It's around 1968 I'm sitting on the potty on the balcony in Hanover, Germany. Hands up in the air holding on to a hard bun that I loved to chew on. My father would say, "Vie gross bist du?" And I would raise my hands to show how big I was.
Today is the four year anniversary of my fathers sudden death on a flight that I was supposed to be on with my daughter. " Papa, I can't go to Spain with you now. I'm working on a film and Raquel is in school. I can't take her out of school for that long. " It was the end of April and things were hectic. Besides, I had plans to go with my daughter to Spain in the summer and I write to him that we should go then. But he knew it and did not want to say it. Instead he wrote, "well, maybe another time."
That time never came and will not ever.
Time stood still at 6:35 pm on May 6. I just finished rehearsal for the film. I was now teaching a class. I sat and watched the dancers in a haze. I was aware that I was not mentally in the room with them. I was elsewhere. Perhaps I was tired from the day. No. I was with him at the moment he died. He was calling out to me, Because there is no other reason that I would have answered a call from a foreign country, but I did. It was the worst call I could have possibly received in public. It was a friend of his, someone I had no idea existed, telling me that my father has died. I hung up. Surrounded by students, ready to dance with the look of shock on their faces. Hugs, tears offers of support. It took everything I had inside me to keep from losing it Publicly. I'm a big girl, see Papa, look how tall I am. I wait until I get home. Yet, I can't lose it there either. I'm a single mom and I need to keep it together. I also, have retrieve my father from a foreign country. In the process a new chapter in my life began.