Behind the Smiles

It was the final dance performance of the year, and I could not wait.  I had been dancing since I was three and though I had loved every minute of it, something about this year was different.  I was in that awkward stage between fifth and sixth grade.  If you were able to avoid that awkward stage, you are a very blessed person.  I swear everything I did was awkward, including the way I slicked back my hair and wore one of my many different pair of overalls every day.  Before this age, dance had been my life and it was all I knew.  But dance was all about image.  How you looked, how you appeared on stage, and how perfect you could be.  Not very many people want to go watch a dance performance where the performers are off beat, have ugly costumes, and are not pleasing to the eye.  It is something our society has created.  If an ordinary person played a role in a movie, would we pay to see it? Or does it take a beautiful actor or actress to get us interested in the show?  Where I once was so graceful and thin, I now stood on the stage with my chubby little self, self conscious about my less than perfect state I was in for the performance. 

The lights hit, the music rolled and the smiles locked in.  As the beat continued I wasn't thinking about my love for dance as I had for so many years.  I wasn't thinking about my toes pointing perfectly, and the story we were telling behind our dance moves.  I was thinking ‘get me off of this stage; I am no longer good enough to be up here’.  I looked to the crowd with the final pose holding myself with poise and confidence and not letting anyone know the pain I was feeling.  I couldn't let people know I was hurting because I was raised to be a strong independent young woman who could work through her own problems. 

Many years later after experiencing the death of my father, similar pains penetrated my heart like a million needles stabbing me.  Just as I had done on stage, I smiled and tried not to miss a beat as I danced through this unexpected tragedy.  As guests came and went through the viewing line, I smiled, hugged, comforted and held back the tears.  As the funeral rolled around and each of us got up to speak, I laughed and joked telling happy and funny experiences.  No one, I mean NO ONE needed to know that I was hurting.  I didn't want to appear weak. 

I thought back to the times I had lived with my grandma after the loss of my grandpa and my cousin Ashlee after Emmett’s death. Now it was time for me to put on a smile and carry another’s burdens once more, as well as my own.  There wasn't time to hurt; there wasn't time to show weakness.  Now I needed to step up and be strong for my mom.  I needed to hop up on the stage, put on my smile, and perform with everything I had left in me to keep myself and my family going. 

I thought I was strong enough to do this, but in reality it was causing my life to fall apart.  I started having health problems, emotional problems, and difficulty handling little tasks.  One that experienced symptoms similar to these was Ashlee’s little boy Tytus.  Tytus was a baby during all of the tragedy, but he was probably the child that was the most involved.  He was there for the cries, the pleas for help. He was a witness to the lies and the betrayals.  He experienced the panicked state of loss of hope in his mom during her final moments with Emmett.  He felt the pains of the household and they just built up inside of him.  Ashlee and I loved our time in which we were able to hold Tytus.  It felt like all of our worries and pains were gone for a moment, and that the coos and smiles vanished every pain and worry.  Just like me, Tytus was taking on too much.  

People would mention to Ashlee over and over again that she was lucky that Tytus was so young and wouldn't be affected like the rest of the kids had been.  Boy was that statement wrong.  As time went by the affects of Emmett’s death began to subtly appear outwardly and inwardly in Tytus.  It began with constant spit up, leading to being diagnosed later on with gluten and dairy intolerance.  He was months and months behind all four of Ashlee’s other kids when it came to speaking and communicating.  He once was such a mellow and chill baby, now running around throwing tantrums and objects.  He would be sweet and content for one moment, and then run around the room the next in a fit of anger and confusion.  After he finally grasped the language and began speaking, he woke up one morning with a stutter, barely able to get a complete sentence out.  Babies are affected by death, but so is anyone that holds it in and doesn't deal with it.

One of the things I learned over and over again in my major is to not let others emotions get to you.  You need to be able to find ways to leave work behind and not carry the emotions, problems, and burdens home with you.  It is a little more difficult to understand that concept fully when it is your life.  There is no time to leave the emotions at the door, because they are with you constantly and you are always being reminded of them.  When we try to lead a performance that everything is OK when we are not, we are truly in the long run hurting ourselves.  This statement is true in any given instance of pain and hurt.  Do not bottle the emotions up inside and think that they will disappear.  We need to face things.  Unfortunately there is no “easy button” like shown on the Office Max Commercials.  There is not an easy way to face anything, but there are ways that are easier than others.  There are so many waiting to offer love and comfort for us when we are hurting, but unless we allow the Savior to be a part of our healing process, it will never be enough.  He is the only one that can truly bring peace, understanding, and hope for the future.  The hope that so many of us have lost or found diminished in our lives.  The hope that there are signs of better days ahead and that all will be well.  Don’t take on more than you can handle.  We don’t have to carry our burdens alone!