Varekai

“We who have lost loved ones through sudden accidents find ourselves scouring our memories for portents. Were there any clues, any indicators that something terrible like this might happen? If we can find them, perhaps they inject a measure of meaning into a life thrown into chaos. On some subconscious level did our loved one know? “ ~Martha Whitmore Hickman

Life is Grand, happiness all around, the beauty of the world in my heart, I feel like I’m evolving like a gorgeous butterfly, my destiny in the horizon 

~ Shayla Driver 

The words above my daughter spoke were told to me when we were on a trip of a lifetime together- in Disneyworld…only five months before Shayla died. This vacation would be the last time I saw my daughter alive, as she resided many miles away from me. 

 While in Disneyworld, we went to see “La Nouba” by Cirque Du Soleil. The anticipation was on a bigger scale for Shayla who was a performer, having danced for seven years. While the colours exploded across the bodies of eclectic characters on stage, something pulled at me to watch my daughter’s reaction and absorb the moments of glee, etched into her smiling face. As I write this- the memory of Shayla is clear in my mind- mouth open in awe of the magnificence, playing out right before her big, blue eyes. 

Shayla made sure to purchase several souvenirs to commemorate our special time together; amongst the items was a mask that is connected to Cirque Du Soleil. I recall her excitement of putting the unique mask on and walking out into the streets of Disney, after the show. It wasn’t long before a security guard came over and requested her to remove the mask from her face. Perplexed, she inquired why? He answered firmly due to security policies in Disneyworld, there were no masks of any kind allowed.  While his answer was within reason, my daughter was miffed at his reply and proceeded to ask: “Is there anything stopping me from wearing it on the back of my head?” The Security guard amused answered:

“No ma’am, there is not a policy forbidding you to wear your mask, on the back of your head.”

The backside of Shayla's ingenuity

Within seconds, Shayla whipped off her prized souvenir and gave a smug smile. Attaching the mask to the back of her head, she proudly sauntered off, with me trailing behind her trying to hide the laughter. If you knew my daughter, then this would not come as a surprise, as she often questioned many things that mystified her.  

After her passing, I saw a variety of Cirque Du Soleil’s artistic shows. Each time, there always came a moment where what was playing before me, was not what was reflected in my heart. As my mind brought me back to watching Shayla’s face light up with the true spirit of a performer, there has not been anything to even compare to it. 

This past May, as I drove to work, I saw the advertising for Cirque Du Soleil’s Varekai. I knew I would be getting a ticket for the upcoming show. 

This would be my first time to see Cirque perform, without anyone going with me. After some struggles with being alone, this past February is but a bad dream. While there are times I miss the only family I ever had with Shayla, I have to remind myself of the 21 years, we were blessed to have together. Now, I anticipate the beauty in being able to take my time with things that visually inspire me. On the hikes I go on, there is no pressure to pick up my feet or stress about keeping up. I now see things through the scope of my own pace, with no interruptions in between. 

When these moments are confined to the beats of my own heart, I feel free…no longer a caged bird, I have soared to places I never could have imagined, on my own. 

The night of the performance, I anticipated a visual entertaining night where both my strength of mind would be expanded and my bereavement would linger amongst the audience. I would miss seeing Shayla’s head tilt back in laughter, while the creases amongst her lips, pulled back in the smiles imprinted upon her. At the show, I struck up a conversation with someone who was seeing Cirque Du Soleil for the first time and was unsure what to expect. I looked them in the eye, with a grin upon my face and said, “Your about to be pushed to stimulating levels of brilliance!” 

The show had intrigued me, due to the storyline, as the title means "wherever" in the Romany language of the gypsies—the universal wanderers. The show is an "acrobatic tribute to the nomadic soul". The show begins with the Greek myth of Icarus, picking up where the myth leaves off, re-imagining the story of what happened to Icarus after he flew too close to the sun and fell from the sky. In Varekai, rather than falling into the sea below him, Icarus lands in a lush forest full of exotic creatures.

There is the usual spectacular trapeze, juggling and dancing. The highlight for me was the “Russian Swing.” Acrobatics soar into the air, then onto a net boosted by two Russian Swings. The performers do flips and jump onto the shoulders of one another. 

At the intermission, I decided to go and look at the souvenirs. I was making my way through the crowd when something caught my eye, making me stop in an instant. Through the masses of people, I saw a man chatting with a woman. It was what he had on the back of his head, which caught my attention. As I approached, I had no idea what I would say to the strangers. By the time I was in front of them, I blurted out about Shayla, in a ‘Reader’s digest shortened version.” They were moved by the story of my daughter and smiled when I shared how she had worn her mask on the back of her head in Disneyworld. 

This is the way the man chose to also wear the exact replica of his Cirque Du Soleil mask. I knew I had to get a photograph of the moment and he happily obliged. It brought me some comfort to have shared in a special time, where I could embrace the serendipity of what had transpired. 

I have come to identify with the labyrinth of grief and the many intricate designs of bereavement. Instead of denying the memories I am flooded with, I have learned to separate some of the pain away and see how something unfolding in the present, can be lovingly connected to the past.

By TL Alton