Channeling your child's pain

(May 2012) Originally entitled, "How I Clinched the Worst Mother of the Year award for 2012". Today was my 8 yr old daughter's dance recital. It was a big deal. For the uninitiated, as I was prior to this evening, this is an event for which children miss school and parents pay prime parking fees to park downtown for an 11 hour day of rehearsing, costume changes, make-up, hair curling...and if you're lucky enough to have the recital at Pantages Playhouse, roughly the equivalent of 1 hour on the stairmaster trekking from the dressing rooms in the basement up 2 flights to the stage, back down to the basement, up 6 flights to the balcony (thoughtfully reserved for dancers and their lucky chaperones), and on and on (or, rather, up and down). Leading up to this exhausting day was 9 months of lessons, 2 local dance festivals, $120 worth of recital tix, several communications from the dance studio - in writing - regarding the schedule of events, the rules, and the responsibilities of the chaperones. Every dancer there had a chaperone. We had one job - get our child to the stage in time for their dance(s). I may not be able to prove this, but I have a strong suspicion I am the only parent who failed in this task tonight. We made it through Act 1, and the first dance went smoothly. By the end of the first act, my 8 pm bedtime daughter was falling asleep against my shoulder. Intermission came, we descended to the basement to change costumes, plied the child with snacks and juice, remembered to take alternative dance shoes for the big finale, and climbed back to the balcony. Once there we were subjected to thank yous and introductions of sponsors and plaques and generally stuff I find difficult to appreciate, especially with a sleepy child who still has to dance a tap routine and a big finale (and technically go to school the next morning - well that was scrapped). The dance numbers started, it was hot, my daughter snuggled against me, and it was nice until we heard the opening notes of her tap routine music. My first thought? They were playing the wrong music. Not so - there on the stage, 4 flights of stairs below us was Jenea's tap class, without her. I cannot believe or describe the feeling of horror and devastation in my gut. She was missing her dance. Right then. We had forgotten to go backstage and it was too late. My mind tells me this is not the worst thing in the world that can happen, and really I've done far worse things as a parent, so why worry... but that feeling of shock and horror does not go away. I would liken it to a bride preparing for her wedding day, only to find she has missed the ceremony. Except, the ceremony wouldn't just go on without her. Of course, Jenea was devastated. Add that to the tiredness and there was no way to comfort her. I am very proud of her that she did pull it together and perform the finale. I know she will forget about this so much faster than I ever will. So, here's the part of my brain that thinks it should be able to understand every emotion before the emotion may exist saying, "what's the big deal? It's not the end of the world. No permanent damage done and you can't go back and change it so why cry over it?" But it honestly feels like the worst day of my life as a parent. I keep telling myself not to question but just let myself feel the feelings, whatever they are. So much pain! Why so much pain? Which eventually led me to question if this is how God feels (somewhat) when we are in deep pain. Whether that pain is justified, or results from immaturity or lack of understanding - whatever - He feels our pain. I wondered if I was feeling Jenea's pain. Because to her, it didn't matter why it happened. And she didn't blame me at all. It just happened, and it hurt so much. And she just had to feel that pain. And there was nothing I could do to take it away.