A Melody of Hope

My daughter loved(s) the Little Mermaid.  As a child, when we lived in Alabama, after we saw the movie in the theater she was smitten.  She wanted me to dye her beautiful, golden hair red and change her name to Ariel.  I said no to both, but bought a red wig and my mother made a mermaid costume that my daughter loved.  She had two close friends and every day (no exaggeration) they would play the music and 'preform' in our living room, rearranging the furniture as best as they could to create the bottom of the ocean.  I kick myself for not video taping it, but the memory of my girl directing and singing, dressed in her red wig and costume is locked in my heart forever. 

Several months ago, my daughter read that The Little Mermaid was going to be preformed on stage in the city and so she bought two tickets.  I won't lie.  I was worried at first that maybe we wouldn't get to go.  But then I was hopeful that it would be motivating for her to stay sober.  Well, she didn't stay sober.  Last Tuesday she started drinking (I mentioned it in my last post).  On Friday, I went into her room, and reminded her what day it was and that Sunday was the Little Mermaid.  "Are we still going to go?"  The look of confusion and concern in her eyes made my heart sad.  "Yes."  She finally said.  "Well, if you are still drinking, we're not going.  I'm not going anywhere if you've had any alcohol.  I'm not risking you passing out or needing an ambulance."  She looked at me with a frightened and confused look (my heart ached, again).  "But..."  "No.  Drinking or not is your choice.  If you choose drinking, we're not going. If you decide to get sober, then we can go.Do you understand what I'm saying?"  She seemed to be struggling with the thought for a moment.  "Yes."  She finally answered.

Well, she continued to drink until early Sunday morning.  When I went into check on her, I asked her if she was done.  She said yes.  I have to tell you, she didn't look good.  She had had a lot to drink in a short period of time.  But, I made her some soup with bread and butter.  She ate and took a nap.  Around three, she was able to take a shower.  I helped her with her make-up.  She got dressed and we left the house at 6:15.  The show started at 7:00. 

The theater is an old, historical, beautiful building.  I was surprised at how may people where there of all ages.  Our seats were on the second floor. She had to take the stairs slowly, but we eventually found our seats.

When the lights went down and the music and singing started, I started to quietly cry to myself.  I had to wipe tears away several times.  All I could see was my electric, happy, courageous little girl dressed in her red wig and costume singing her heart out in our living room, perched on the ottoman just like Ariel was perched on her rock in the middle of the ocean.  What happened to my girl who had so much...spunk and confidence?  I looked over at her and saw a more fragile person sitting next to me.  Someone who seems more afraid and hesitant.  Again, what happened and when?  It all seems like such a jumble.  I know that the little girl I raised is still inside her. I just don't know how to unlock the mental cell she's being held captive in. 

Even though she didn't feel good, she made it through the two and a half hour performance.  We talked about it on the way home.  Though she was still not feeling well, I think that she was happy that she was able to go.  I know I was proud of her for making the healthier choice.

As I sat next to her, during the performance, I laid my had on her knee and said a prayer. I prayed that she was reminded of who she really is.  That she begins to believe that and not the lies of addiction. In the darkness of that theater surrounded by the beautiful music and costumes, I prayed that my daughter recognize the melody of who she is and what she can be and that she allows that song to begin playing in her heart, again.