Making Toast by Roger Rosenblatt Page A

school contributed. Leslie had a landscaper plant bushes and tulips behind the bench, and Jim Bryla, the contractor who had redone Amy’s and Harris’s deck and basement, installed it. When Jim and his crew were working on the house, Amy had stocked a refrigerator with soft drinks and made lunches for them. The bench was made of teak, and three circles were carved into the back, to represent the three children. It also bore a small bronze plaque, donated by a school parent, that read “In loving memory of Amy Solomon, mother of Jessica, Sammy and James.” The bench was placed near a fence at the center of the playground, so that parents could sit and enjoy the sight of their children playing.
    The ceremony was held at noon on a bright, hot day at the end of May, the Friday of Memorial Day weekend. After the dedication of the bench, there would be a closing-day carnival and a picnic. Some seventy-five people gathered in a circle. Speakers included Sammy’s teacher, Ed Bullis, an upbeat young man who entertains the kids with his singing, and who has kept a careful eye on Sammy since Amy’s death. He calls Sammy “Samalama.” Mrs. Funk, the head of Geneva, who also spoke, handed out watering cans to the family for the flowers around Amy’s bench. Jessie, Sammy, and Bubbies watered the tulips. Mrs. Funk and Mr. Bullis spoke of Amy being a part of the school, and of seeing her on the playground, involved with her own children and others.
    Carl spoke and Harris spoke. Harris told of how much being a mom meant to Amy, that it was her life’s priority. She was very serious about being a doctor, and practiced medicine to be of use, he said, but she had turned down equity and a partnership to be more of a full-time mother. Leslie spoke. She said, “The night before Amy died, I was with her at her home. I noticed that a candle I had given her when James turned one was still sitting next to her phone in the kitchen—months later. She told me that she loved the smell of the candle and kept it there so that she could enjoy it in the midst of life’s craziness. We joked about the fact that she could not find the time to actually light the candle.” She said Amy never regretted that, or anything she did not have or did not do. “To Amy, life was never about more.”
    When the ceremony was finished, no one would go near the bench, as if it were sanctified. Then a father casually went over with his child. They sat and ate sandwiches.
     
    On July Fourth weekend, the family comes to Quogue, as it does every year, to celebrate Carl’s birthday on the second. This year, not only do Carl and Wendy bring Andrew and Ryan to join their cousins, but we also ask Scott Huber, Wendy’s brother, and Risa, and their two girls, Sydney and Caitlin, whom Jessie and Sammy also call cousins. Somewhere residing in our house are seven children under the age of six, and eight adults, including John. There is one brief meltdown, Jessie’s, which we ought to have anticipated when she grew aware of all the mothers present but her own. “It’s not fair!” she cried. Harris sat with her in what served as a children’s dormitory. She said, “I want the cousins.” Carl came in with the rest of the kids, and suggested that they all jump from bed to bed. Jessie led the pack.
    Jessie disapproves of my association with three-year-old Caitlin Huber. A while back, Caitlin recognized a fellow loner in me, and chose me as her playmate. Her idea of play is to order me around. She gives me coloring books and tells me to stay within the lines. When she was first being potty-trained, she told her mother that I was to empty out the potty chair. Jessie observed our relationship without comment until this weekend, when she saw that I had brought a Kleenex box with a picture of a princess on it. She told Ginny, “Boppo probably got that for Caitlin.”
    Scott and Risa, both doctors, got along very well with Amy and Harris, as they do with Carl and Wendy and John.