Life is not lived alone. Whenever you lose someone you know, no matter how close you were to them, it rocks you to your core. You can’t help but question, “Why?” I don’t want to talk about grief. We all grieve in our own ways and I am no one to tell you how to do that. I am going to tell you how to live. I’m going to share a personal story, in hopes of shedding light on this sometimes very dark subject.
My friend, Riley, passed away Dec. 1, 2013. Riley faced death with the courage of a soldier entering battle, fighting an unseen invader - a rare form of cancer. I met Riley about six years ago. We had ballet class together every night. I will always remember the funny faces she would make at me from across the room when our teacher wasn’t looking. Riley was so full of laughter and love. She didn't let the tumors that would take her life take her dreams with them. She continued to dance through it all, never once letting pain touch the joy dancing gave her. I will forever be grateful for the opportunity to witness her love of ballet.
Ballet, however, has taken its toll on my confidence and self esteem. Staring in the mirror for more than four hours a day revealed my inner demons. When things got tough I was tempted give up. My weakness is confidence and has always been; but watching Riley fight for the little things and later witnessing her struggle to do the thing she loved most, dance, made me realize that if she never gave up why should I?
Dancing is my way of thanking Riley for the desire to dance she instilled in me. She changed my life in just three short years. I fed off her strength, and continue to do so even in my darkest of hours; letting it fill me with a sense of security and hope. Whenever I am faced with a challenge in ballet class or in everyday life I no longer doubt myself. I no longer wallow in fear of making a mistake. I remind myself of Riley, her fierce determination and her beautiful smile and I tell myself to do it for her. I have been given the most wonderful opportunity: to live. I have been blessed with the ability to chase after my dreams. Today, about three years after Riley’s death, I find myself unafraid. I am not afraid to put all my heart into dance.
I was a junior in high school when Riley passed away. Now, as a sophomore in a college conservatory studding dance, Riley still has a way of making goofy faces at me. Through my memories and through remembering all that she was. I picture her smile. I hear her laugh.
These things no longer make me sad or depressed or whatever other word you want to use for that hole that consumes your heart in the beginning. These things now give me peace and passion. With the anniversary of her passing just a few days ago, these thoughts have been ever so pressing on my heart. I think once we realize that life is a collective experience, we are able to live more freely. We are all connected. My dancing was never solely mine. It was and is for others as well as for myself. It is my way of contributing to the beauty of the world. Riley’s passion for dance was not meant to be bottled up inside but rather poured out. She was meant to help other find their own. The idea that we don’t have to live life alone, that even in death we can still draw strength and courage form each other, that our lives, even after death still shape the world, well, that concept is peaceful.
To quote the song Timshel by Mumford and Sons “Death is at your door step, and it will steal your innocence, but it will not steal your substance.” Our substance, our character is not stolen by death and therefore, the character of those we love still exists.
If you’ve ever read any of my other writing you know I am a sucker for clichés so I'll leave you with one for as a final thought; The people we love never really leave us but will stay with us forever in our hearts. Imagine the great sense of peace and joy we would all have if we could live each day for each other, with each other.
