The Legacy She Leaves

I want to honor her. I am sad and still in disbelief. It doesn’t make sense. But when does a loss of life make sense to those who loved the soul moving on? It was too fast, she was too young, and it doesn’t seem possible. I write this for selfish reasons. I feel the need to connect to her in some way. I want to breath her in and honor my teacher.

When I was three years old my parents rented a house in Bellmore, NY. I believe that God has a plan for each of us and my parent’s rental home being right next door to Patty and her 2 little girls is proof of that. Patty had a little girl my age, Liz, and one just a year younger, Melissa. Naturally my mother and Patty became friendly as us little ones played. It was then that my mother learned what Patty did. She was a dance teacher, working out of a home studio in her parent’s basement that was also right in town. I was just three when I started ballet with Liz and Melissa at Miss Maria’s Dance studio.

I spent the next 13 years coming and going in that basement multiple times a week. In those early years, we would come in the side screen door and have to pass Patty’s mom, who we affectionately called Honey, as she would be making dinner at the stove. The smells of home cooked meals and the warm greetings you’d always get from Honey, were just part of the sweet greetings we’d get each week. As we’d make our way down the basement stairs, we’d always find Patty with a HUGE smile welcoming us like it was our first time there. We’d hurry to get our dance shoes on as we ran into the studio before class would begin. We’d dance and be silly in front of the mirrors until Patty would come in and close the door. With her first worlds of “OK girls…..” she’d have my full attention. I hung on her every word and movement. She was a nothing short of a dancing goddess in my eyes. I wanted to hold myself and move with her confidence, grace, and fire. I knew, even when I was so so young, that she was extraordinary.

As the years went by life had all sorts of changes. Patty’s parents moved out and Patty and the girls moved in to the house above the studio. Patty got remarried. Both she, and my own mother, had more babies. The studio got redone, more then once. Life got bigger both in and out of the studio. My own life, and the life of my family, went through a lot of ups and downs. We were all growing up! Throughout all of the changes, we danced.

I played some sports as a kid only because my friends did and I wanted to hang out with them. However, I was the kid on the field or court or whatever praying that the ball would stay far away from me. I was terrified they would find out who I really was and that I couldn’t play. I was also the kid in gym class that would get changed in the bathroom stall or wear a massive sized t-shirt to change under so nobody could see the real me.

Yet in dance class, the space had been created for me to become more of myself. When Patty closed that studio door, turned the music up, stood in front of that room, and said “OK girls…” I would breath into my own body and land, grounded in my own skin. It was magic.

This is not to say I didn’t try to play small or wear those massive T-shirts to dance class. I was a growing confused kid and tried to get away with what I could. Patty had no patience for it. There were no long talks or lectures. She simply told me to lose the shirt, stand in the front of the room, and dance. No bullshit.

And, for her, I did. I let go. I moved big and felt free.

There is a line from Marianne Williamson’s poem, Our Greatest Fear, that totally makes me think of Patty and who she was for me.

“And as we let our own light shine, We unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we're liberated from our own fear, Our presence automatically liberates others.”

There were many girls coming in and out of that studio but I never felt lost in the shuffle. For one, I knew her as Patty and skipped the Miss Maria which always felt like I was let in on a secret or something. Plus being really good friends with her daughter Liz, allowed me to spend time in and out of the studio with my teacher. Time that I will be forever grateful for. Patty’s spirit was bold and bright no matter where we were. I was lucky to know this.

What I am just learning today, is that I am not all that special. I say this not with disappointment but with awe. Patty, or better known as Miss Maria, did this for so many young girls including my two sisters as well as countless others. How one woman could make hundreds of little girls, feel like they could stand tall, shine, and dance through life, is nothing short of liberation.

A beautiful legacy.

I am so sad. I feel the loss of her beautiful life here with us and I am sad. I want to rewind a bit and hang with her again in that studio. I want to hear her laugh. I want to feel her huge hug and loud kiss of the cheek again. I want to hear her tell me to cut the crap, lose the big cover up, and stand in the front. I want to dance with her again.

Maybe that is just it though. I still can hear and feel her. I can honor her in how I stand and what I stand for in my own dance with this life. Her lessons are not lost.

I still love to dance. I still feel most comfortable in my own skin through movement. I still come alive when I hear a heart opening rhythm. I still love to teach. I still aim to be bold and bright. I still want more of what she so freely gave. I still want to pass this on. I still want to be like her.

Her legacy lives on.

Thank you Patty.

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