From the heart of a poet and the soul of a dancer...

I wonder why all of the saddest, the most awkward, and the most embarrassing things turn out to be the funniest moments in our lives? I don’t tend to laugh at other peoples tragedies, but I find my own darkest moments hilarious. Often times soon after or even during. Oh, this will make a good story.

My daughter Paige is emotionally the mirror image of myself. I can cringe at her behavior. I feel a knot in my stomach when she feels sad, because I don’t know how to help her; it makes me want to run away, to hide from the reality that she is mentally torturing herself and it’s all in her mind. Just the way my own mind will sometimes take me to that dark place where I can find no comfort.

Yesterday I had to make a tough decision; Claudia had yet again fallen behind in her schoolwork, this has become a recurring theme. An email arrived from her Spanish teacher letting me know she had not handed in several assignments and her grade now reflected this. Spanish has been consistently one of her best subjects and Claudia had been assuring me for weeks that her work was being done and handed in on time. I decided that she would not go to the poetry recital rehearsal. Instead she would stay home and attempt to catch up on missing work. Upon picking her up from school I told her, “I hope you will be very happy at the Blain beauty school.”  Ironically the better punishment would have been to take her considering the events that followed.

Paige, my other daughter who has cerebral palsy had also been awarded the title of ‘Promising Young Poet’ so off we went to the rehearsal. Expecting to feel the pride a mother feels when she triumphantly gazes upon her offspring during events such as these: honor roll ceremonies, school plays, dance recitals and the like. Instead I sat on the lawn in the sun with a hand full of teenagers and the two event organizers, both poets, both cerebral and composed in nature, and I experienced one of my most humiliating moments as a mother. The first poem my daughter read was a lengthy account of what she would be like if she didn’t have cerebral palsy; I could not hold back the tears, my heart was breaking as I listened to her imagination take flight, painting a picture of her life as a dancer, a flirt, and a free spirit.

I am not as simple as I seem

by Paige Taylor

as my bones may turn

to rust

and I am not

what I seem

I am a ballerina…

mentally spinning as I

am physically

taking

flight

and landing

perfect on the

1 2 3 4

of the floor

I have no blood on my knees

I do not fall

I dye my hair

and call my friends

And put on makeup

and gracefull

eventually, I will go to N Y U

and learn the art and craft

with girls’ nights out

and red lipstick

smeared while we were cackling

I have

shoved my tongue down

x amount of boys’ throats

wanting more and more

I have been heartbroken

but not traumatized

and I have broken hearts before.

I have gone

To parties

I have danced

Until I fell over.

I have gone for hikes

I appreciate the outdoors

I eat more than I should

I have cried until dawn

I have painted the most beautiful painting you have ever seen

I have danced in Lady Gaga’s dance troupe.

I have been drawn

I have bought way too many expensive clothes

and maxed out credit cards

I’m decent in math

I don’t have fits

I can actually

Control my emotions

To a normal level… at least considered okay.

(yes I am a drama queen, though)

I’m not striving to be perfect.

(at least when I know I can’t be)

the only times I have ever felt guilty

was when something was actually my fault.

I have done everything that I should.

only, one thing;

it’s a buzzing word beginning with C

cerebral palsy

The next poem took me utterly by surprise; her knowledge of anti-psychotic medications, vivid images of blood, death and suicide sprang from the page and assaulted our ears. Paige realizing during a moment of clarity that this was probably not appropriate material for such an event burst into tears. The teens sat with their heads bowed, in awkward reverie. I was mortified. I wanted desperately to lighten the mood, joking “perhaps we could all have a little group therapy now.” No one laughed. The idea crossed my mind, that perhaps these softly spoken gentle folk believed that my husband and I maybe a couple of pill-popping crazy people.  “Who was this about Paige, Amy Weinhaus?”

Paige eventually found her composure she told me that the poem was about her friend from her freshman year, who had broken her heart by dumping her. The friend had gone through some traumatic times and had shared her tales of woe with Paige before then telling her to leave her alone; leaving Paige confused and heartbroken (a feeling I know too well).

I chatted with my friend later that evening in facebook, retelling the event; somehow at that moment I found the humor, I cried with laughter as I told the tale, she too got why it was funny and tragic. It’s nice to feel understood.

This week I have cried often for my firstborn. I prayed to the universe to please bring her a little joy.

I am sitting here writing this after a triumphant day; the rehearsal two days ago feels more like a lifetime ago. I landed my dream job today, but the icing on the cake was watching Paige confidently perform her poem; and I say perform, because she drove her story home, with passion and humor. There were tears and laughter from so many in the audience and at the end she got the standing ovation she deserved. My little girl got her moment in the spotlight, she felt normal and she made me so very proud.