Because you pour your heart into every performance.
Because telling this story has meant so much to you.
Because for better or worse this has been your family for the past 12 weeks, past 12 months, sometimes these past 12 years.
Because for however long, this particular stage door welcomed you home night after night and all weekend long...
Grieving the end of a run is natural.
You and your fellow theatre makers breathed life into the human condition. Together you held it up, and lifted hearts; the audience’s and each other’s.
With promises that you’ll think of each other fondly when you’ve said goodbye, you go your separate ways and onward.
Although you may already be onto the next thing, all grief really wants is to be acknowledged.
Hello pajamas past noon. I see you for what you are.
Hello longing for the deeply familiar.
Hello top of Act II song that has been in my head all day with the stinging realization that this version won't be heard out loud again.
I acknowledge my grief whether I am standing still or moving forward.
Look what we made together! This glorious creation. The incredible beauty of the impermanence of it all.
Our art is paper in the rain.
And although the final bow brings me pangs of separation, my love of you, my love of the craft, my love of humanity brings me the joy of eternal union.
My love is the one constant in every creation I have been a part of, and I will bring my love again, and again, and again.
But for today, and maybe tomorrow, and maybe even a little longer, hello pajamas past noon. I see you for what you are.