This one is really about sadness. And fear.
I will cry during the typing of this blog.
I am rehearsing the scene in ACC where the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come shows Scrooge that, because of Scrooge's selfishness and cruelty, Tiny Tim dies. I will be talking about my son, Tiny Tim Cratchit's death.
My own son died. Nathan Kelly. Almost three years ago. How can I talk about Tiny Tim's death and not wail for the death of my own son? In the scene, my husband, Bob Cratchit, is also supposed to sob. I'm not sure about the young man who's cast as Bob. Not sure he has the capacity as an actor to cry. But my husband will be playing Bob for one performance. Though Nathan isn't Craig's natural son, Craig has felt Nathan's loss, too. How can Craig and I get through this scene?
Acting is living for me. I take my experiences from my life and put them into my characters onstage. I wish this wasn't a scene I could pull such agonizing pain into it. Nathan's death haunts me. It always will. And he, too, died from others' selfishness, including my own.
I have some time to memorize the lines. I have some time to put this into perspective. But I know Mrs. Cratchit's pain.
I am going to ask God to please ask Nathan to be with us during our performances. Whatever Nathan is doing in heaven, for those nights, I need him with me.
