Quite some time ago, I wrote about our annual "Old Girls' Conversazione" at the high school I attended. Here is the link. In it I wrote about why I enjoy attending and the effect it has on me.
Yesterday I attended a reunion of my former ballet school. I hadn't been in that studio or seen many of those people for thirty six years. These days I'm in touch with two friends from my ballet days. One, J, I also went to school with; she left school at the end of Year 10 to pursue a career in dance and we stayed in touch, lost touch and then reconnected on Facebook. She was the one who invited me to the reunion. I invited the other one, S. (She knew about it already but I think my invitation sealed the deal for her.) We also lost touch, ran into each other and learnt we lived near each other and have spent the past ten or so years running into each other locally and saying we must catch up for coffee. We're also Facebook friends.
S drove me in so we spent nearly an hour bonding and sharing our stories in the car. We were both excited. I was also nervous that no one would remember me. As soon as we got there, we saw J, who had brought her mum, and the four of us had a great time catching up and reminiscing.
S had spent about ten years at the ballet school; I'd only spent three, having come from another one, and we both stopped around the same time. J, of course, stayed on longer than us so she knew far more people and was comfortable and confident walking around and chatting to people. S and I talked to fewer people but still had a great time.
J confided in me that she didn't want to come to any school reunions because she felt like she barely knew people from school. It hit me later that our positions were reversed. I love school functions. The people I met in my school days had a profound effect on who I was and who I became. The teachers and the older girls were my inspirations when I was at school. Our school motto was, "Not for School but for Life," and that has held true for me.
As I watched J in her element at the ballet reunion I understood that the people she met in her ballet days were the ones who had the effect on who she was and who she became and it was our ballet teacher and the older ballet students who were her inspirations.
I had fun being in the old studio, looking at the photos, seeing my former teacher (who has not aged one bit) and catching up with old acquaintances. I enjoyed the nostalgia of seeing the colour ice blue everywhere, hearing my former teacher ring her old bell to get our attention and walk the floor I'd once danced across. Over the years, I've sometimes wondered if giving up ballet was a mistake. It was clear to me, yesterday, however, that I have no regrets. It was an enjoyable afternoon and it gave me some closure.
Monday, July 20, 2015
Thursday, July 16, 2015
Eulogy for a Tender Hearted Friend
A few days ago, one of my friends had a headache and took a nap. She suffered from debilitating headaches so this was not an unusual thing for her to have to do. Sadly, she never woke from her nap. It would seem logical to assume she was taken by a blood clot to the brain or an aneurism but that's not what happened.
K was 35 years old and the fittest and healthiest she'd been in the twelve years that I've known her. Yet, she died of Spontaneous Coronary Artery Dissection, an extremely rare cardiac event. It's an event that doesn't fit your "typical" heart patient; it can happen to anyone. And it happened to K and her family and friends are lost for words at the shock of it all.
It's an absolute truth that, no matter how unpleasant someone has been in life, we canonise them after they die. It's also an absolute truth that K deserves every wonderful thing that has been said and written about her. She was one of those people the world needs more of. She was kind, tender hearted, generous and loving. She took great care of her family, friends and animals. And she did it quietly. One really had to get to know her to fully grasp how much she did for other people because she was not one to seek attention. Her family and friends knew, however, and loved her for it. Her husband and two sons adored her. Their love for her was palpable and it was returned tenfold.
I know a handful of people and K was one of them who just cannot see their own worth and value. If she could read all the tributes to her, she would probably say, "Pffft!" I wish she could have seen herself through the eyes of her family and friends who loved her so much. I wish she could see the emotional devastation her passing is wreaking on her family and friends. I know, however, that she wouldn't have been who she was if she could have. And we loved her just the way she was and will continue to do so.
When a loved one is taken - particularly suddenly - we examine our own lives and wonder how we can make better use of our time. We wonder how we can honour that person and incorporate some of their spirit into ourselves. We tend to agree that we must savour every moment. For me, in the wake of K's passing, I want to be fully present in every moment, especially when I'm with others. I don't want them to feel like I'm planning my response to what they're saying or even what I'm going to cook that night. I don't want them to feel like I prefer my phone to them. I want to express my love and appreciation for my family and friends more often in both words and deeds. And most of all, I want to try to follow K's shining example of how to treat people. That's how I feel I can best honour my friend, K.
Rest in peace.
K was 35 years old and the fittest and healthiest she'd been in the twelve years that I've known her. Yet, she died of Spontaneous Coronary Artery Dissection, an extremely rare cardiac event. It's an event that doesn't fit your "typical" heart patient; it can happen to anyone. And it happened to K and her family and friends are lost for words at the shock of it all.
It's an absolute truth that, no matter how unpleasant someone has been in life, we canonise them after they die. It's also an absolute truth that K deserves every wonderful thing that has been said and written about her. She was one of those people the world needs more of. She was kind, tender hearted, generous and loving. She took great care of her family, friends and animals. And she did it quietly. One really had to get to know her to fully grasp how much she did for other people because she was not one to seek attention. Her family and friends knew, however, and loved her for it. Her husband and two sons adored her. Their love for her was palpable and it was returned tenfold.
I know a handful of people and K was one of them who just cannot see their own worth and value. If she could read all the tributes to her, she would probably say, "Pffft!" I wish she could have seen herself through the eyes of her family and friends who loved her so much. I wish she could see the emotional devastation her passing is wreaking on her family and friends. I know, however, that she wouldn't have been who she was if she could have. And we loved her just the way she was and will continue to do so.
When a loved one is taken - particularly suddenly - we examine our own lives and wonder how we can make better use of our time. We wonder how we can honour that person and incorporate some of their spirit into ourselves. We tend to agree that we must savour every moment. For me, in the wake of K's passing, I want to be fully present in every moment, especially when I'm with others. I don't want them to feel like I'm planning my response to what they're saying or even what I'm going to cook that night. I don't want them to feel like I prefer my phone to them. I want to express my love and appreciation for my family and friends more often in both words and deeds. And most of all, I want to try to follow K's shining example of how to treat people. That's how I feel I can best honour my friend, K.
Rest in peace.
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