Monday, August 29, 2016


After the whirlwind and drama and confusion and emotion of a child leaving for college, after the panic over perfect make up containers and what will she eat and is the room too cold and is campus safe - after the stifled sobs and quiet crying, the forgotten favorites and the over planning, there's this. 

This emptiness. 

This unknown. 

This missing her first thing in the morning and saying good night when she always turned in first. 

The sparkling clean room that's the opposite of her reality. The Nutella that won't be touched. The lack of art supplies strewn everywhere. 

The comfort of knowing where she is and what she's up to. 

This new reality feels lonely, strange, a sense of waiting for her when she's not here. 

I know this newness and I will come to terms with each other. But I'm not seeing the silver lining at the moment. 

Wednesday, August 24, 2016


I'm in Chicago at the moment. Change from my NYC day to day. 

Moving my oldest into her freshman dorm. Huge change. 

Got my period unexpectedly in the midst of all this. Changing body. 

First thing this morning I tracked down the nearest CVS to stock up on supplies. Lovely change in make up offerings. 

And I thought how poignant, how significant, to have my period the day my child goes off on her own for the first time. It's a reminder of fertility. Not having my period meant I was pregnant with her all those years ago. It's allowing my emotions to bubble up to the surface. While I usually keep things stuffed deep down, I've been quietly (and openly) sobbing as I'm getting ready to let her go. 


Life is changing, shifting to a different place, a different stage. 

My body is too. 

This physical reminder is reminding me that even in the changes, some things never change. And through the cramps and the missing my girl, I can still smile and know it will be ok in the end. 

It's actually ok now. 

Friday, August 19, 2016


I'm heading to a funeral this morning and need to wear a black dress. In my mind I rifled through my closet, knowing there was only one dress I could wear. And knowing too, that it was too fitted to look good anymore. 

I have a bulge. A pot. Love handles. Gushy skin. Sagging. Drooping. For the first time in my life (except for pregnant bellies of course). 

When I was a teenager I wore a back brace for scoliosis and, encase in plastic and metal 23 hours a day, my middle learned to stay flat. And that stuck with me as I ditched the brace and got older. 

After my first pregnancy my body bounced right back. After my second, not as much. I felt a bit like the Pillsbury dough boy, but it was something I could mask well. 

Not this. 

This is there for all to see and it doesn't seem there's much I can do about it except take a deep breath and deal. 

But I'm not happy about it. 

Wednesday, August 17, 2016


A dear cousin died yesterday. 

Someone I didn't see often or know particularly well. But someone I was always delighted to see, who was at the top of my favorite relatives list. Her drive, her determination, her work ethic after a stroke to get herself to a better, stronger place were inspirational. 

She and her husband Sid, both active folk dancers, were the namesakes for my kidneys as I went through the donation process. They were touched and slightly bewildered by that but my brother, my recipient, and I admired their perseverance and joy in continuing to do  what they loved. 

I was lucky to spend time with her a couple of months ago at a family bat mitzvah. It was good to catch up, to sit, to share all that had been going on. To hold hands. To watch people dancing. To relax in comfortable quiet. 

While I didn't see her often it was always assumed there would be a next time, in the way that families are constant and fixed in time and space somehow. 

But whenever I celebrate this transplant, she will always be with me. 

Tuesday, August 16, 2016

ch ch ch changes

Life lately has been a vacuum. Profound change on the horizon so keeping things as much the same as possible has been getting me through. 

Or so I think. 

I crack and start to cry in yoga, while meditating, when a sappy song comes on. A kid leaving for college is a huge thing that we're all working hard to pretend isn't. 

I haven't written, created, have felt no drive or initiative. As these major changes  stare me down, I'm staring off into the distance instead of confronting them head on. 


I'm hoping that door shutting/door opening thing holds true. Because I've been quietly getting ready for what's next. Even though letting go of what is isn't what I want to do.