On Alice's birthday, March 26, I left work early, and so did Peter, and we went to pick up L from school early. First we met at home and gathered our butterfly kite; we had told L we were going to fly it in the afternoon because it was Auntig Alice's birthday.
We set out for the park, and of course since it's March, it is gray and rainy, in the high 40s/low 50s. There's a new park by where we live that juts out into the Hudson River. We were sure there would be ample wind there, especially given the crappy elements.
When we arrive at school, L is sitting in a cute circle, listening to the teacher read a book before everybody goes into the gym for "gross motor skills development" aka recess. She willingly joins us, and off we head to the park. The video three posts down shows a more seamless moment in kite flying; to say, the kite set sail in fits and starts.
Afterwards, we went out to eat at the Dinosaur BBQ, then went grocery shopping. My spirits really haven't lifted, but I know as I have distance from these two somber occasions, I might feel a little lighter.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Reinventing mourning
Am I still mourning Alice's death? I am. Yet I'm getting tired of weeping for her. It doesn't move me forward anymore; crying keeps me stagnant.
I have to figure out a way to remember Alice, and not to forget her. How to live with her, and not live without her.
And I think what I have to do, is to talk with her. I need to develop a dialogue with her in my head. Which isn't easy to do, because she doesn't really answer. Yet I think that's not the point. I need to do this for myself, to comfort myself a tiny bit, and to continue to hold Alice's essence in me.
I will tell her about L's development, how L can throw over-hand, at age three! Auntig Alice would be loving L's growing athleticism. I will tell L about growing up with Auntig Alice, sift through the memories to find the good ones to share. I will tell Alice about the book proposal I'm writing, and hope she would be proud of me.
It's like, I don't know what to do with myself, otherwise. Maybe I will write some letters to her on this blog. I really believe there's something about the ubiquity of the Internet that makes it feel like it reaches the great beyond. I still miss you like crazy, Alice.
I have to figure out a way to remember Alice, and not to forget her. How to live with her, and not live without her.
And I think what I have to do, is to talk with her. I need to develop a dialogue with her in my head. Which isn't easy to do, because she doesn't really answer. Yet I think that's not the point. I need to do this for myself, to comfort myself a tiny bit, and to continue to hold Alice's essence in me.
I will tell her about L's development, how L can throw over-hand, at age three! Auntig Alice would be loving L's growing athleticism. I will tell L about growing up with Auntig Alice, sift through the memories to find the good ones to share. I will tell Alice about the book proposal I'm writing, and hope she would be proud of me.
It's like, I don't know what to do with myself, otherwise. Maybe I will write some letters to her on this blog. I really believe there's something about the ubiquity of the Internet that makes it feel like it reaches the great beyond. I still miss you like crazy, Alice.
The nature of missing Alice.
As Alice's birthday was just on Thursday--you can see how we spent it in the video below--I've been thinking alot about her, and missing her, too.
It's an incredibly confusing, and heartbreaking experience. When she was living, Alice would unnerve me readily; she would anger me; she easily antagonized me; she would attack me; she belittled me. I know that I have also written of the tender moments I shared with Alice, and of her beautiful and loving characteristics, so writing about these harsher attributes is balanced. So when I yearn for Alice, am I wishing for the turmoil?
No, not at all.
And this is where it's so very confusing. I miss the Alice I was always hoping to know, the Alice who accepted me as I was, the Alice who accepted herself as she was. I miss the Alice of the future. How incomprehensible is that? She was going to graduate with her master's degree, she was starting anew in San Diego, and everything was coming up f`cking roses in her life. It seemed. I'll never f`cking know. Was she going to mellow out? There was hope, which will not be realized.
I wish I had more time with her. She vanished from my grasp too quickly.
It's an incredibly confusing, and heartbreaking experience. When she was living, Alice would unnerve me readily; she would anger me; she easily antagonized me; she would attack me; she belittled me. I know that I have also written of the tender moments I shared with Alice, and of her beautiful and loving characteristics, so writing about these harsher attributes is balanced. So when I yearn for Alice, am I wishing for the turmoil?
No, not at all.
And this is where it's so very confusing. I miss the Alice I was always hoping to know, the Alice who accepted me as I was, the Alice who accepted herself as she was. I miss the Alice of the future. How incomprehensible is that? She was going to graduate with her master's degree, she was starting anew in San Diego, and everything was coming up f`cking roses in her life. It seemed. I'll never f`cking know. Was she going to mellow out? There was hope, which will not be realized.
I wish I had more time with her. She vanished from my grasp too quickly.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
And another anniversary
Today marks two and a half years since Alice died. After reading Christina's comments, I felt that I couldn't go to bed without writing something about this milestone. Two things come to mind.
The loss of Alice is so very hard to hold on to. Part of me wishes to wipe this from my consciousness, yet another part doesn't know how to continue working with the grief and yearning. These last few days I've been walking around like a zombie, feeling a cold emptiness inside.
The second thing is connected to a lecture about parenting I attended earlier in the month. The speaker said that when you try to make sure your child is happy all of the time, the message you're sending them is that the only valid life is a seamless one. In her death, Alice taught me very clearly that I don't have a seamless life, and thus, neither does L. Accidents happen, death happens, sorrow happens. So I know not to fuss with smaller problems, and I have Alice to thank for this.
And L has her Auntig Alice to thank for this.
The loss of Alice is so very hard to hold on to. Part of me wishes to wipe this from my consciousness, yet another part doesn't know how to continue working with the grief and yearning. These last few days I've been walking around like a zombie, feeling a cold emptiness inside.
The second thing is connected to a lecture about parenting I attended earlier in the month. The speaker said that when you try to make sure your child is happy all of the time, the message you're sending them is that the only valid life is a seamless one. In her death, Alice taught me very clearly that I don't have a seamless life, and thus, neither does L. Accidents happen, death happens, sorrow happens. So I know not to fuss with smaller problems, and I have Alice to thank for this.
And L has her Auntig Alice to thank for this.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Friday in March
It's Friday night in March, and I'm sitting here crying. I've felt somber since the beginning of the month; March has become a difficult time to live through. The 19th marks the half-year anniversary of Alice's death, and the 26th is her birthday, of course. I've blocked out the 26th on my calendar already, I'll fly a kite for Alice that day.
I'm struck by grief and disbelief as I turn and look at our photos displayed of Alice with L. How is it possibly possible that I may never see Alice again? Talk to her again? When I think in these terms, I get a sharp pain in my gut that also asks how is it possible that I may never give Alice the silent treatment again? There are ways in which I was really sh`tty to her. Oh f`ck. I can hear her say, in what once was the recent past, "you act as if you don't even have a sister anymore."
More tears.
And so this is how it goes when my sister of 35 years dies suddenly and I'm left to struggle with her dire absence for the rest of my life, visiting her birthday and anniversaries year in and year out.
Well, I suppose these sad milestones ensure that I don't forget her. As if
I'm struck by grief and disbelief as I turn and look at our photos displayed of Alice with L. How is it possibly possible that I may never see Alice again? Talk to her again? When I think in these terms, I get a sharp pain in my gut that also asks how is it possible that I may never give Alice the silent treatment again? There are ways in which I was really sh`tty to her. Oh f`ck. I can hear her say, in what once was the recent past, "you act as if you don't even have a sister anymore."
More tears.
And so this is how it goes when my sister of 35 years dies suddenly and I'm left to struggle with her dire absence for the rest of my life, visiting her birthday and anniversaries year in and year out.
Well, I suppose these sad milestones ensure that I don't forget her. As if
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