Chosen Life

Those who know me often marvel at this circus life I have chosen. They’re awed by the feats that my fellows and I perform, and envy the traveling and the mystique. For them, the romance of circus is alive and well. As well it should be. The magic of the Big Top, the spectacle, the thrills… it wouldn’t be circus otherwise. For the most part, even I’ve maintained this view of the world I now inhabit. There are hardships, of course, but you learn to take them with a grain of salt. After all, don’t all great romances have their share of difficulties?

But no matter how spellbound one might be by the world of circus and all its splendours, and I say this as an acrobat in the thick of it all, there comes a time where the consequences of having chosen this life come to harsh reality.

My grandfather died a month ago. A couple of weeks before that, I received some very bad news concerning my sister. And despite all the goodwill of my heart, here I was, completely helpless in Paris.

The initial news about my grandfather was that he wouldn’t live to see the end of the week. I was told to ask what the company policy was when there is a death in the family. I received this news a Sunday morning, right before a show. Every time I return to France for work, my great fear is that something should happen at home, and that I can’t be there. Every time I leave, I wonder if I will ever see my grandparents again.

This time I received an answer.

When I asked about potentially going home for the funeral, I was later told by the director that I was indispensable to the show and that it wouldn’t be possible. I mostly expected that response. In truth, I had hoped for it. I know that makes me sound like a terrible person, but under the circumstances, I couldn’t handle the stress of having to choose between going home and the madness that would accompany that decision, not to mention the guilt and disrespect towards the troupe, and staying in Paris to perform, not having that closure and being unable to be there with my family in that moment of duress.

I’m not proud of it, but I can’t deny it was a relief to have that responsibility taken away from me.

And I cried. And no matter who offered what kind of comfort, all I could do was ask them to wait… to leave me alone until the end of the show… otherwise, there was no way I would make it through. It was one of the hardest performances of my life. I scarcely remember how I felt, just that I hated every moment of it and was on the verge of tears the entire time.

Tuesday morning I got the call that my grandfather had passed. Being the weekend at the circus, there was virtually no one on site. I was terribly and desperately alone. To add insult to injury, Wednesday evening, just before the show I found some packages waiting for me in my trunk backstage. One was from my grandparents, signed from both of them. Of course it had been mailed before my grandfather had died, but nevertheless it was a painful reminder and a slap in the face from the Universe. Again, I cried. For the rest of the week I painted large bouquets of flowers at the end of the show.

And while I must admit that the idea of a funeral scared me (this is the first grandparent I’ve lost) and the image of my grandfather in a casket rips my heart to shreds and I don’t know if I could have handled it, I envy my siblings for being able to be there and having that closure. To a certain extent, none of this seems real. I’m just going to go home and never see my grandfather again. How do you deal with that?

My answer, of course, is baking.

Since I couldn’t be there for the actual funeral, I felt it was important to make some kind of gesture to mark my grandfather’s passing. As such, I baked the most complex, elaborate and chocolately cake in my repertoire. I invited the troupe and those who work at the circus’ bar to share it with me. To my great relief, one of the more senior members of the troupe led the proceedings. I said some words and we shared a moment of silence. Then we saluted my late grandfather and enjoyed the cake baked in his honour. Though I did have to remind certain people who were very excited to eat cake (“Le gateau! Le gateau!”) that it was not so much about the cake as it was about the passing of my grandfather.

And so a month has gone by, I have another 20 shows under my belt, and more than ever the fence surrounding the lot feels like a cage keeping me in my circus bubble. Two and half more weeks and I'll finally make it home... two and half more weeks...