Twenty seven years ago, during Holy Week, my mother died. I've occasionally written about her in these pages, including a letter to her several years ago, and a few memories which popped up on the 25th anniversary of her death. On what would have been her 80th birthday, I wrote a bit about the music she loved, music which continues to inspire me. As you can tell, she remains a big part of my consciousness, even after all these years. The anniversary of her death was exactly a week ago (Palm Sunday), and coincided with the closing performance of my latest stage endeavor, Lord Arthur Savile's Crime. As always happens this time of year, my sub-conscious has recently taken over, and I've been dreaming of my mother more often than usual. There is nothing new in that, it happens every year, without any effort on my part.
Whenever that sad anniversary lands on a day where I have a performance, or a rehearsal, or both, I am grateful. I'm not sure my mother ever expected me to devote my life to the performing arts; she would have wished a more financially stable career. But every year at this time, I hope that, if she had lived, she would have witnessed what the theatre has done for my soul, and approved.
This week, I've had to face another truth regarding the loss of my mother. I have now lived more of my life without her than with her. I don't know who the hell put that concept into my head, but I am now stuck with it. It saddens me further.
But my sadness is tempered with the joy I had with the experience which ended on Palm Sunday. The Washington Stage Guild is just the kind of company my mother would wish me to keep: lively, sincere, and indefatigable. As I head into this next segment of my life, I keep memories of her close to me, and hope she might approve of my life's choices.