4th Birthday Celebration Without Her

In 2007, on Alice's birthday Peter and I flew a butterfly kite in Central Park. It was difficult because there weren't many open clearings in which to fly a kite, so we found a patch of tree-less dirt and competed for space with the light posts and school-age soccer players.  In 2008 we went to Riverbank State Park and were told there's no kite flying in State parks. The park ranger pointed to some grass in the distance and said the area is technically "city park," so L, Peter and I headed there and flew the butterfly kite and remembered Alice. In 2009, the 3 of us went to the new park--I still don't know its name--across from the Fairway parking lot and adjacent to Riverside Park. You can watch L fly the butterfly kite here.

And so, in 2010, we returned to the park by Fairway and re-enacted what has become a ritual, see video above. The butterfly flutters in the wind, which is soothing to watch. It was cold and damp again, yet at least there was wind to facilitate kite flight.

What was hard for me about Alice's absence on her 40th birthday was the reality that I'm getting older, too. Yes, we will not see Alice turn 40, 50 or 60 and beyond, and age is creeping up on me, in the meantime, as well. Alice's death reminds me that I need to look more closely at the meaning in my own life.

Fighting with Alice

Often I mirror L's affect as a way to connect with her. For example, if she has a furrowed brow, I'll furrow my eyebrows so she might see her self in me. It's playful, and sometimes it's the only way I know how to engage.

A few weekends ago, she was angry and tense, and she hit me. For a moment I met her where she was and grabbed her wrists. She is so strong, and we struggled physically for about 2.5 seconds.

That was all I needed to have a real visceral, physical memory of fighting with Alice. Between the ages of 3 and 25(!), I would try to stop her from hitting, scratching or pinching me, while trying to hit, scratch and pinch her. And she would be doing exactly the same relative to me.

As an adult now in this moment with L, I had the experience of the intimate connection it takes to fight physically with someone. You need to be attuned with them, second by second, and it's a f`cked-up way of bonding, actually.

I snapped out of it and saw myself with L and not with Alice. I got so sad thinking that the way Alice and I knew to connect was through violence. I miss feeling that connection with her, even through pain.

Tomorrow marks exactly 3 and a half years since she died. My life continues; my absence from this blog suggests that I've gone on. Have I? The grief isn't as raw as it once was; it's only intermittently hard to exist without her.