"Anne"

(One)
Long ago, when I was almost over being very young in 1977, my uncle took the inevitable journey; cancer (likely caused by a chemical burn he received while working on the Manhattan Project; so many years ago) carried him away in darkness and pain. He left behind my Aunt, my Father’s sister, his wife of 30 years.
He was the romantic person of my Aunt’s life; they had danced together in more ways than one. When my Uncle left the field of chemistry after the bombs were dropped on Japan (he wanted to leave the blood that was on his hands forever behind) he switched careers. He became a director and Choreographer. This worked will with Anne his wife, my Aunt, for she was a starring ballerina.
They danced upon many a stage and worked in and with many of the greats. The public platform of performance was their life and their work. Making acts of imagination and creation to be shown to the nation, joyous performances were brought to the public though their dances. When, in 1959, my Aunt slipped on a wet stage and shattered her ankle she continued on with the ballet by becoming a Dance Rehearsal Coordinator.
My Uncle took his time to die. A piece of his body at a time was invaded by the darkness of cancer. First his jaw was removed, and then some other pieces, a section of wasted tissue there, a slice of rotten bone here. Dangerous brews of chemicals were poured into his body to try to kill the invader. The fight was long and hard but the cancer proved to be to strong. No bomb was found to destroy this foe, or end this war.
He died at home in bed with his wife. The long deadly battle was over for him. An ex chemist filled with the chemicals he had turned his back upon. While it was hard on the entire family if was best that he died at home away from the cold bland sterile stage of the medical establishment.
It had been a true fight with hospitals and the doctors to let him come home. But it was worth it to give him his wish to pass form our lives in his heart warmed home and with the one he loved. It was sad that those whom he loved and loved him had to spend so much time fighting with dedicated experts who would not face that battle was lost. That he in his pain and his family in theirs had to argue for the right to return to his home. But it was right for him to pass in his bed with his wife.


(Two)
After my Uncle was laid in the ground and the grass grew over the earth’s scar green, my Aunt Anne lifted her head up from the grief and loss and went on. She had lost her life companion, the father of her children, the center of her life. However, while never forgetting the beginning of the journey she started forward again. She opened the curtains onto the next scene.
She smiled again as soon as she was ready. It took her some time, but she knew that her husband would not want to see her that sad and in his memory she found the strength to let her smile rise again form the ashes. I will always remember Anne’s smile as it was, and still is, a delight to see, warm, sharing, delighting, and demanding that all share it with her. It is a smile that makes you feel comfortable and included. A smile that invited you to be yourself and even more. A shinning warmth and joy that caused your face to answer with the same.
After a period of time after my Uncle passed, my dear Aunt, who’s smile had returned, whom would sit and listen so nicely and sweetly to her nephews (all three of us) rant, rave, complain, found a lump in a place she didn’t’ feel like discussing with her brother’s boys. She walked strongly alone in the battle her lover had so recently lost.
A year after the year she found the buried black marble and she come home from her own surgery lighter both breasts, depressed, and feeling that she was no longer worth anything. Her husband was gone, her female self seemed cut away, No companion waited to help, her home had turned cold, and her smile faded away.
Her job too, had moved on, her position as a rehearsal coordinator gone she stepped completely out of the performers view. She did find, with the help a friends a position with one of the lesser houses working in their customer service. No longer with the dancers and no longer dancing she sold tickets to the masses so that they could enjoy what she could no longer be a part off. From being a star she fell to working the phones, but still she was she was pleased to be a part of the scene or so it seemed. Her days wasted away talking on the phone, hidden in a booth selling tickets to the acts in which she used to dance, choreograph, or help in the training.
Anne still rose again with courage and grace she continued on. Sadly while she was finding herself again many of her friends started to pass. It was the season of AIDS and many talents were taken in those days. Groups of friends were quickly whittled away but this new disease. Of those that did not die many moved on to places far away. Shows went on the road. The opposite coast called a few, or for some it was just California dreaming; the call of the Hollywood lights from across our continental nights. Others just faded like stage lights dimming down with the curtain closing the show. Letters were still written but, distance makes distant of us and lacks the warmth of being surrounded by companions.
The theatre, the arts build relationships that are different than most. The artist bares much to stand on a stage, or display works, and his lucky to find ways that pay. Changing in the wings between the scenes makes one not notice normal things. Challenging the world to pay attention builds bonds between the communities of performers that are not shared by many others. However they move on in acts and deeds and sadly surround themselves with the crowd they need to further their careers. Their make up comes on and off as do many of their relationships. Anne was left behind to face her daily bland grind.
So friends and acquaintances moved on and my Aunt was left behind in the home which her husband died. Surrounding her were memories of many things but nothing new was building, no flowers blooming, no creativity showing. The curtains were drawn, the lights turned off, the marquee shut down, the writers ink wells drying, the well of her creativity echoed empty. How can one survive who is used to drinking from the waters of performance, art, and imagination?
Anne had nobody to turn to and started to slide away. The lose of so much in such a short time was too much for her to handle without support. She needs to be a part of the show which had packed its bags torn down the stage and moved away. Her smile again faded. Her life became jaded. Even for her to eat was becoming a great feat. She wanted to go on but without anyone there to share her song, she started to grey out. Her life was becoming static and fuzz.

(Three)

I came back to town for the summer to stay – in-between my childish frustrations; trying to move on to college after living and working on my own from the two years after high school spent on my own. During that summer of in-between I was able to partially repay my Aunt for all the times she had listened and been there for my brothers and me.
We went forth together that summer. There was a shared compassion between us; although way she felt compassion for my childish, immature issues when compared to hers I can only say goes to the greatness of her heart. But I was there as she slowly came back to life, found herself again, found her female self (which had never been lost), and found her smile again. Anne continued listening; allowing me to spout, bombast, and jabber. Oh, I was lucky to be able to talk thus, which someone who knew so much better that I what a fool I was, but still loved me all the same.
In my innocent, ignorance of youth, I noticed not the pain she was or did just barely in a perceptual way. I had no awareness of the closure that her life had in it; of the stage for which she pined, the worlds she had lost, the creativeness all come undone. I was caught up in my own mind but maybe this was best for I reminded her not of her world in my immature youthful meanderings or meaningless concerns but let her show concern for mine.
She would take me to see the dancers at NYC’s American Ballet Theater and City Center and they sometimes seemed to dance just for us. We would go onto the stage after the show and look out into the great halls. We would also walk the sets of other productions, theatre, movies, and television soaps. By taking me to her to places at which she was once known she found anew old acquaintances.
We would sit for hours and talk about nothing. Though at the time it seemed to be quite something. I would do projects to help her out. She would make meals again and they filled me out. Together we found and shared the wondrous sites of the city and built a lasting trust.
The Staten Island ferry became a place for us to travel after an evening out. Watching the skyline of the city as the waters parted for our ship, waves glistening in a moonlit v behind us. We would talk about the day’s happenings and after awhile what the future might bring. During our time together Anne found excitement in living again and lifted up her chin. Above that chin that wondrous smile started again to shine out more and ever more often.
Between us grew a bonding. A trust and belonging. We held nothing back and gave our all in exploring the world into which we were both re-growing. We shared growth in our different ways. We helped each other find life anew. There wasn’t a secret between us; this we knew. It was a summer of re-finding, refining, rebuilding, and growing. It was a summer of honesty and trust. There wasn't a thought or a moment that couldn’t be shared.
We challenged ourselves and each other and explored the newly re- opening boundaries of our futures. Anne’s smile grew and finally her eyes danced. Between us we gathered the strength needed to move forward on our divergent paths. We took and gave to each other like I have never had with another. But the time came for both of us to start anew on our individual roads. Together we had grown strong enough to take those roads seperately.
Anne is well now so many years later, and her smile still shines. We now live far apart, she retired to Texas (don’t ask me why) and I am with my family in Pennsylvania; but still we are important to each other. We carry our love within our hearts. There is a great remembrance of the time we shared together. She helped a lad who was ever so slowly maturing into a man, and I helped her to once again stand. Anne and I danced; and in dancing we lived.