Dear Robin,
I recently re-read an email you sent me. You always had the most profound way of speaking, like each word in the sentence was precisely chosen in order to get your exact point across. In one of your emails about monologue choices, you said “It's like art, sometimes they say to pick something and put it on your wall that's something very different from yourself that you never would've chosen as art that you would've liked, and then you live for with it for a while and it becomes part of you ...you find something in it that actually is something you can be affected by and it can be transforming.” Your words speak to me like poetry. I treasure the moments that you and I have had alone together where you gave me golden nuggets of ideas and lessons that eventually changed me as a person. We were in the barn one day. It was late at night. You were at the piano and I was up on stage, being insecure about my singing, yet again. I remember you telling me that what matters most is how you perform the song, not how it sounds. Also, that people perform for others. Not for themselves. The goal is to affect everyone in the audience. Teach them, connect with them, and make them feel something.
Another memory is the monologue you gave me about a girl whose grandmother passes and she is in a church yelling at God. You told me that you cried when you read it and you knew I would love it. Of course, I cried while reading it and absolutely fell in love with it. Somehow you knew how much I’d personally connect with the monologue with all of my unresolved feelings from my own grandmother’s death. I practiced it with you one night for the showcase and we sat alone, talked, cried, and performed.
I can recall a time where I was practicing for my Cinderella audition with you in the theatre. I was singing “In His Eyes” and you were coaching me with voice and performance. One particular time that I sang it you said that I “actually sang” and we both heard it. There was a different quality to it, and it felt amazing. Of course, it didn’t happen again but you insisted that one day it would. I believe you and I won’t stop trying until it does.
I can’t find the words to explain your ability to understand what people are going through without them having to explain it to you. You said to me one day “I can see it in you that you have these walls built up and you aren’t allowing yourself to be vulnerable.” It was like you took the words right out of my mouth. You were the most amazing mentor I’ve ever had. I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done and I’ll never stop grieving the lack of moments we’ll miss, but I’ll also never stop treasuring the ones I was lucky enough to have. I’ll see you again someday, but until that day comes, I hope I’m making you proud. Love you, forever and always.
- Shannon
