It's the old adage about 'averaging out' . Being average means nothing really, given that you could have your hair on fire and your butt on a block of ice...that'd average out to room temperature, wouldn't it? An ice chair and a flaming head may be zero-sum game, but they don't average out.
To celebrate our upcoming tenth wedding anniversary, C and I had made plans to go to a well-regarded boutique hotel downtown. The idea would be to have a romantic evening away from the kids, even if it was just three miles down the road from our home. I floated the idea of a spa room, or one of the hotel's Starlight Rooms, where the ceiling is all glass and you can sleep under the stars above and over the street-life below. C thought it was great.
And then, she said something that made it even better.
You see, there's a young family that has been attending our Cancer Art Therapy class for about a year. He's young. 32 or so. Fighting off metastasized cancer that's settled in his lungs. It's Terminal. He's in hospice. His wife is maybe 28. By my guess, all three children are under ten years old.
C suggested that we make our night available to them instead. "We'll have lots of anniversaries; they won't." she said. I agreed. We called the couple. They said they'd like to, very much. They settled for Sunday, September 7. We made the reservation.
C put together a big basket of cool stuff to make them at home in the room. Snacks and lotions, cider and champagne, and stuff like that. She had two dozen roses to decorate the room. She'd arranged with the hotel to get early access on Sunday. We were all excited about giving someone else a nice experience.
In the meantime, M went to a special ballet class at the Oregon Ballet Theater practice facility this morning. It was, in fact, an audition. Perhaps, M would be able to join their (very prestigious) ballet school. There were about 20 or so auditionees at the class. During the class, the school director ran the parents through the program details, rules and such.
- Parents do NOT talk to the teachers. Ever.
- Inquiries go to the school director, who handles the communication with the teacher.
- Parents are not allowed to watch the class at any time.
- Student attendance is compulsory.
- Students are expected to get themselves ready - without assistance - for their class.
- Spaces are extremely limited.
C asked a number of questions to learn more about the school. I wasn't there, but C said she asked more questions than anyone. She learned that universities give scholarships for Ballet. We didn't know that.
At the end of the class, the children rejoined the parents. M was beaming. As soon as she got to C, she pulled C down and whispered in her ear, "I have a REALLY good feeling about this!"
The school Director, at this moment, made the general announcement that all the classes were full, and that they'd be calling students as spaces came available. In other words, everyone was dismissed. People started filing out through the door. As C and M were working toward the exit, the director discreetly asked them to step aside. In a corner, and at a whisper, the director said "M is exceptional. We'd like to offer her a place in the school."
We all consulted quickly via cell phone. We decided that M should have this chance if she wanted it. She did; so we registered her. And that was that.
Overall, today was a high-spirits day. M now dances at the OBT school. We're doing something cool for another family. We were all so excited it was like our hair was on fire. What could possibly go wrong?
The phone rang, that's what.
It was the young wife of the couple we made the hotel reservation for. She was calling to tell us that her husband had passed last night.
Our present was too late. He was already gone.
We were heartbroken. No, not because of anything to do with the hotel room. All because we feel so much sorrow for the family. Knowing this is coming does absolutely nothing to make it easier to bear.
We all cried at the news. They're all in our prayers.
Things got a bit somber after that. We were even a little edgy with each other for a while as we all processed the news. Even now, at the end of the night, there's an extra chill in the interpersonal interaction. Fear is that chill. Fear that this might happen to us, too. Fear is that block of ice we've parked our butts upon for today.
Cheerfulness and sadness; joy and disappointment; triumph and defeat. Our friend's death balanced against M's new, potentially life-changing, adventure. All zero-sum balances of emotional energy. Certainly not average.
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