Moment At The Movies

I look over at this wondrous creature sitting next to me; she cries with passion and poignancy—a word she now keeps in her vocabulary—after she asks me what it means when I use it to describe a scene in the movie, a bittersweet moment between two lovers that had more meaning in the silence that they shared, than the last twenty minutes of dialogue. This time we are in the dark and the movie is Bagger Vance and she is reminded of Silvana as she empathizes with the main character’s passion and determination for his great love—in this case—golf. Silvana—I still can’t believe that she is gone, but truly I know she is not.
I watch her. The authenticity that has come out of the hunger of desire, the scars of pain, the power that propels her and hones her talent, and the beauty that emanates from her soul. It’s been 2 years now since Silvana died. Tara never thought she could find her voice again now that her mentor, her friend, her idol was no longer there to reassure her, guide her, and most of all teach her how to be excellent and brave. It didn’t seem possible that Heaven called this 34-year-old beauty so soon.

I marvel at the gentleness and the combined strength that Tara exhibits. Her tenderness, I hope, came partly from me; her beauty is from God, and that voice—the gift that Silvana gave her and taught her to respect. Relentless in her pursuit, she owns the stage and never forgets that she wants to make Silvana proud, to carry on what she started.

There are times, still, when I see her sleep that I have to resist the urge to fall on my knees (the aching ones) and thank God for this loving being that rests her head on my shoulder, during a movie, to share her tender feelings that threaten to consume her during the film. I stroke her hair with my right hand, and she turns and smiles at me, and I know, at that moment, when my 19 year-old daughter snuggles up to me for reassurance—for love—knowing that I will always respond tenderly to her, and that she is safe, and loved, and understood in her silence—that no other mother could feel more blessed.

We are normal, she and I. We argue. We get annoyed at one another sometimes, but when I looked into her crib and thanked God for her, as I did every night when she was young—how could I ever know that a love could grow even deeper, and that poignant moments would never be few between us even in the dark, at the movies at age 19.

Silvana’s legacy will live on. I know because her voice is our hearts and I will always be grateful to her for the gifts she gave my little girl. In Baggar Vance, the main character is challenged to “Find his authentic swing.” I think that must be like finding your own voice and allowing it to be what it was meant to be. In a world where instant fame is not always backed up by authentic talent, I am grateful when Tara finds her place on the stage; it will be because an angel taught her how to work for it and set the standard high.

The truest passion springs from wells that run deep, and dreams need carpenters to build the scaffold to support them. Silvana, like me, has high expectations for Tara, but more importantly, Tara has them for herself. I always knew that she was extraordinary, after all I’m her mother—and it’s because I said so. That is what I learned from my hero—my mother. Sometimes it is easier to see in the dark.