end of another era.

How do you find words for something that leaves you speechless?

I don’t know, but here’s my attempt:

I began college classes this summer, pursuing a dream I wasn’t able to do when I was younger but am finally equipped to do now, pushing 40. With that, it quickly became evident that two jobs and school full time while being chronically ill is a lot and that maybe I should reevaluate. Thus, this year’s Nutcracker was my last working in the office of the Corpus Christi Ballet.

Am I fully gone? Absolutely not. I’ll still be a Party Mom, and help backstage, and pop into rehearsals for funsies as I’m able, but I won’t be there all the time. I know it’s for the best, but man are there certain areas of this decision that are really difficult.

The biggest? The kids. I say “kids” because they’re all kids to me and even more kids that I claim as if they’re my own. It has been my greatest delight to be a part of their lives, some of them for most of their lives. There’s a handful of these dancers that I’ve know since they were 3, 4, 5 years old, having taught them back when I was still able to do so. Others were my party girls or otherwise in the party scene at some point, or just bonus kids I’ve picked up along the way. When my health first tanked and I had to start giving up different elements of ballet, I held on to teaching for longer than I probably should have, but because these kids mean so much to me. There’s something about kids that has always warmed my heart, but this group I have in my life currently are something truly special.

I was a bit concerned going into this Nutcracker on how I’d handle it. I don’t do well with change on a good day, and I know I’m basically just going back to how things were before, but can we ever truly go back? I don’t think so; that makes things a bit complicated in the whole “emotions” department. I’m already not good at allowing myself to feel things—something my therapist and I are working through—so the whole weekend felt like something I would take as it comes and hope it’s kind.

So much of it was business as usual, elements of it bringing stress with it and having to remind myself to take it all in stride. This was the first year in a while that I felt I was actually able to fully enjoy the party scene, not because the scene hasn’t been enjoyable but because the stress was so overwhelming I couldn’t fully enjoy it. I was grateful this year was more typical and am hopeful that becomes the case going forward.

Yesterday was my official last day. I’d sent an email at the beginning of the season with a note at the bottom saying it was my last show in the office and announcing my replacement (who is wonderful), but many people didn’t see it. (Those who did were adorable in their responses. I truly love all the people I’ve gotten to help over these years.) This weekend, it started to hit home for many of them, realizing I won’t be there at the next audition in January and trying to figure out who they’re going to ask their questions to and settling in to the notion that I won’t be there every weekend. It’s a big adjustment, especially for kids, and I don’t take that lightly. (It’s a big adjustment for me, too.)

There were many precious dancers who wrote me the sweetest letters and cards, gave me drawings and gifts and other sweet things. One of my older babies gave me flowers first weekend, which are still alive and well this week. After I got off stage yesterday, one of my more introverted babies was standing there with a bouquet of roses. She hands them to me and says, “I bought these for you” and that was the first time I really had to fight back tears. It feels like when you’re at someone’s house and they have a cat and they say the cat doesn’t like people, and one day that cat starts getting closer and suddenly the cat is sitting next to you, letting you pet it. An honor.

Later on in the evening, one of my older babies asked if I’d seen instagram yet, so I opened the app. She’d tagged me in a post with a picture of us backstage in costume hugging, a picture I don’t think I realized was taken in that moment. She added the song “Sweet Nothing” and that was the second time I had to fight back tears.

I was determined to get through the show without crying, and I made it to the curtain closing before I was foiled, when one of my dearest nuggets comes up to me with a photo book wrapped in ribbon in her hands. She hands it to me and my eyes welled up, and then she says, “a bunch of us signed it” and my eyes betrayed me. I put my fingers to the corner of my eyes and whispered a “damn you” and took a bit before saying, “I was determined to get through without crying and I was so close.”

As dancers saw me holding the book, they’d come up to me so excited that I had it now and telling me they signed it. Each time, it made me cry again. I waited until I was home to actually read it, and good thing, because I ugly cried, the tears coming so fast that I could hardly see the pages at some points and had to take a moment just so I could keep reading.

I never expected someone to do something like that for me. Often, I’m the person who does those things for others so when it’s you, you don’t really expect anyone to pick up the slack. And after all, I’m not fully gone, so I really just expected it to be basically another show, maybe even having to remind people, “hi, I’m not working here anymore, so refer your questions to the office directly so they can help you.” But she started working on this months ago, conspiring, finding old pictures from when they were all kids, putting it together, including pictures from this weekend, and going around and getting signatures from as many people as she could, all while I had zero clue. So many people were in on it, and they all kept the secret. I am so surprised and moved and truly don’t have the words.

You see, I have dealt with pretty deep anxiety and depression for most of my life at this point. I do what I can to manage and try to hold on to the good things to help me get through. Having to give up the office is a scary thing for many reasons, but that regard is my biggest concern. And there’s many fears tied to it—will I lose my friends? Will these kids move on without me? Am I fooling myself into thinking I mattered more to them than I do? Will their mom’s stop reaching out because I’m out of sight? Did I matter because of convenience? Did they love me solely because of what I did for them? I have these fears because for most of my life experience, the answer has been yes. These kids and families mean so much to me and to risk losing that entirely, even though I’m not fully going away, is something I really don’t want to happen. But I know I have to make this decision for my own health and wellbeing. I know it’s the right decision, but that doesn’t make it easy.

To have this book, filled with such kind thoughts and words from some of my most cherished babies…it’s more than I’ll ever have words for. I’m tearing up again writing this, as I know it’ll be a lantern that helps light the darkness that is sure to come again. I’ve learned that the darkness isn’t something I can run from; it will keep finding me, but if I can find a lantern in it, I’ll make it through.

This book is that lantern, and I’ll never stop being grateful for each of those dancers. I’ll never get over the gift and privilege it is to be a part of their lives.