Since Adelaide’s death, I’ve done my best to avoid taking Jackson to his hip hop dance classes. Seeing all of the little girls in their pink tights and leotards is a HUGE trigger for me. Even before Adelaide was born I would dream about her being a dancer. Whether she decided to continue dancing as she got older would be her choice, but I couldn’t wait to take her to her first dance class, hair in a bun, tutu on…

Derrick Agnoletti, April Daly, and Adelaide Grace Nov 2017

Two years ago we were sitting in the audience at one of Jackson’s dance recitals and I began quietly balling while watching the toddler girls adorably fumble through their routine. Miguel had to remind me that we did, in fact, have a child dancing in this very recital. Of course I knew that and was so stinking proud of Jackson but that pride didn’t replace the grief I felt knowing that Adelaide would never dance across a stage.

Memories like these haunt me at every turn. I can find a way to be reminded of Adelaide in just about any task or place. Many memories leave me in awe of her (and myself if I’m being honest), but inevitably, if I dwell too long they leave me shattered. I am very slowly learning that grief requires A LOT of active work to process. Time alone does not heal wounds this big, you have to want to heal. So, this week I decided to push myself and instead of enlisting help, like I’ve done in the past, I took Jackson to his dance class myself. It wasn’t easy and I couldn’t stop staring at all of these seemingly healthy, adorable, happy little girls. But I did it. I survived without a breakdown. In honor of this victorious inchstone I want to try something new this week. Up until now, I’ve been allowing myself to sit in my feelings and accept the sadness and depression for what it is. The grief will never leave me but I can choose to change my mindset around it. So, this week I’m reflecting on one happy memory and how it procured one of the many gifts Adelaide gave us in her life: perspective. Will this help me move through this grief limbo? Who the heck knows, but it’s worth a shot.

The 2017 Joffrey Ballet company taking their #myshotatepilepsy, Nov 2017

In the fall of 2017, just a few months after Jackson’s emotional dance recital, The Joffrey Ballet reached out to our family looking for a way to help our epilepsy advocacy and fundraising efforts. We were gearing up for our #MyShotAtEpilepsy campaign where we asked folks to take a picture of themselves in the “my shot” pose and post it on social media, tagging others to do the same and donate to CURE. We asked the folks at Joffrey if they would be willing to have their dancers take “their shot”. They did something even better: they invited us to a rehearsal and took their My Shot photo with us. Obviously, I took this opportunity to dress Adelaide in the full ballerina attire of which I had always dreamed. I will never forget sitting with Adelaide in my lap watching the dancers, women and men, leap, jump and twirl across the rehearsal room. Seeing the grace and power with which these professional dancers move was awe inspiring.

Following the rehearsal two of the lead dancers greeted us and asked to hold Adelaide. To say I was shocked is an understatement. Adelaide was a large 2 year old at this point and could not support her own weight. Her challenges intimidated more people than not but here were two kind (and ludicrously talented) souls that were all-in for a Miss A snuggle. We took a photo with the company, gave many hugs and with tearful eyes and full hearts left them to continue their work.

The Joffrey Ballet has continued to be incredible friends of our family and CURE’s by including a page in their Nutcracker program sending condolences and notifying patrons of the Adelaide Cervantes fund with CURE. It was an honor to see this when we attended their Nutcracker performance this past December. But I could not have been prepared for the most beautiful sight of the show: they had included a child in a wheelchair in their production. Then I watched the child more closely: not only was this child in a wheelchair, they clearly had some form of disability. I leaned over to Miguel to make sure he had seen what I had and we sat silently crying together watching this beautiful child dance in the Nutcracker next to professional ballet dancers. Representation matters.

Now, our family’s influence didn’t lead them to include a disabled child in their production. Robert Joffrey had included a child in a wheelchair in his early productions and it had been taken out several years ago. This year, choreographer Christopher Wheeldon, added it back in and, for this family, there are no words for what that choice meant to us. Due to her severe medical issues our little girl never got to dance across a stage but for an afternoon we got to live vicariously through another child. To other folks in the audience they may have barely registered the wheelchair. They may not have seen that the child was truly disabled. But because of the perspective Adelaide provided us in her life, we saw it and were deeply moved by the inclusion. So, the grief continues but so do her lessons. Gosh, we were so lucky to have her in our lives.