Shattering Reflections

The other night, at my voice lesson, I was vocalizing and staring into the circular mirror hanging on my vocal coach’s wall in front of the piano. The lighting, playing off of the mirror and reflecting from the mirror, back out into the room, back into the mirror, back out into the room and so forth caused me to ponder the similarities between a mirror’s image, the two worlds (inside the mirror and outside the mirror) and my experiences of the past two years.

The back side of a looking glass is not much to look at. A mirror’s backside holds no reflection, only a dark gray, dull and scary, forboding coat of darkness.

Alternatively, the reflector’s face is brilliant, shiny and filled with endless possibilities and limitless places to travel within one’s own imagination.

The contrast in the two sides caused me to relate to the two sides of grief.

An idea to sing with Northeastern University’s symphony orchestra was born in my mind back on May 9th, 2005, one of my most horrible grief-days, ever. In the midst of my anguish, I put a dream of mine into action. Despite my inability to control my nervous system and my tear ducts, I sat up, powered up my computer searched for his name and e-mailed my thought to the conductor. He answered me pretty quickly, stating that he had never thought about having a singer front the orchestra and invited me to come to his office and sing for him. I didn’t expect it, but the possibility lifted me up that day. That day held the first indication for me that I could still dream, that I could still enjoy my passion and that dreaming and feeding my passion are two of the most important things in my life. Whenever I am engaged in either or both activities, my grief is non-existent. My passion is my safe-haven, a peaceful, hopeful hiatus away from the grief that still, very much, holds me in it’s relentless grip.

Thinking back, what srikes me is the frame of mind I was in when my idea was born. I had been pondering death and the thought of how easy it is to die, if one chooses to. I was quite distraught that day, having packed up Chris’ clothes in the midst of quitting my anti-depressant, taking two days off of work to nurse a head cold and laryngitis and writhing in pain on the couch from my monthly curse. All of that pain and sadness cloaking me in a dark, hopeless nightmare and yet I somehow found a moment to dream.

When I equate my grief and the past two years to a mirror, what I’m trying to describe is how being trapped inside a mirror, seems similar to what I imagine being trapped under the ice of a frozen-over pond would feel like. The underside of the ice is cold, dark, wet and lonely. The ice is thick and even though the other side is visible, it’s not so easy to get there. In some cases, getting to the other side simply is not possible. However, there could be a way out. There could be many ways out. One thing for sure is that doing nothing and sinking to the bottom of the mucky myre will not bring a person to the other side of the ice. On the other hand, fighting, kicking, picking away at the ice and screaming are all ways to gain freedom. Trying these things when giving up seems so much easier is extremely difficult. I have chosen to free myself. I chose to free myself very early on. I experienced a moment of grief before I knew that I wanted out of it as quickly as possible.

Creating this opportunity for myself and putting my dream into action has had a profound effect on me. I can chip away at my grief and bring myself past it.

The rush I got from singing with the entire orchestra was immeasurable and my grief was dwarfed by comparison.

The concert was this afernoon. I nailed the high G that I worked up to for the past two weeks. I enaged the audience and invited them to sing along with the orchestra and me.

I did it. I dreamed, created an opportunity, worked hard and honestly to give my best performance and then gave that performance to my audience. I broke through the ice-mirror today, shattering the barrier and sending shards of glass and ice flying in all directions. In my mind’s eye, I traveled outside the mirror’s reflection, back into my real world, a world of long ago, before love, before husbands and before cancer and death reared their ugly heads.

There is beauty and love outside of the mirror and as long as it takes, I’m going to combat my grief with my passion until my evenings are no longer filled with tears and guilt.