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| Age 4 |
By the time I was eight years old I'd had five years of training and had started dancing competitively. I lived and breathed the art, and at 14, was recruited by the owner of top award winning studio, Creative Dance, where I finished out my competitive career. Fifteen years of this - sequins and makeup and pointe shoes and broken bones, and of course, blood, sweat and tears, along with an insane amount of determination and dedication... all those things that make a competition dancer - Mawzy was always there. She must have really loved me to support me in this passion. Anyone who's been to these things knows they can be long and tortuous to sit through. Unless, of course, you're one of the dancers with a vested interest.
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| Age 9 |
On Friday, January 27, 1989, sleep was escaping me as I lay in bed attempting to shut down the adrenaline that always preceded a performance weekend. I had to leave town early the next morning for a two day competition in Biloxi. I had my own phone in my room. Purple and gray, and all mine, thanks to Mawzy and Paw. So when it rang around 10pm that night, I was grateful for the distraction from my insomnia. It was Mawzy, and she sounded scared. She asked me to put Mom on the phone right away. Mom left the house shortly after that, so I knew something was awry. The next morning my aunt and uncle picked me up for the 2 hour drive. My cousin and I were both dancing that weekend, so this didn't seem out of the ordinary. But Mom and Dad never showed up that weekend, and that was odd.
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| Age 10 |
My aunt and uncle drove us back Sunday night, but instead of turning off on my street, we continued the mile down Highway 190 to Mawzy & Paw's house. We pulled up in the driveway and there were people milling about everywhere. Family that lived close by, family from out of state, some I'd never even met before. In my self-centered 10 year old brain, I thought "Wow! What a welcome home." I was probably even still wearing my medals, ready to proudly show them off to whomever would listen. Someone had me by the arm and was leading me to the front door. Everyone looked worried. My cousins' mouths were talking at me as I passed, but I couldn't hear what they were saying because this odd buzzing had suddenly taken over my auditory perception. I knew something was quite wrong.
I was led all the way to the back of the house into Mawzy's room and the door shut behind me. My parents were standing there and Mawzy was slumped over on the edge of the bed. I plopped down next to her and gave her a hug. I'd never seen her look so sad, and I knew by the heavy energy in the room before I even asked. "Where's Paw?" Mawzy's answer came in the form of a sob, the first time I'd ever seen her cry.
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| Mawzy's bedroom |
Paw had been brushing his teeth in the bathroom when she heard a loud thud that Friday night. It was a brain aneurysm that would have left him in a vegetative state forever. She had made the decision to let him go just hours before I'd returned. My best friend was gone. The man who encouraged me to be Wonder Woman. Who'd let me practice my dances for him as he tried to imitate the moves. Whose lap I'd sit in while doing my homework. The jokester who called bad drivers "dumb dumbs." The loving man who taught me that instant grits on a Saturday morning was the only way to roll. The man whose name I'd bestow on my own son many years down the road. Gone. Just like that.
I slept with Mawzy on his side of the bed with his favorite green pillow that night and every night after that for a very long time. And I never stopped dancing. Even 27 years later, that passion is a source of comfort, release and freedom. No doubt because of the incredible support system I had from the very beginning.
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| Not just for teenagers. |
To be continued...
