Grief and Producing

Unexpected goodbyes when the weight of projects is on your shoulders

Grief is truly a tidal wave.

My heat is shattered. Last week, I had prepped a series of posts and scheduled them for while we were on tour, but I paused this week’s to send one in real time. My mom received an unexpected call from my aunt last Monday morning that her sister, my aunt/dad’s sister, had died unexpectedly. Absolute shock hit, and all I could squeak out is “What? How?”

One moment you are ok, and in the next moment, you are thinking about how the person that just died told you the last time they saw you that they can’t wait to see your movie when it comes out, and it hits you that you will never have the opportunity to do that. The tears well up in your eyes, and your jaw trembles, and you wish, that instead of fearing what people thought, that you would have just shared it in that moment. The thought smacks you unexpectedly.

For context, my grandparents are in their late 90s, and my grandmother’s mom lived to be 101. A week ago, my aunt and uncle were on a cruise and traveling across Canada on a train, and a week later, she’s gone. It was a shock to all of us. It still doesn’t feel real. It feels like a cruel joke.

Less than a week ago, we were texting since they were in my city of Vancouver, and she sent me a photo from the 21st floor of the Pan Pacific Hotel. I stayed there last year for New Year’s Eve with Tyler for a little trip. She messaged me how she couldn’t wait to see me in a couple of weeks for grandpa’s birthday. As I type this, I am feeling the anvil of grief in telling my grandparents soon, with the family, that her oldest daughter, who she talks to almost everyday is no longer here. (Wrote this part last week - update, one of the toughest moments ever. No one should have to lose their child and my heart goes out to every single person who has faced that). I sit with her almost daily as she shows me photos that Cindy has sent from their adventures. Cindy calls her every day to talk with her, and my grandma savors every second of those calls.

You think about the last moment where you say “I’ll see you soon when we are back in a few months,” and you realize that “see you soon” isn’t coming. I am overwhelmed with grief in never getting to share a hug, a smile, or our deep conversations about the direction of Broadway, culture, travels, etc.

I was so lucky to have an aunt that never told me my pursuit of a career in the arts (aka film, music, theatre) was stupid or that I should find a “real job”. My aunt and uncle always supported in each move and endeavor. I owe my pursuit of musical theatre to the day my aunt Cindy and her husband, Roy, convinced my family to take me to see Beauty and the Beast on Broadway when I was just 5 years old in my first trip to New York City. As a crazy active kid, no one believed I could sit still through a 2+ hour musical, but I sat there completely still and mesmerized. I couldn’t articulate it as a five year old, but I knew that someday, I wanted to do what those people onstage were doing, and I wanted to make others feel the same in the way I did.

When I turned 10, my aunt and uncle met my parents half-way to take me to New York City for a birthday trip. They treated me to The Lion King and we also snagged tickets to Hairspray. Little did I know, that 12 years later, I would be standing on the same stage for Disney Cruse Lines with a performer I saw in “Hairspray” and “Beauty and the Beast”. They loved theatre immensely, and we would spend endless dinners talking about the latest shows we had seen, recommending plays, and concerts. When they retired, they moved to Florida to the Villages, and even to see my tour of A Chrous Line when it came through, met me at Port Canaveral when I performed on the dream, various visits at Disney. They were there for my first time performing at The Grand Ole Opry with How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

I truly owe my love, appreciation, and pursuit of theatre to them. Without them taking me to my first Broadway show, and the others that followed, I don’t know that I ever would have had that experience that I wanted so much to give to others. They have been nothing but the most supportive in understanding the challenges performers face whether it’s the preparation, the time between gigs, life in New York City, life on a cruise ship, or wages in a theme park. On each cruise, they would spend time talking with the entertainers and going to q&as and meetings at shows. We are so lucky to have people that may not be artists themselves, but understand and are the reason we can share our gifts with others. Cindy was a crafter and an artist, whether it was quilts, glass earrings or necklaces, baskets or more.

She lived the hell out of life. Whether it was a Safari in Africa, walking the Great Wall of China, or sailing through Europe, she and my uncle were always out on adventure before returning home to share it with the family. They flew for every birthday, anniversary, wedding etc to be with their kids, parents, siblings, or family. We could share our tips and places to go in different countries, and I would let them know when friends were performing on ships or places they were going to be.

I still cannot explain my shock, grief, and now guilt. Originally, I had planned to meet them in Vancouver for those few nights and have dinner and show them around the city. I ended up having a show that weekend in the states, and while I was working out a way to get from the show to Vancouver, the tech meltdown of airlines, and stresses of last minute things gone wrong with the show, I thought, “Well, it’s a bummer, but I will see them in Ohio a week later.” I will forever live with that regret. “I should have.” I walk the tightrope of the double-edge sword of performer guilt in delivering a show that others rely on to pay their bills, bringing joy to so many others, and prioritizing love and family.

When I was in second grade, I read the book Flat Stanley, and after we finished the book in class, we all drew and laminated our own flat Stanleys’ and had to mail them somewhere interesting in the world. A few months following 9/11, I sent my Flat Stanley to my aunt Cindy and she took him to the remains of Ground Zero, and took many photos of my flat Stanley in the smoke and with the fires still burning behind him. She was a kindergarten teacher for many years, and loved education. Her patience and kindness was truly unmatched, especially for children.

I started looking back on photos from my wedding, where I am incredibly grateful for our photographer not just capturing photos of us, but moments of joy in our family, like my Aunt Cindy sitting with grandma and smiling, and Cindy and Roy dancing together in the couples dance beaming. It’s the moments like this where I cherish the photos of those that are no longer here, and experience the two-fold of seeing their joy but feeling the loss.

This is one of the busiest months of my life, as I am currently touring with a Taylor Swift tribute band, in preproduction for a short film, running a children’s entertainment company, and working on marketing and PR for my feature film screenings. The effort to show up to news interviews, podcast interviews, post on socials feels like performing a record deadlift without having eaten or slept. I feel empty in moments and struggle to move through the deep sadness I feel. Sometimes though, distractions are helpful, and the shift of focus in music to bring joy and healing to others when life hurts.

The hardest thing about producing or “being in charge” is managing how to put one foot in front of the other. When I was on tour, I could call my company tour manager, and step on a plane the next moment, and the team deals with how to fill my roles and handle the holes when I am gone. But, in being the owner and company manager, I have to figure out how to balance and navigate, and also allow the tremendous support of my team keep me upright when I would rather crawl in bed and cry all day. I guess that’s the one thing they don’t teach you when you become a producer and I am learning the importance of adopting that.

In writing this, I am realizing how profoundly important it is that we talk about support in producing beyond the producing itself, but in the complex relationships, the loneliness at times, and when grief strikes at the most “inconvenient” of times. Though, when is convenient? How do we balance our calendar with the unexpected moments of life and remind ourselves that a full calendar is never ideal? How do we bring joy to others but also take care of ourselves? How do we grieve but balance all of the other care, thought, hours, time and preparation in a project or event? How do we not feel the added heaviness of responsibility or shift it when we can no longer deliver on the thing we promised to in the time that we promised to do it? How do we navigate our grief along with our family’s brokenness?

Producing, leading a company, and being “responsible” for projects is what we gets me out of bed many mornings when I want to lay there for hours. The gift of creating and leading people and knowing that others “count on me” has lifted me up in times I feel myself spiraling into depression. I don’t think that’s necessarily the outcome, as much as it is the deep importance of the community that has come through these things and having people to show up for and with, but knowing that my life has a bigger purpose than just me.

What a gift, though painful, to love someone so much. To love, and be loved, and to share love together. Never wait on tomorrow, because tomorrow is never promised.

In loving memory of Cynthia Wittich.

PS - If you are new to subscribing to me, this is not a typical share/post for me. I have struggled to put words to paper in the last week and a half while working through grief. I hope to share more inspiration, wisdom, truth, etc in the coming weeks. Thank you for allowing this to be a place to share.