetables for dinner.
Sticky first S'more for dessert.

She draped herself over rope-swings.
Floated languidly through brick oven heat.

It
was
bliss.

New York is undeniably in Lily's character but when I see her out West, I can see her great great grandmother, just like her Jiji says: Deep dark eyes. Strong stance.

My little oak.

And the way she says California always makes me smile.
Just the way my Gigi said it.
Califonia, no r.

Oh
to
be

Home.

Parenting. American Style.

Since it's July, which is a reliably tough month due to Alan's anniversary on the 5th typically followed by harsh heat and sapping humidity, I have indulged in torturing myself a bit more by reading a American woman's account of raising children in Paris.

Apparently we have much of "it" wrong.

We allow too much freedom, unruly conduct is rampant, children are treated as the center of the universe, they can't play alone and are force fed flash cards instead of being left to play. They over snack and never sleep.

Hmm.

There is some validity to aforementioned traits - definitely - but, please,
S'il vous plait,
cut us some slack.
We are not savages.
We're a warm, involved culture.
Period.

(Actually, I'm not finished.)

My girl has been "doing her nights" since four months, she plays independently for long stretches, she is schooled in a place that stresses the importance of play and socialization - and I think, that I/we are doing pretty damn well.
Oh. And we're not plunked in front of the TV with "My Baby Can Read".
Nor vying for schooling that offers Mandarin and computer skills.
(Though, yes, some are. Scarey.)

Could she improve her restaurant manners? Oui.
Could she embody rules and manners more ably? Bien sur.
We are working on it, and no, not to keep up with the French.

But I wonder if their way of farming off babes to the creche in their early months (not because they have to, because they want to), their point of view that parents and couples come before children, and their seeming lack of involvement with child's play is what leads to their reputation for "coolness" (and no I do not mean hip) and elegant detachment as adults.

Just wondering.

I will certainly admit that the way they do some things is beyond appealing. I strive to lose the guilt when I try to focus on myself, not Lily. I am envious that there is more ingrained respect for uninterrupted "Adult Time", and I find their rigidity of schedule for meals, snacking and bedtime FABULOUS.
I envy their free daycare and choice to do full-time daycare and take time off from work.
For themselves.

Remarkable.

Honestly, I've take much of their approach to heart.
We're now working on the importance of a confident (and warm) "Hi" when we greet people - and put it up there with pleases and thank yous. And we're working on waiting and stretching our patience when we "need" something.

And yes, there is a simple cake recipe that they do with their kiddos that sounds delightful - so without a doubt, we will bake away.
Thank you France pour le gateau.
We will practice resistance Parisienne as we wait until afternoon snack time to eat it.

I AM A SOLDIER!
Vive la France!

Such discipline.

But do they ever cut loose? Dance with their kids on the carpet? Sing in public? Wear outlandish outfits - just... because?
We Americans love self discovery too, and we also set limits - but in our culture we may dote on our children a bit too much.
But we also live with unrepressed emotion and passion, and I think we, as a culture, are beautifully unique and expressive.
Colorful.
Bright.
And showing love, baby, love ~ I'm all for that.
I don't think a child can ever be shown too much.

But we will wait for the cake.
And greet others with confidence.

Now remember Pumpkin, when they open the door we say "Hi or Hello" with a friendly voice so they can hear us.

Or we can just wave like this Mama (she says, smiling and waving Thanksgiving-Day-Parade style),
or - she cheerily suggests - we could just say

"Bonjour".

Smile.
Chuckle.
And no, I am not reading the book to Lily too.
We have Fancy Nancy to thank for that - a character the French would abhor.
Shudder to read.
(The books are pretty awful.)

ANOTHER POINT FOR THE FRENCH!

Can't wait til the cake is ready.

The Alan River

Father's Day came again.
It always does.
And Lily has been asking regularly about her dad.

She really wants to see him.

So on Father's Day we were able to make an early afternoon excursion aboard an old sloop on the Hudson River.
Beautiful
Tall
Wooden
Ship

Built with purpose by Pete Seeger in the 60s to help spread love and appreciation of our Hudson River, to preserve its health and protect it from pollution.

So aboard we went, Lily and I, with an old friend and a new one.
It was special.
Lily has wanted to sail for a long time, so it was perfectly fitting that we should make an inaugural voyage together that Sunday.
She didn't know it was Father's Day, or maybe she did. I had no desire to advertise. But she knows her dad loved to sail and this outing was a perfect way to bring us closer to him.

It did.

It was a warm, still day. Alan would have been a bit frustrated by the light winds, but we moved gracefully through the water as musicians sang gentle shanties on the deck. Lily circled the boat many times, sat on a wooden box patting it to the music, eyed fish in a tank that had been caught safely for us to see, and enjoyed the potty on-board.

My favorite part was the two minutes of silence the crew requested, well after we were under way. Even Lily channeled her dad's stillness.
And as I squinted up to the top of this boats giant sail, I felt like it was an arrow to the sky, pointing straight up to her dad.
The lines, creaks, sways and breeze surrounded us with easy kindness.

It was the perfect place to be.
Water moves me.
And I think it did her.

Just yesterday on our return home from a different weekend road trip, as we merged along side the Hudson River, I pointed it out to Lily.

Because I love my daddy so much I think I will call it
The Alan River,
she said.
Unprompted.

I love that idea Lily, I said.

Love that idea.

Oh Dear. Lifeline? Someone?

Did you and Daddy make me out of clay?

The question came as Lily was leaning casually against the bed, in her pjs.
Eyes open and expectant.

Oh! I said.
Good question Pumpkin.
We didn't.
Actually, Daddy and I made you out of lots of love.

Eyes unblinking.
Fixed stare.
Answer not good enough.
No comment from peanut gallery.

Wheels were turning, as were mine.
Oh dear. Not off the hook yet.

You know how your flower plant was a seed that was planted in the dirt and then it grew and grew and now has lots of flowers?

Nod. Stare unwavering.

Well... That's kind of how we made you! Kind of like a seed was planted and you grew until you were big enough to come out all by yourself.

Pause to see if I've succeeded in Reproduction for Three Year Olds 101.

She ponders. Imagining herself in dirt in her mom. Hmmm.
Not a good answer?

I am not sure how the conversation concluded. I was so concerned with my explanation that the rest is a blur.
I think we went on to talk about which of her friends were older and younger.
Any conversation change is welcome with the Big Life Questions.

But Lily's dad is mentioned frequently this season.
She misses him.
She wants to see him.

What would you say to him if you saw him, Pumpkin?
I would tell him I love him.
And then she bursts into an improvised song to him which is beautiful and blogworthy until it ends with "peepee and poopy".
Then she is all laughs.
She wonders frequently about when other dads she knows will die.
And she now is beginning to understand her world with a maturing mind.

Again, oh dear.

Her world is one where dads die.
Period.
I explain that most live until they're very very old.
But not William's dad? And Nikhil's?
Right, Pumpkin, William's dad and Nikhil's dads died when they were little babies, I say softly.
But most daddies don't.
Most daddies don't, I repeat.

Why must difficult life lessons begin so early?

I'll take love and clay, any day, over death.

So Much Happens.

Tonight the daughter of dear friends became a bat mitzvah.
She grew so fast I felt so old I'm not sure how it all happened.
To think that just a few years ago she was perched on a grown up's knee, open eyes, amiable, soft, trusting, she was new to our world - Alan's and mine - and we admired her so.
And I remember her telling her dad early on that Alan seemed like an uncle to her.
He relished in hearing that.
Proud of his impression.
Honored.

He was just here.
It seems.
Sometimes, that is.

When I caught a fleeting glimpse of him tonight, in a montage, it felt like yesterday we were wandering through that cornfield maze - Alan,Sam, Michael, Ava, and I.
We looked healthy.
Happy.
Shadowed by near twilight sun.

But then I reflect on the fact that it was pre-Lily, pre-Jake, pre-Stella. We were all newly in love with the dream of creating more family.

And so it happened.

But not the way any of us had imagined - we are one person short of the happiest of dreams.
Actually, many people short;
There were others who also deserved to be there tonight.
To see this no-longer-child poised and present, on her own.

No knee needed.

The age of awkward beautiful, heavy on the beautiful,
just teetering on the cusp of adult life.
So close, near ready, but hopefully not too too soon.
Many must have been smiling down on her.
Oh so proud.

It is a wonder to watch the way things grow.

I am awestruck when I look at Lily these days,and I have fallen prey to every parental cliche.
They grow up so quickly.
Enjoy them at this age.
Savor these moments.
It all goes by so fast.

And so it does.

We visited a farm today.
Lily and a friend (donning a cape no less, another cohort with flair).
Pulled garlic stems, picked snow peas, collected eggs.
Learned that there are more things living in a fistful of soil than people on this planet.

Ahh life.

Origins before our eyes -
Ones that even a three year old can begin to contemplate.
How
did
she
get
here?

Slow down, you move too fast.

I am amazed by how it,
this,
happens.

Oh to be a parent.
The greatest, hardest job.
And joy.

Ever.

Girl In The Pill Box Hat.

Lily had her first dance recital this weekend.
It was big in every way.
For me, at least, and a couple hundred other parents.
"Are you excited for your performance today Pumpkin?" I asked, so excited myself.
"No Mama. Because I am doing it."
And so it went.

She was ready.

She's gone regularly to her ballet class, embraced it with joy, excitement and focus. And this performance has rested gently on her horizon for a few weeks now, and for her, for whom everything is still fresh and new, performance anxiety has yet to rear its ugly head.
This child is happy in her body.
Proud of her abilities.
Broad in character.

Rooted in her existence.

So when the curtains were closed and all I could see were ballet shoe toes, positioned IN the curtain ripples, I was on the edge of my seat. Curious to see how she would fare - on stage, with no view yet of what existed beyond:
Antsy-beaming-parents-with-every-recording-device-available-waiting-with-baited-breath.

And there she was.
Away she went.

All smiles, focus, shaking her hips, pointing her toes, jumping on cue (or early with excited anticipation).
Doing her thing.
In sequins, hat, and fringe.
She
just
had
fun.

I was so proud.
Relieved.
A positive first on the stage.
In the lights.
A beautiful accomplishment.

So many changes this year in this girl.

Her drawings are more and more representational.
Flowers, rainbows, houses, trees, ferris wheels, playgrounds and suns.
I like what she sees.
At school I hear her class mates calling her in - with eager glee.
Relationships now her own.
She writes letters, is into rhyming.
Word curious.

And of course the Mary Poppins obsession continues.
I just saw Mary!
We've had multiple sightings.
She is present and otherworldly.

Three is cool.
Beautiful cool.

Will It.

This morning I met a woman, older than I, further along in life and its experiences and we spoke about how we move forward, past loss. I said Lily is my purpose, that one has to be resilient to endure.
She said there are many people who are not strong in this world.
Many.
She said you have to Will It.

So true.

I always felt odd when people commended me for my "strength". Yes, I was and am aware of it, that power I harnessed when Alan and I were deep in the trenches, the energy I found when we were broken in spirit, and the determination to continue on with my life for Lily, with Lily. But to me despite my slumps, dark moments, and ever ache, it is what one does.
You rise to the occasion.
It's what you do.
I think.
I thought.
And though there were times when an end to my life seemed enticing (had I not been pregnant),I knew, having seen a love robbed of his - that that just wasn't
a
fair
choice.

No Way (as Lily now frequently exclaims).
No.
Way.
It was a selfish thought.
Foolish to even entertain.

But ahhh that's what death will do.
It caresses those left behind, sells an unknown destination, hijacks a beating heart. Leaves you sitting in unbearable quiet.

You have to will it away.
Will yourself to stay - as best you can.

And for that, you need only to whisper a wish - quietly to yourself.
No strength required.

Mother's Day is one of my toughest holidays.
But I will will myself to find wholeness where there is indeed a hole.

This morning when Lily awoke way way WAY too early and crawled into my bed, I loved feeling her soft hand under mine, resting around my waist.
It was
the
best.
So soft, unscathed, warm, relaxed.

Her love and presence fill me up.
She lives with such abandon she is freeing to watch.

She
just
IS.

Willful without intention.

For her, it is all about being.

Effortless.

Pure.