The Choice

She had become the present-day version of her picture of the twirling,
dancing girl.
e summer aer Emma’s junior year of high school, her family
invited me to a barbeque at their house. ey put out a wonderful
spread—ribs, beans, German potato salad, homemade rolls. Emma
stood with her boyfriend, ĕlling a plate with food, laughing, Ęirting.
Her parents, siblings, and friends sprawled on the lawn and in folding
chairs, feasting. Food was no longer the negative language of the
family. Emma’s parents, though they hadn’t completely transformed
the tone of their parenting or their marriage, had learned to give
Emma what she had learned to give herself—the space and trust to
ĕnd her way toward the good in life. And without having to live
consumed by their fear of what might happen to Emma, they had
grown free to live their own lives. ey had a weekly bridge night with
a group of friends and had let go of much of the worry and anger and
need to control that had poisoned their family life for so long.
I was relieved and moved to see Emma restored to Emma. And her
journey also prompted me to reĘect on me. Edie. Was I at one with
my own inner dancing girl? Was I living with her curiosity and ecstasy?
Around the same time that Emma left my practice, my first grandchild,
Marianne’s daughter, Lindsey, began a toddler ballet class. Marianne
sent me a picture of Lindsey in a little pink tutu, her sweet chubby feet
tucked into a pair of tiny pink slippers. I wept when I saw the picture.
Joyful tears, yes. But there was also an ache in my chest that had more
to do with loss. I could picture Lindsey’s life spreading out from this
moment—her performances and recitals (sure enough, she would
continue to study ballet and perform in The Nutcracker every winter of
her childhood and adolescence)—and the happiness I felt for her in
anticipation of all she had to look forward to could not be uncoupled
from the sorrow I felt at my own interrupted life. When we grieve, it’s
not just over what happened—we grieve for what didn’t happen. I