Our Ballerina Girl


It was Evie’s first ballet show this week. She was a bunny. She was cute. She was sooooo happy. That night after the show in her bed though she told me she felt sad on the inside. She’s said that a lot recently. She’s feels all cryie is how she also puts it. Once again I feel helpless as she tries to express what she is feeling or why. The audience that evening of the show of course was filled with proud parents. Mums and dads. The one person I wished were there couldn’t make it but his mum took the honour of the second tickets Evie was allocated for her debut performance. Cameron wanted to come but he had duties to put my other daughter to bed. And bless him for that.

Over the past two years I have had people say to me that perhaps it’s a blessing that the girls were so young when Col died. They won’t feel the loss quite so hard. They’ve said it is more difficult for older children because they have loved and been loved for longer. I get angry internally when that’s suggested because what do they know. My children may not know or understand quite yet what they have lost but they will feel that sadness that he wasn’t there for all those ballet shows and much more as they grow. I understand that older children do not have it any better but they have at least got the memories of time spent together. They will hopefully come through their loss and see the positives in having had those special times and moments. Yes they will feel it harshly at the time of loss but my girls will never, ever have those memories to draw on for comfort.

I am not saying it is better at all. I know that I am being completely subjective in my grief for my girls’ daddy and his lack of physical presence in their lives. I am continually trying to build a picture of their daddy so that they get a sense of how wonderful he was and how much he would prefer to have been here with them watching them, loving them, than taken away from them before they had all that he could give to them. But that’s not fair is it? Daddy was not there on Tuesday to watch his little ballerina girl look so beautiful up there on stage. He wasn’t there to toss her up in his arms at the end of the show and kiss her scrubby little ballet bun. And so it’s no wonder sometimes Evie feels cryie on the inside. So do I.

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