I have written a stanza in my "epic" poem about the "puncture wounds" of grief. And I have written a blog which I re-post annually about the birth/death of my son.
The territory of grief is broad and deep, with valleys and peaks that must be visited: that cannot be ignored, even if we would like to.
Today, I would honor the loving memories of my first dance partner, Mark Johnson. Our school and company were founded by amazing old Ballet Russes dancers, Anna Adrianova and Lorand Andahazy, with very ancient traditions. One was that you got paired off at a young age when you danced well together. That was me and Mark, from about age 14---If we ever get a scanner that works, I'll post a few photos from our very young years. But Mark and I cared for each other. I went to his proms with him so he wouldn't get beaten up. He pretended to be my fiancee so I could get birth control pills. He went on to dance with the Boston Ballet and the Houston Ballet. And he committed suicide many years ago after contracting AIDS when there was no hope.
And, more recently, dearly beloved dancer of many shared performances, Joe Morales. I took care of him as a member of his hospice team, but really, the memories of Joe that make me smile are our shared love of drinks post-performannce at little piano bars---oh the fun.....I'll post better pix soon. This golden-oldie, I'm downstage front and Mark is in the wings about to enter...