Dance Recital

We also...and I promise...shrubs, but later.  We also had a dance recital.  Dance has been rough this year.  Emma's high school schedule has been more demanding of her time.  Whether it was school work, the play (Cyrano de Bergerac) or the musical (Les Miserables), Emma just always had somewhere to be and something to do, and although people stepped in to give rides to and from where needed...I often felt like I was just sort of being carried along like parental schedule flotsam.

But...we made it.  And Emma and Lily both had their recital and both did great (Lily even went as far as to audibly proclaim "nice job everyone" before being escorted from the stage by her new TSS (who seems very nice).

And just like that...we're here.  We're in that place where kids start narrowing their foci.  Where Emma must also.  Gone are the days of soccer, lacrosse, softball, and dance...trying things out just to try them.  There's no more time.  She has work.  She has schoolwork.  She has dance.  There's not much (if any) room left. 

I'd love to give her opportunities to try new things.  But...if she juggles that ball, another will fall from her grasp.  It's a milestone.  She can't do it all.  Some day she'll probably regret not...trying out for the lacrosse team...or something.  But she can't.  There's no more room.

As it is, I've told her she can pare down her dance schedule, focusing on the dances she loves and leaving those that she...doesn't love...behind. 

Leslie always wanted her to continue with ballet.  Her reasoning was that all the other movements were derived from that sort of basic balletic movement.  And she was probably right.  And I'd love to bounce this decision off her...but I think ballet has to go. I think she'd get it. 

Emma told me, "I'm not going to be a professional dancer," and I agree.  She is a beautiful dancer, emotes in a way that I don't think can be taught...but lacks some of the skills and flexibility of some of her peers.  She'll continue to dance.  She'll get stronger and more skilled.  But...it's not going to be her job.

She loves tap and contemporary...even jazz.  But ballet has been sort of an afterthought for her for years.  And I'm ready to let it go.  Given everything else, I think it makes sense.  She's AMAZING to watch tap.  She can focus on that.  She loves it.  And it's a hobby, basically.  She's getting in shape, part of team, gets to perform...but a hobby.

It's sad that things have to fall out of our schedules, but the demands on these kids' time is incredible.  And she needs time with friends too.  And with her family.

Organization or Lack Thereof

I was having a bit of a rough day yesterday.  Really the whole weekend.  But mostly yesterday, I think.  And if you're reading this, please...I swear this isn't a cry for help or anything, just telling you what I was feeling.  I don't need reassurance, just to vent. 

Anyway, the recitals in particular, and dance preparations in general have been harder emotionally than I would have thought.  It feels wrong to me to see my children achieve success and to mourn it because their mother isn't here to share it with, but that's what I was feeling.  And that feeling felt wrong and I just had to sort of...think myself though it.

Leslie is the one who never stopped trying to find a dance studio that would take Lily in, and give her a chance to do something that incorporated her two greatest strengths...love of music, and love of movement.  Sooooooo much movement. 

So seeing Lily on stage (Leslie was always backstage helping get Lily ready to go on, but never got to enjoy from the crowd), and feeling the warmth of the crowd (no snickers, no mocking, no laughter) and see the hands waving silently in accommodative applause was at the same time such a happy feeling, and also so empty.

anxious...I'm pretty sure she's "visualizing" right here.

And Leslie was also the one who danced when she was young and always tried to help Emma with her hand movements and technique, and to see Emma, so poised on stage, her dancing so beautiful and graceful and her face just emoting...joy...was such a happy feeling but again...so empty.

I was telling a friend that I think what I've struggled most with of late is the loss of that...sounding board/partner/bestfriend that were all represented by Leslie.  I make friends relatively easily when I try, but I don't often try, and for twenty years Leslie has represented, for the most part, the only friend I really felt like I needed.  And now she's gone, and the person I want to text pictures of the girls to, or tell about "this thing that Lily just said" or brainstorm some social issue that Emma's dealing with...is silent.  And she can't really be replaced.  And I have friends I can talk to, and I have family members who care about me and my family and who I can tell things to, but it's not the same, and I've really been missing that.

So the recital happened and I wanted to text pictures and send messages and I couldn't.  Or...I could, but I couldn't send them to the person whose life revolved around those kids exactly the same amount as mine did...and does.

Sunday had been a series of personal failures.  They were all more or less trivial, but taken in the aggregate just pushed me into a funk that I struggled with until the end of last night when i finally switched off the light and let sleep claim me.

I suck at organizing.  Maybe I actually don't "suck" at it.  I just don't do it.  I'm not practiced at it.  That part of the partnership was Leslie.  She required it.  I just went with it; flew by the seat of my pants.  But her organization allowed me to succeed at flying by the seat of my pants because there was rarely ever any reason for me to have to do so, and my ability to react to whatever was left over unaddressed allowed her not to stress out that every last detail wasn't completely planned out.  We fit.

So now I have to start organizing.  Especially now, since the vacation is Friday, and it was just one thing after another on Sunday and they were all just a little too much.

Emma asked for mac and cheese for lunch.  I started boiling water and realized I was out of mac and cheese, and groceries weren't coming until Wednesday.  So I switched gears on the fly, and made hot dogs, but after grilling them realized we were out of hot dog buns.  Then we were invited to a pool party after the recital and the only swim suit I could find for Lily was too big (and we're going to the BEACH!).  Later I had to feed Emma supper but realized I had nothing made, and I'd have to make her eat frozen pizza for the second night in a row because there really wasn't anything else I could make quickly.  I hadn't cleaned the minivan's carpets or started packing...there'd just been too much to do that weekend.  Emma left the performance in a surly mood because people had been talking about a cast party scheduled for today, but nobody had told her...and she felt left out...only to realize the cast party information had been sent to me the week before in an email, and I was the reason she didn't know.

And I felt like I wasn't treading water anymore.  I felt like I was going under.  I remember thinking...well...this is it, I made it two months before complete system shutdown.  Laundry wasn't done yet, some stuff was folded, not put away.  My kitchen island was a nightmare, papers everywhere.  My dining room was the same.  The plants that got sent home with us from the funeral were slowly turning brown as I brain farted my way through the occasional waterings that were slowly killing them with my too-casual neglect.

All of which is maybe an overdramatization, but it was how Sunday felt to me.  I post these blogs and people I think get the impression that I'm super dad.  And I do try.  I try to do my best, and I think for the most part my best is pretty fucking good.  Maybe great.  But I doubt and struggle and question and all the stuff that isn't necessarily the stuff of weekly blog postings.

I had a rough time last week too, around the time of Kennywood.  And I got through it by making lists and tackling the things on the list one at a time.  I got through it with the help of friends and family...offering rides, or errands, or an ear.  And so I started my list for the vacation and last night I steam cleaned the van carpets (holy shit, if you've never done that...it's like they're new again) and started talking to Emma about packing and making plans for laundry and the week.  And I feel more on track again.  But it's not my forte.

So here's your Leslie story...

Six weeks after Leslie died, her office offered a memorial service on campus for her work friends who hadn't gotten to go to the viewings or funeral, and so I headed up with my in-laws and parents to sit in and shake hands, give/receive hugs and remember Leslie.

I called off work that morning, so I was at home when the truck showed up in the cul-de-sac.  School was still in session, and Lily's bus hadn't arrived yet to pick her up, but I looked out the window as I passed the front door, anticipating it.  It looked like maybe the neighbors had hired a grass contractor, because the truck had a lawn mower and some shovels in it.  I got Lily ready for school and we walked out to greet the bus.  It was my friend Jimmy in the truck he'd bought the week before.

I scowled at him and motioned questioningly to the bed of his truck with my head.

"What's uh...what's going on here?"

And he confessed that he'd sort of fucked up the "surprise" but a bunch of people were coming over to mow the lawn and lay mulch and do outside stuff that they knew I hadn't gotten an opportunity to tackle.  And I felt uncomfortable, but grateful and after chatting briefly went back in the house to get ready for the memorial service.  A half hour later two more people had joined Jimmy.  One was Jen, a former dance mom whose daughter was friends with Emma, and whose mother had been bringing Leslie communion at home for months.

"You know, Leslie set this all up months ago," she told me.  I had NOT known.  "She felt bad that so much had fallen on you and didn't want you to have to do all the outside work too.  She organized it months ago and this was the first free time we all had."   

And I let all that sink in as I drove to the memorial.  Even dead, she was still taking care of me.  She remains more organized than I am even from the fucking grave.  It's sweet and sad and so Leslie.  And when I got home the yard was mulched, and flowers were in the pots in front of the house, and shrubs were trimmed and trees pruned and it was more than I knew I'd have done.  More than I would have thought to have done. 

And I know I don't have to learn to be Leslie, but I do need to be more organized.  And I know that I can't just accept the duties associated with Leslie's share of the partnership overnight because that post has been vacated.  I know I need to ask for help.  I know I need to open myself more to friendships. 

These are things Leslie and I talked about when we learned she was dying...ways for me to succeed...open up more, ask for help, and accept help when it's offered. 

So last night I started making my lists and tackling things one at a time and today I feel better again.  Back to myself.  But maybe slightly better organized.  At least for today.

Cleaning House

Emma's dance teacher asked me about Emma this weekend via email.  She said Emma seems a little withdrawn and, knowing what's going on with us she just wanted to see if there was anything she could do to help and ask if Emma was okay.  Essentially, when she (or anyone who isn't personally close with Emma) asked if Emma was okay, Emma would say she was "fine" which makes sense.  And she recognized that since she wasn't in Emma's circle of trust that fine might range from "holding on by the skin of my teeth" to ..."fine".

I answered her email and then spoke to Emma the next day as we were driving over to my folks' house to eat.

Leslie was very active with dance.  She was a "dance mom" and she took great pride in being a dance mom.  She liked being able to provide help to Emma by way of what dance experience she had (point your toes, your facial expression is flat, you need to work on your flexibility, etc.) and Emma took her instruction well.  During recitals she was hyper active, doing buns for the girls, makeup, helping with costume changes.  She was a fixture.

And it's that time of year.  The recitals are coming up and Leslie's not here.

I explained to her dance teacher that Emma has been amazing throughout this, but that I sometimes think it's the big things...the huge events (funeral, viewing, Lily's communion) that we are so prepared for, we shine.  We KNOW it's traumatic.  We KNOW it's sad.  We KNOW this is forever.  And it sucks, but we know it, and we need to get through it so we can start rebuilding our lives.  But this ...piddly little shit...man, it hits you out of left field.  And she's struggling.

So I asked her how she was doing with dance, and she said, "Oh, I'm good!" so glibbly that I knew she hadn't understood me, so I asked again, "No, Em, I mean...how are you doing with mommy not being here for dance?"  And the car got very quiet and Emma started to cry.

Enough time passed that I asked, "Are you thinking about it?"  And she nodded. 

Emma is struggling with her mom not being around.  Something that exacerbates it is that most of Emma's dance friends' moms are exactly the same way with their kids as Leslie was with Emma, and their presence in their daughters planning and practice magnifies Leslie's absence. 

We talked a little bit about how the little things, not the big things, seem to be hardest to handle, but I didn't have any answers for her, and some of the things we talked about, that I won't share here...at least not in this post, are things I don't have helpful, practical answers for.

That night Emma broke a glass at my folks' house that she wouldn't have broken if she'd listened to what I'd told her, and I yelled and then later made peace with her, but later at bedtime, Emma struggled to sleep.  She always struggles to sleep when she thinks about Leslie.

She came downstairs as I folded the remaining laundry.  (I gave it every opportunity to fold itself, I swear I did, but at 11:30 I finally took matters into my own hands).  I turned on some soft music and covered her in a blanket while I worked, and then talked to her a little bit.  I explained my problem.

I think I've talked about this in the blog before, but essentially, when I think about all the things Leslie will never see or do, I am incredibly sad.  Seriously, even typing that out makes my eyes fill, and I haven't even THOUGHT of anything in particular, just the concept of her not being there.  And what I said was, when I start doing that, it almost feels like self-pity, and so I trigger myself and change the direction of my thoughts toward things Leslie DID do with us.  And even though it's still sad, it's a bittersweet sort of sad.  Happy memories made sorrowful by circumstance.

When I asked Emma whether she was thinking about happy memories or the future, she told me that she'd been thinking about the recital and vacation and that when she'd realized it, she tried thinking happy thoughts instead and she just couldn't sleep. 

And the immediate thing that came to mind was, "Try not to think about your mother."  But I didn't say that, because that feels...wrong.  It feels unhealthy.  It feels like avoidance and compartmentalization.  So I told her that.  I told her that I don't want her to avoid thinking about her mom, even though it makes it hard for her to sleep, but that I knew her mom would want her to be able to sleep, so if she was able to channel her thoughts toward something else at bedtime, to carve out some time during the day, maybe after school, to just think about her mother and be sad...or happy.

She said, "I talked to mommy.  She was with Pup-pup (Leslie's mom's father)."

I said, in an attempt to be amusing, "Was he his usual grumpy self?"

"No...he was happy...because he's finally with his wife (who died of cancer, he was never really the same afterwards, Leslie said)."
 
And I finished folding laundry and took her upstairs and got into bed with her and rubbed her hair and stroked her arm until I started to nod off.  And then I told her I loved her always and forever, and she eventually fell asleep.

And maybe that IS the right advice.  Think about your mother.  But try to channel your thoughts toward other things until it's not counter-productive to think about her.  That seems cold and clinical.  I don't mean it to be.  I mean...I want her to think about her mom, but I want her to set aside time to do it.  And maybe I even send her outside to our makeshift memorial after school...a not-chore...but "did you feed the cat?  do your homework?  talk to mommy?"  I'm not sure.

But Emma's science grade dropped dramatically this past quarter.  I talked to her about needing her to not use her time in school to focus on her grief.  I told her (I swear it was very supportive) that we need to use thoughts of mommy as a source of inspiration, not of giving up.  I went on to explain what a fighter mommy was, and that if she found herself thinking about mommy during science, then maybe she needed to think about what it was that mommy would be telling her about school..."Be strong, Emma.  Do your best, baby.  Show them your teeth.  Show them your fight.  Don't let my death inspire you to give up.  Let it straighten your spine.  You're my daughter.  Show them the daughter of a fighter is a fighter too."

And I looked around my bedroom.  I've been doing really well.  I don't really cry.  I'm not typically sad.  I've got this grieving thing nailed!  Except...except that as I looked around the bedroom I started to focus on what was there on Leslie's dresser, on the floor, in the closet, on her nightstand.  The clutter that would ordinarily have driven Leslie AND me insane remains untouched.  Medical supplies and bills, get well cards, prayers, gifts, snacks, People magazines to occupy time during hospital stays.  It's a mess.  And I haven't touched it.  Or looked at it.  In two months. 

And it occurred to me that yeah...I'm doing awesome...because I'm not really allowing myself to think about Leslie or about the tasks ahead.  I'm avoiding it and compartmentalizing it in the exact way that I found myself almost suggesting, but then rejecting when I spoke to Emma, because I knew it wasn't the right answer.  And when my gaze lingers too long on her dresser...I shut that line of thought down, and that can't be right. 

I'm not even talking about the really hard bit of this...when I eventually start cleaning OUT the dresser.  When I start giving clothes to Goodwill.  When I start giving Leslie's jewelry to the kids.  When I try to figure out what to do with all the Mother's Day and Valentine's Day and Birthday and Anniversary cards and pictures that that woman ferreted away in each and every drawer of each and every bureau, nightstand, dresser, or desk...instant shut down. 

I need to find a way to start processing Leslie's death.  And maybe that means taking a break from the treadmill or guitar that I use to fill the silence of the house when the kids fall asleep.  Maybe it means confronting Leslie's ghost myself when it's productive to do so.  Maybe it means cleaning the dresser, even if it's bit by bit over many long sad nights, letting myself think about Leslie and using her voice in my head to focus on doing something positive instead of avoiding or compartmentalizing. 

I know what she'd tell me if she was healthy.

"This house is a fucking mess.  You need to start cleaning up."

Break a Leg

I closed the refrigerator door too hard.  The magnet, part of a "package" from the photographer who shot the girls' dance pictures, slid off the door and broke.  Emma's leg was severed just above the knee.  Bad omen, that, just a week before her big dance recital.

When she came into my office and saw it lying on my desk she gave me a disappointed inquiring look, and I shook my head and said, "Sorry, Em, I knocked it off the fridge.  I have to find some glue and put it back together."

The following week her mother took her to the dress rehearsal.  Dress rehearsals always run long.  I honestly didn't expect them back for five hours, and in fact, I think they arrived just shy of that at four and a half hours.  Despite the time, though, both were animated.  

Leslie was gushing.  Apparently strides were made.  The performance was spectacular.  I would be SO impressed. Emma fell three times during acro...it didn't even matter because the rest was SO GOOD.  And so on.

I was dutifully intrigued.  And not even dutifully so much as genuinely.  I wanted to see the show.  Leslie's a tough sell.  If she thought the dances (Jazz/ballet/contemporary/acro) were good...certainly she was the "dance mom" of our family.

The next day was the recital.  I got home a little early.  They'd ordered pizza so we could eat and run.  The recital didn't start until 7, but Emma had to be there early, and I really only had about a half hour to eat before I needed to hop in the car and drive Lily to the performance.  Leslie took Emma within ten minutes of my arrival, and Leslie's parents soon followed to go save seats.  

Lily looked tired.  Lily looked more than tired, she looked drained.  She walked over to me and put her head down on my chest as I sat eating my pizza.  And...just stayed like that.  For her to initiate any sort of snuggle is rare.  For her to maintain it almost always means she's sick.  She broke away from me after about five minutes to sit down at the chair next to mine at the table.  She climbed into it and briefly put her head down on the table.

"Are you okay, Lil?"  No response.  A response is 50/50 anyway, so I didn't read too much into it.  I fired a text off to Leslie, who was already at the auditorium.

It was 6:21.  I was going to leave the house by 6:30 in order to get to the auditorium by 6:40.  The doors didn't even open until 6:30, but it gets pretty full in the parking lot, and although Lily is not a spectacular waiter...better not to have to walk/carry her from a half mile away than to suffer a little whining inside the auditorium, and the recital started at 7:00.

Lily loves the recitals.  We have the last two years recitals on DVD, and we watch them probably twice a day every day.  They are called Pink and Purple (for the color of the graphics on the outside of the DVD) and Lily knows all the dancers' names and sings along with the songs.  I knew once the show started she'd be fine, I just wanted to see if I could get her a little more comfortable.

I checked her back and she felt cool.  But sometimes she perks up if she has a little dose of Tylenol in her to...dampen...whatever it is that's making her feel "off".  We give her Tylenol with a syringe...just squirt it into her mouth and she swallows it pretty easily.  The trick though, is to get that first taste.  Once she does, she usually drinks it out of the syringe instead of making you put it in her cheek to swallow.  

She really fought me, ducking her head away, pushing the syringe.  "Lily, this is going to make you feel better, baby.  You just need to take the medicine."  She wasn't buying it.  I finally held her arms and made her take it.  One long squirt and she swallowed it and it was done.  Or was it?

Because the next moment she was throwing it up, throwing it all up and not just the Tylenol  but the Tylenol  the raspberry ice drink, and the pizza, all mixed together...on her shirt, on the carpet, on the couch, on me.  And it really was all my fault.

At 6:34 I texted Leslie to tell her that Lily threw up.  I was so crestfallen...I really really did not want to miss this recital, not any part of it.  I was dashing from sink to Lily.  Lily remained remarkably still while I sprinted back and forth trying to clean the couch, the carpet, and her.  I finally cleaned enough that I needed to get her in the bath.  I ran upstairs and started the water and ran back downstairs to get Lily.  We stripped off her clothes and I wadded them into a ball outside the bathroom.  

"I'm like The Wolf from Pulp Fiction, Lily.  We'll get you cleaned up right away."  

I think fast, I talk fast and I need you guys to act fast if you wanna get out of this. So, pretty please... with sugar on top. Clean the fucking car.

But unlike Winston Wolfe, my brain jammed on the topic of what to do with Lily once she was clean.  Was she sick?  She wasn't acting it now.  Put her jammies on her and wait for the sitter?  Take her to the recital?  It was six of one and a half dozen of the other...or as my wife used to say, "six half dozen of the other."  I was stuck in a loop.  I called Leslie.  

"What should I do?"

"Just get her here and we can figure it out later."

Fair enough.  That was all it took.  Whatever the loop was, she nudged me out of my ineffective orbit and all the pieces started falling into place:  Lily washed and clean, new clothes on, my clothes stripped off and me redressed, dirty clothes soaking in the washing machine, couch cleaned, carpet sprayed and wiped.

At 6:51, 17 minutes after "the mess" I texted Leslie to tell her I was "Just leaving".  Then I called and told her to have one of the grandparents meet me outside to take Lily so I could park the car.  I was sweating from stress and exertion, but on my way. 

At 7:00 Leslie told me that the lights were dark but they hadn't started the opening number yet...but I was pulling into the parking lot, my dad was out front waiting.  I slowed to a stop in front of him and got out of the car, walking around to Lily's side to unbuckle her and hand her over to Papa.  He took her in as I drove away to find a spot.

I caught a break and found a parking spot relatively close and hurried into the building, catching Lily and Papa in the hall after producing my ticket at the entry and hurrying to catch up.  We entered the auditorium.  It was still dark, and my eyes adjusted just quickly enough to dodge a couple chairs that had been placed to block two of the rows near the back that the camera crew was using to film the recital.

I was still sweating, but the auditorium was cool, and I was inside, and we weren't late.  The show hadn't started.

What a show!  She was great.  I'm sure the other kids were too, but I couldn't take my eyes off her.  She glowed...she emoted...she danced so well.  And I don't know shit about dancing, but Emma has something when she's on stage.  She's captivating.  Meh...I'm just her dad, but she seemed so ON that night.

I took Lily home to the sitter midway through the recital when there was a big break between Emma's dances.  She was back to normal, happy Lily.  I got back in plenty of time to watch the rest.  It was beautiful.  I was elated.  I hadn't missed it.   

Signs can be interpreted so many different ways.  I wrote a post about it once on Childswork.  The severed limb from the kitchen magnet likeness of Emma?  I guess that was just the universe telling her to "break a leg".