"I'm touching the sky!"

She was here with us today, having spent yesterday and last night with her Grandma Lolo who lives in the building across from ours, very conveniently in my own Mom's former apartment. Today, as her grandma rested for a spell, I happily trailed the little one to an imaginary beach in the middle of the courtyard, where we snorkeled and saw rainbow fish and pink sparkly treasures, then had a picnic with a whole chorus of loved ones, never mind that they were present in our imaginations only, the conversations we had with them were rich and lively regardless. She also rode her bike, pausing now and then for us to build a castle made of twigs that we had gathered, then we went to the playground, where she had more adventures with a little girl named Nylah and a boy named Gabriel. On the seesaw with Nylah at one point, she said, "Look Auntie Rosie, I'm touching the sky!" I chatted with Nylah’s Mommy and remembered when my own kids were that small, all the playground friends I made, the parents and grands following their littles around, as I did today. After her Dad came to take her back home to Brooklyn, I was grateful all over again for the hip surgery I had in January, because this time last year I could not have followed this precious girl around for hours this afternoon, engaging in her free-flowing imaginary play, on my feet the whole time, not in pain, able to enjoy such simple yet extravagant pleasures of the world once more.

At our family reunion in Jamaica last month, my children talked among themselves about how I didn't ask anyone for help with anything anymore, I just sallied forth and did it myself, how when the van met us at the airport to take the seven of us who had traveled from New York together to our villa at Silver Sands, forty-five minutes away, I just climbed right in, exhibiting no hesitation or anxiety about how I'd embark and disembark the high entry step, though my husband, my son, and my son-in-law were all right there, getting ready to help me up. I didn't even notice them, they told me later. I didn't give the moment of getting into the vehicle a conscious thought. Such a small thing. And yet, it was huge. I don't know if you can understand how major it was. But I and my beloveds, who for so many years had been there for me, bless them, truly, were now free.

More than one of my cousins remarked on how my just being able to move comfortably under my own steam had given me a different aura, a brighter light around me. My son said I was more relaxed overall, and that he realizes that before, every single move I made, every action I took, had required an internal calculation about how to achieve the motion and manage the pain, and a cost-benefit analysis of whether the thing itself was worth it. Now, he said, I had a new spontaneity and independence and it quietly thrilled him. I have a video of us dancing at the reunion the night of the white party. I am odd looking duck, short and stumpy and wide in ill-fitting clothes, and can't twirl a whit, because there's still the issue of my wobbly knees. But they mostly don't hurt, so I'm good now despite them, and hey, I'm dancing with my son, having a ball, and so very grateful for all of it.

Like touching sky.