The Moments We Said Goodbye

Tonight we premiered in Toulouse.

Two weeks ago today, R took his life.

It has been a curious past couple of days. I thought it would be much harder, but it would seem that most people have been keeping their grief to themselves, though there were many ashen faces around the circus today. Before the show begun, we all held hands for what felt like ages, and then suddenly, the circle broke and the show began.

B thought it would be too hard to play his music, but she said it turned out to be a comfort.

A was near tears after the show, frustrated that the end of his act was botched due to confusion in the music. Honouring R's music seemed the best way to pay his respects, and he felt that he had failed.

When the show was finally finished, L made a beeline for the exit. He plays the final piece of music in the show, a moment he would normally share with R. He performed that piece of music at the funeral. That's too much for anyone to bear.

I'll never forget a moment I shared with the technical director the night before. He had been R's friend for over 30 years and helped make a lot of the final arrangements. He just got back from a trip to India and saw cremation ceremonies on the banks of the Ganges river. He said that when the body was reduced to ashes, a family member would take them, turn their back to the river, throw the ashes over their shoulder, and walk away without looking back.

He said that that's what we need to do. R may have chosen for his path to end, but ours keeps going.

The show must go on.

Calm Before the Storm?

After 18 hours door to door, I arrived back at the circus. I fully expected the worst. When I got to the tent everything was... fine. People were mostly smiling. There was very little mention of the recent death in the troupe, and if so, only in private. There have been very few tears.

But I can't help but think it's the calm before the storm. The past two days, everyone has stayed together. I don't think I've ever seen the kitchen so packed, and certainly not for such a long time. It's like nobody wants to be alone. It feels like by sticking together and talking about other things, we can put off the moment when reality hits. The amount of booze on site supports that hypothesis.

Tomorrow we have a meeting and will begin rehearsing in earnest. Clearly, I have no idea what's going on. But I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Facing the Music

My flight leaves in five and a half hours. I don't want to go, and unless having a trapeze in a suitcase counts, I am not even remotely packed. Part of me hopes that this is one of those times where the build up in my head is far worse than what is actually waiting for me. But I know that that's not the case. The loss of a past company member suffered by a fraction of the troupe in November hit all of us, even those who didn't know him, incredibly hard. I can't help but feel that the loss of a current artist, who was also the composer and a founding member of the company, will bury us all.

I also have battles of my own to face. There is no doubt that the four years I have spent with this company has made me grow considerably. But the amount of suffering I have had to endure in order to achieve that growth is a little on the excessive side. I sure as hell didn't expect any of this when I signed on. And I know that it ain't over yet.

If you have any good thoughts or positive energy to share, the troupe and I would be much obliged.

Beginning the Phases of Grief

The troupe has suffered a terrible loss. The funeral was held today and as I'm very much on the other side of the ocean, I was unable to attend. When I opened my e-mail this morning, my inbox was flooded.  Every single message was a message of condolence, or a link to a newspaper article, a poem in memory of... And I can't take it.

I've been here sitting in denial, far removed from the painful scene in France. I'll be thrust into it on Sunday and needless to say, I'm not looking forward to it.

Right now, I think I'm in denial. Maybe that's why I can't bear to look at all those messages and images. Of course I was shocked by the news, but I guess I took it like he was just leaving the show. That he was still somewhere, just somewhere where I wouldn't see him again. Now it feels more like he's just pulling the same stupid shit he always pulled. The show started but he was asleep in his caravan, or he left his phone on backstage during a show...

Little by little I'm realizing that isn't the case. When we get to Toulouse, someone will have to clean out his trunk. I can't imagine what B, the alternate for the role played by my departed cast mate, must be feeling. To know that he'll no longer be filling in from time to time, but taking over completely. To go on stage in the dead man's costume...

And D... for me she has the least enviable task of all. The show is about art and representation. We all had exceptionally realistic masks of ourselves made for the show. She wears his mask. It's waiting for her in her trunk. That thought chills me to the bone and leaves me haunted by the idea of death masks.

I know it will be good for us all to grieve collectively. But I had such a terrible relationship with this man. I have no good memories of him. And the few that I have from the very beginning, before things spiraled out of control, they're all tainted by what came next.

I'm afraid that when I land back among the troupe, my grief won't be enough for them and that I'll come off as some horrible bitch. To fake anything more than I'm feeling would be heartless and disrespectful. But I know that everyone talks about everyone else, and I can't help but feel that certain people among those who are suffering this loss the hardest will need something or someone to take out their anger on. Our mutual dislike was no secret. And maybe my paranoia stems from guilt, but I can see how I would make an excellent Whipping Boy.

Or maybe what I'm most afraid of is discovering that I do have genuine grief, that those good memories of the friend I once had are still there somewhere, and that all the anger and resentment that I've had bottled up for the past three years will finally give way to forgiveness.

The Mourning After

Since the news of my cast mate's death broke, messages have been pouring in. This morning my inbox consisted solely of the condolences that have been sent to the office and then forwarded to us. My Facebook feed is inundated with photos of the man who left us. My feelings of numbness have been slapped awake and I now see that a lot of what I was feeling, am feeling, is denial.

It's like he went on vacation, or retired. There are such big gaps in the tour where we don't all see each other. It's just like that, right?

Of course it's not like that. When I really stop and think that I will never see this person again, I just can't believe it. Whatever differences we had, no one wants this. I only hope that after such a troubled and turbulent life, he has found peace.

I know it will be good for the troupe to get together and grieve next week, but I'm not going to lie. I don't know that I can bear it.

Death in the Family

Yesterday I learned that a member of the troupe has died. He took his own life.

As you can imagine, this news has left us all reeling. It's difficult to find words. And unlike the last time there was a loss in the troupe, we are not all together. The tour doesn't start again for a week and a half. While my colleagues are all in France, I'm on the other side of the ocean. For me, this event exists as a phone call and an e-mail that broke the news in the subject line.

I don't know how I feel. I can't even wrap my head around it. It doesn't seem real.

For a short time, in the very beginning, we were close. But he was very troubled and that relationship quickly became toxic and spiraled out of control. A considerable amount of the drama and unhappiness I have experienced during my time with the company revolved around him. My last exchange with him was hostile. I had made the decision not to allow this person space in my life anymore, but he continued to push. He made a remark, my response was barely audible, and he, thinking I hadn't replied, lost it.

I have been doing a lot of work on myself the past few months. One of the biggest obstacles that has faced me is that relationship. The past few days, I had been thinking about him a lot. As it turns out, the day he was most on my mind was the day he died.

I would like to say that I decided to rise above and was ready to forgive him. I would like to say that, but I can't. As much as I know that I need to forgive in order to be free, I still feel so angry, so hurt, and so betrayed. To be completely honest, I didn't feel like he deserved my forgiveness. And I know that's terrible, and I know that forgiving him would mean forgiving myself, and still, I couldn't see how I could do it.

I still can't. Only now I'll never be able to make amends.

Being so far away, it really doesn't seem real. I feel shaken and confused... I feel like I should hurt more. But really, I just feel numb and I hurt for those he left behind.

He was a part of that circus family for over 30 years. And considering the role he played and the way that role shaped the troupe, I really don't know how the company will ever recover. I guess I'll find out in a week and a half.

*** I have a number of posts per-scheduled and in light of current events, I can't help but feel that posts about silly stuff might seem insensitive. But long before he started on his downward spiral, he did have a love of the absurd. I think that, for the time being, the best tribute I can make in his memory is to keep the silliness coming.

Loss

A dark cloud has fallen over the circus.

A week ago, a past member of the troupe and the ex-partner of one of the current staff suffered a brain aneurysm. The outcome didn’t look good and after a week of deliberation they decided it was time to let him go. Last night they unplugged the machines helping him to breathe and this morning he passed away.

The generational divide among the troupe is quite apparent today. Those who have been around for a decade or more deeply feel the loss. The rest of us can only drift uncomfortably through their private pain. We did not know him and those who did seem to have created their own impenetrable circle of grieving.

Individual members of the troupe have lost a loved one over the course of the tour, myself included. But for half the troupe to suddenly be in mourning is a strange and unsettling experience. All I can do today is keep my distance and let their wounds run clean.

And yet, even though I may not be a part of the collective grieving, I can’t help but find myself looking out at the dark grey sky and reflect on my own losses. Like it or not, a circus troupe is a living, breathing thing. Sometimes your feelings belong to more than just yourself, and sometimes, you take on more than what your own heart is bearing.

The candle has been lit, now all we can do is pay our respects.