Still Grieving
I could cry. I could cry for every performer. Every stage manager. Every wardrobe dresser. Every tech. Every local. Every IATSE member. Every director and designer. Every dance captain. Every venue. Every ticket booth. Every box office assistant. Every usher. Every volunteer. Every person who was affected by this f*cking pandemic. Every person who thought they were living the dream only to discover they were living a dream. Every person who thought they were in control. Every person who thought they could make a plan. That there could be a plan. That certainty existed. I could cry for every person cast in a role and then told that no longer existed. Every person who had contracts. Every person who had full-time employment. Every person who had safety and security. Had a home to go to. Had a family member or friend to stay with. Every person who lost their lives with their livelihood. Every person who got sick. Every person who stayed healthy and felt helpless. Every person who didn't know this level of pain and now does. Every person who drowned themselves in alcohol and still is. Every person living a life they hate because they think that's all they are capable of. Every person still punishing themselves for past choices. Every person who thinks life is suffering. Every person who thinks work has to suck. Every person who sacrifices so much for money. Or career. Or anything other than love. I could cry. So many rivers. Floods. Water falls. And I will. When that day comes. When I am able to sit in that house again. When I am able to watch the curtain rise. When the spotlight comes on Elder Price as he steps through the tomb that separates into two pieces that all the elders climb onto like choir rafters. And that zero count light cue goes with that door bell sound effect. When I'm that person in that spotlight. Or I'm that person calling "GO". Or writing that prompt book. Or measuring that costume. Or dressing that actor. And I hope I am grateful. And I hope I have fun. And I hope I am surrounded by people who love and appreciate me for all that I am and all I can be. And I hope I am free to be me. And I hope I am in love. And I hope I remember this moment and that one and every ounce in between. And I hope I continue to live the dream.
I miss theatre so much. And I didn't even realize it. I just shoved it inside because I knew it wasn't possible. And now that things are reopening it still doesn't feel fast enough and I want to sprint through a field of poppies into theatre's arms, but its still not there, its still gone and I am so scared I'll never get it back and I'm scared of what it will be and I just want to hold it so much and honestly if you think of all this as a person it is terrifying to see this grief for what it is and sink in it. But it is necessary and it is right and we all have our own grief and grieving process and all I can do is all that I can do.
I love all of you so much. Please take care of yourselves. Ask for help. Show yourself kindness. Reach out to a friend. Hug a consenting human or animal. Linger in the shower a bit longer. Take a deep breath. Go for a walk. Sip some hot tea. Choose life. Because even though it can be this painful, the pain reminds us we're here and I am so glad we are.
Lots of love.