Grief and the Very Young

The little boys were at church today with their grandparents.  Their father is too distraught to do much of anything.   When I saw the boys walk in to the church my heart lurched.  Their mother died just over a week ago, after a brief illness.  I had no idea what to expect.  Sad, crying little boys?  But during the first part of the service they seemed fine, typical 7 and 5 year olds in church.  

The time came for us to take them back to the Sunday school with us.  It was a small group, only 5 children, everyone else gone for summer.   We sat in our usual circle and passed the chalice to talk about our sads and glads.  I held my breath, prepared to offer words of comfort for the inevitable sads.  But they didn't come.  The boys were in great spirits talking happily about their life.  I was both surprised and relieved.  

We all sat at the table and created sculptures from plasticene, and talked about our summer, and what we were creating, and about school starting and about funny things that had happened to us.   The boys remained cheerful and no mention was made of the mother they had just lost.   And it occurred to me that they are too young to fully comprehend their loss.  Not in the way we adults do.  Not the finality of it.  Not the devastating sadness of a woman taken too young, from little boys who need her so much. Not the anger at the injustice of it all.  Children's lives are immediate.   They live in the moment.  And there will be many painful moments  of missing their mom.  Bedtime, when they get hurt, when something reminds them of her, when daddy says no and they don't have mommy to appeal to.  And they will feel sad and they will cry, but it will be momentary.   They will find themselves feeling angry and they will act out, but they won't understand why.  

As they grow, her memory will fade, but they will grieve her differently throughout their lives at different stages of development.  They will grow up with only distant memories of her.   She will live in their psyche, and in their hearts, but they will mostly remember her through stories others tell them.   I am so grateful for the blessed innocence of their youth, that protective layer that lets them continue to believe that nothing bad can really happen, that mommy isn't really gone forever.   And I wish for them a happy life, full of love and nurturing and in their heart that little ember from the love of the one who was there at their beginning.

Tiny Dancers

Last Saturday I attend the dance recital of my granddaughters, A, aged 7 and S, aged 3.  This was the S's first year and A's second year.  When you attend these things, you don't just watch your own children, you watch ALL of the performances from the very, very young, to the young adults.  It's a long afternoon, but I always thoroughly enjoy myself.  This year S was the 18th dance, and A was the 39.  I had several "ponderings" throughout the recital.

The costumes these children wear are gorgeous, and expensive.  The youngest ones, for the most part, come out on stage, in their little tulle tutus and satiny body suits, tiara's on their heads, some of them with more makeup than most adults wear, and their hair up in severe buns.  And a lot of them just stand there looking shy.   Some of them will attempt a few of the moves (they all love the jumping parts) and none of them are on beat in or sync.  It's adorable!  But I can't help thinking about all that money spent for just that.  I suppose it's practice being on stage, you have to start somewhere.  But why not, for the little ones, just the leotard and body suit?   Some of these kids are in 3 or 4 performances, all with different costumes.   And there were a few families where there were more than 2 children.  It's mind boggling.  The costumes are only used once, they don't get passed down.  

There were two boys in the whole recital.  One boy I had seen last year and he was back this year looking much more mature but just as talented and enthusiastic as before.  I love to see that.  I know it takes a special kind of boy and a special kind of parent to be able to do this.  Boy dancers are not as revered as boy hockey players although I think that should change.  

Many of the girls were heavy.  Not fat, although a couple were skirting the edges.  And I only point this out because when we think of dancers we immediately picture tall and lithe young women pirouetting across the stage lighter than air.  But here I saw all shapes and sizes.  And many of those big girls were far more talented than their skinnier peers.  Some of the heavy girls were in three or four performances as well, tap, jazz and ballet, and they were able to do back flips, cartwheels and other very complicated moves with ease.  There were no elephants on that stage.  It struck me that these girls must have to practice constantly, they must always be exercising, and yet they are still heavy.  And they are learning to accept their bodies, and move them and be creative with them.  So much for media stereotypes of beauty.  I saw real beauty on that stage on Saturday.  

You can tell the kids who are feeling the music, the ones who are there because they want to be, the ones who love to move, from the kids who are there because they are living a parent's dream.  It's not about shyness.  It's not about ability.  It's about the heart and soul of the dance.  And when a child has it, it's a sight to behold.  I saw the magic happen for my own granddaughter, A,  this year. Last year she was not so much in to it, wasn't "hearing" the music, dancing but not really focusing.  This year, it was there.  It had clicked.  I was verklempt!   

Many people have a problem with this type of competition.  Comparing it to Toddlers and Tiara's. Calling it elitist because only the well off can afford the lessons, the shoes and the costumes necessary at a time when bodies are still growing.   But I would rather my child be in something beautiful and creative, and eventually spiritual, than have them bashing themselves on the boards playing hockey.