There are few things you can say when some people pass away. The obligatory: they led a great life and the cliche: everything happens for a reason. They’re in a better place.
Those are standard. And sometimes they make sense. Sometimes they’re all you have to say.
When someone who has been a part of your life in a way that Kate was, for me, dies - words aren’t enough.
If I was as excellent of a dancer as she was I would grace you all with a wonderful and emotional interpretive dance. It would be fierce and bold as she was. It would have its ups and downs like her life - but mainly all ups - because she lived her life to the fullest. Every second of it. It would be filled with emotions and caring for everything and everyone around me - as she had the biggest heart. But it would be comical. And not just because I’m a terrible dancer so you’d be cringing and laughing uncomfortably at my attempts to be half as talented and filled with passion for dance as she was - but simply because she was hilarious.
Kate died too soon. I won’t beat around the bush. The world needs people like her. I’m not going to say she lived a long and full life. Because it wasn’t long enough. She had things to do. She had ways to make the world even brighter. Just one of those ways was with the family she leaves behind.
She has two small girls who will forever be avalanched with stories about how talented and amazing their mother was. And I know that our group of friends, who have been part of a unique friendship for 23 years or so, will remind them as often as we are allowed how much she loved them. How glad she was when she found out she was having each of them. They’ll hear about how much she loved their father. From the moment they met. How proud she was of her sister and thankful for all of her help the last few months of her life. They’ll know how she’s the only person I’ve ever met who can wrangle a large group of 30 somethings from around the country to show up and say: we are here, what can we do? And those people - most of which have no children - had to chase a three year old around with a pull-up begging her to put it on. Just another way she made us laugh.
There are few people who have this much charisma. There’s none who had her heart and we are just one group of her universe.
Her family loved her. Her dance family loved her. Her students. Her neighbors. She had so much love in her life. Because of who she was. And I am so assured that no one else, no one but Kate - who told us to call her Willow a million years ago and we never stopped - could incite that from so many people. In so many ways.
For now I’ll be living through the good moments. Because selfishly I want to remember her laughing. And telling a good joke. And I’ll cherish that the last text she ever sent me a week ago was nothing but a laughing face. How fitting, after 23 plus years of making me laugh every single day of my life that that’s what she left me with.
She left the world a better place for having been here. And a void that will never be replaced. But I know there are so many friends and family that will try. For her sake. To fill half the shoes that girl did.
Lucky for all of you, I won’t be wearing the ballet shoes.
