I miss Golda. Mostly because she's never coming back, at least not as the girl she was before. Yesterday I wrote her a letter telling her all about Nutcracker auditions and Homecoming preparations. Things she used to care so much about. Things that are completely irrelevant now, and even seem a little silly. Golda was obsessed about being Clara in the Nutcracker for years. You could almost diagnose a clinical condition. Claritis or something. She sketched endless drawings for the Nutcracker cover art contest, most depicting her dream role, Clara. She literally would dwell on it all year. She filled notebooks with lists of goals and instructions to herself, all dedicated to the ultimate goal of Clara. Six months of hope and determination, and then six months of despair. Sometimes just 12 months of hope mingled with despair. The worst years were the two when she got a "Clara Callback," meaning she had come closer to her goal, and thus would be - and was - more devastated when she didn't achieve it.
Driving to my Nutcracker rehearsal last night, waiting at the stoplight on 2nd North, all the endless drives to ballet with Golda and all the endless conversations about Nutcracker came rushing back. Buying the exact perfect hair ribbon for the audition. Selecting the fabric for the Nutcracker Bag. The pep talks, the dissection of auditions and what could have been different, the discussions about rehearsals. Then later, when she left home, the calls from Orem about her Nutcracker rehearsals. A different production. What was the name of the company again? I wasn't needed to drive her to rehearsals or to analyze who got what part, but at least Scott and I got to go see the production. It was one of the last times we saw her dance onstage, and the sorrow of that realization penetrated Tchaikovsky's peppy, festive score.
Now, our little dancer is out on the world's stage, just like we hoped and prepared for. Yet there are times when I feel like Golda with that role of Clara. I can audition and audition, but I will never make the part of Golda's Mom like I had it before. That role has been taken out of the production.
Driving to my Nutcracker rehearsal last night, waiting at the stoplight on 2nd North, all the endless drives to ballet with Golda and all the endless conversations about Nutcracker came rushing back. Buying the exact perfect hair ribbon for the audition. Selecting the fabric for the Nutcracker Bag. The pep talks, the dissection of auditions and what could have been different, the discussions about rehearsals. Then later, when she left home, the calls from Orem about her Nutcracker rehearsals. A different production. What was the name of the company again? I wasn't needed to drive her to rehearsals or to analyze who got what part, but at least Scott and I got to go see the production. It was one of the last times we saw her dance onstage, and the sorrow of that realization penetrated Tchaikovsky's peppy, festive score.
Now, our little dancer is out on the world's stage, just like we hoped and prepared for. Yet there are times when I feel like Golda with that role of Clara. I can audition and audition, but I will never make the part of Golda's Mom like I had it before. That role has been taken out of the production.
2 comments:
Beautifully expressed! But you scared me with your mention of Nutcracker rehearsal last night. Oh, no!, I wondered, did I forget that, too? Your children are blessed with these poignant memories you capture in words. The mom around here can't remember the basics, let alone the memories!
Loved this!
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