My Girl Jennie and I saw a couple of preternaturally talented guitarists at the Garde Theater last night.
The were awesome, and it was a lovely crowd although we *did * get yelled at for *talking* during the performance.
We got shushed because I whispered to Jennie, "I feel like I should do an interpretive dance."
I did; I wanted to get up there and show them all I've got..... Well, all I had, back in 1972......
Oh, yes, I was quite the choreographer of dance -- interpretive and otherwise -- back in the day, with my sisters growing up on 26 Bettswood Road.
Oh, we were good. We were awesome. We danced Helen Reddy's "I Am Woman" like no one ever has before.
My sisters were little. That's why they obeyed me; they didn't know any better. They were 6 and 7 and 8.
I know.
This week I've been thinking so much about the kids who died, of course, we all have. But I've also been thinking about their siblings.
Can you imagine?
I can't. I mean, I try to, but as the choreographer and director and all-around king of the world of my younger sisters -- until they were onto me and stopped listening to me -- I think about losing any one of them and the thought is, to underestimate it wildly, heartbreaking.
But I also know kids -- people -- are resilient -- and we have to move forward. What choice do we have? Even though our dance will be awful without the 6-year-old's sincere, specific, badass moves (unless she's bored or hungry or distracted and flits away, excusing herself from the proceedings, because she does not appreciate the awesomeness of the moment. And by awesomeness of the "moment" I mean awesomeness of the "choreographer").
So, I'm moving forward not in the sense that for one second I'm forgetting any of those 6- and 7- years olds. I'm moving forward only in that I'm thinking about their siblings, older and younger, who are still living their lives -- because they're alive -- and, oh I don't know. How do we continue? I don't know.
We just do, and we devote ourselves to their siblings, and our siblings, and the little 6-and 7-year old tiny tots who should be here, and aren't.
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7 comments:
beautiful, Ellie!
I second that!
sniff
love you, El.
ps: Ravioli Simmons
xoxox
Jacquie
"(unless she's bored or hungry or distracted and flits away, excusing herself from the proceedings, because she does not appreciate the awesomeness of the moment. And by awesomeness of the "moment" I mean awesomeness of the "choreographer")." --- Ha ha ha, I love this, Ellie.
You are awesome, no doubt about that.
But I was really hoping there would be a video or photo to illustrate your made skillz, and the skills of the dancers, with Jacquline flitting away to go eat a pb&j.
Forward, indeed.
xoxo,
Beth
Love! xo
You have a gift my friend! Thanks for your generosity in sharing it! On a side note...we did some bad ass moves with our curling irons and Helen Reddy and Carly Simon in South Campus in '81, as I recall....love you lots! Noe
Ellie, I don't think I had really cried about Sandy Hook until your blog. I just don't cry.
But having lost a sibling myself, I thank you for recognizing that pain. The focus, understandably, is on the parent/child loss. But losing a sibling is like losing an arm or leg. Your family is forever only a percentage of what it meant to be, and you never feel complete.
When I think of those beautiful children, it is the remaining twin whose pain (and likely confusion) that sears my heart the most. I only hope that no survivor's guilt visits these siblings the way it has haunted my family all these years.
Much love to you and your fam.
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