I didn't want to take off my dance dress; a dress I had designed and made. It transformed me. It was magic. Each time I put it on I felt like Cinderella. I twirled in front of the mirror. It flared out and uncovered my legs for a moment. I loved creating dresses that flattered a woman's figure yet retained a tasteful modesty. A beautiful, dancing body covered up did not distract the viewers eye from the dance itself and it allowed the them to use their imagination.
I had been taught in my youth to guard my virtue, even treasure it. Displaying myself in a costume that allowed too much information about my body was not an option. This dress was my best effort yet!
My dance shoes were one of my most cherished possessions. I had broken them in for the past five years as I danced. They fit my foot like a satin glove. They were like an old friend. I misplaced them once and cried, literally, in a panic until I found them two days later. They matched my dress delightfully well. I congratulated myself on this match I had made. I didn't want to take off my shoes either. So I didn't; at least not for another few minutes.
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Two days later I emerged from the fog of yet another migraine headache; one of my worst ones yet. The house was a mess. It made me sad to look at it so I didn't. My family would expect dinner as usual. What would I do for dinner? I was scared to venture out to the store. I was horrified at the thought of being back in the car. But who would pick up the kids? Natalie from the high school, Emma from the middle school, and David from the elementary school. It was crazy to have my kids in three different schools? Why didn't kids walk home from school anymore? My husband worked an hour away; he couldn't help me. I started to cry. Then I started to tremble. Was it trembling? It was like nothing I'd ever felt before. I was completely alone in my silent quest for answers to these seemingly insurmountable questions.......
Suddenly, I felt like I had forgotten something about today, something very important. Oh, what was it? I couldn't remember. More tears. I weakly considered praying for comfort. I had been taught to pray when I had nowhere else to turn. Instead I fell asleep on the couch while April played quietly on the floor, occasionally looking at her mother with the serious curiosity of a two-year-old who sensed the conflict but didn't understand it.
More to come....
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