Maria and I had come home from a birthday party. She was two years old and I was exhausted. She looked so adorable in her red turtleneck and blue corduroy skirt with red tights. I was lying on the living room rug, which always delighted her since she was able to jump on me. I said to her, “Maria, Mommy is so tired. I’m too tired to cook. Will you cook tonight?”

I still can’t believe what happened next. She got up, ran into the kitchen, opened the bottom oven drawer, took out a pot, stretched up on her toes, tried to reach the stove with the pot, and tried to turn on the gas! Those little legs in red tights stretching to reach the stove. I melted and cried hugging her: “My Maria! You would do that for Mommy, wouldn’t you?”

I used to tell that story to all of her friends when she was a teenager, and I reminded her of that afternoon right to the end.

When she was four years old she had her first ballet recital. She wore a white leotard, an aqua tutu, with white ballet slippers and white tights. The show opened with “My Name Is,” as Miss Shirley called it. All the girls had to stand in line and one by one step forward and say, “My name is…” as they curtsied. Some just wouldn’t do it. Some began to cry. The ones who did come forward mumbled so that you couldn’t understand their names. But Maria! When Maria stepped forward she curtsied and loud and clearly announced: “My name is Maria.” It was unbelievable! I have it on tape!

Who would have thought she’d ever stand up, and step forward at a rehab seminar, and say, “My name is Maria…and my drug of choice is heroin.”

I like to think that she’s making better choices now. While she was still away at rehab I had a dream that I walked into the kitchen in the middle of the night and she was standing there. As soon as she saw me she put her finger to her lips and whispered, “Shh…I’m not suppose to be here.” I told her about this dream and she just smiled as she often did when I shared the many ways I missed her. Missing her now is all I’m really able to do.

Recently, her ten-year old cousin said, as we were leaving a restaurant, “I wonder what Maria’s doing tonight.” Now, I often wonder if she’s dressing for some fabulous party…if she’s charming everyone somewhere in the land where the American Dream doesn’t get deferred.

I know that she’s in yellow. Yellow and long white pearls. I can see her standing in the moon glow of some eternal veranda; a glass in one hand, her cigarette holder from some mortal Halloween in another…and she’s giggling that bewitching giggle from the champagne bubbles at her nose. Her dress is sleeveless and below the knee…and it flutters in a light velvet wind that is similar to the one we feel across Long Island Sound…only better…because it’s …Heaven. She hears the swish…and she thinks of Frankie…and how even though he’s always late, one day he’ll join her on the veranda. Her green eyes open brightly at the anticipation of it all. But for now, she’s happy…at this party in the moonlight. She’s where she should be, she’s thinking, at this party in the moonlight, because, after all, she’s only twenty-three.