I want to take a moment to honor Children’s Theatre Director Gretta Assaly—who was formidable and unforgettable and shaped many lives, including my own son’s. This is a tribute to her heart, her theatre work, and the unforgettable ways she made a place for us.

Sometimes I have to wonder…

“I’m coming home, Mom,” he said. “She fell, and she’s not doing well.”

How do I come across these things—these little pieces of paper written hastily in moments, words jotted down, misplaced, then found again?

She called him, and he came.

This morning, I was looking for a picture. I even searched through two big baskets of photos in the attic thinking, I really have to organize this stuff…

I didn’t find the picture—not in the baskets, not on my phone, not on my blog—

But I did find these words:

Over thirty years ago, after my son’s dad went into treatment, Charlie and I went home for a while—to the home where we would be safe. It’s true: we went home to my parents.

I had known Gretta from my theatre days, and it just so happened that now she was running her Children’s Theatre School out of the basement of the Ballet where I was teaching.

She handed me a script and a little extra work—traveling from school to school around town wearing a Nutcracker Snow Queen costume. She gave Charlie a role in a play called The Kabuki Gift.

Gretta saw in my son what I saw in him. And since hearing about her recent passing, I’ve been overwhelmed with gratitude. What greater gift to a mother’s heart than to have someone see your child as the treasure you know he is?

In short, Gretta—formidable, always unforgettable—made a place for us when we weren’t sure where we belonged. So when she reached out to Charlie, he was on the plane.

What keeps us going except for love?

Sometimes we even misplace that. I have. But I also know—it always finds its way back.

Love is like that.

When you’ve had a fall, who do you call?

I don’t mean for the hospital. I mean later in life—when we’re hurting and tired, when pain steals our strength, when the last of our hope has leaked out.

What do we do when we have, oh, so many years behind us… when our dearest have departed… when our bodies break down and our spirits slip out?

The best we can do is reach out.

I’m so grateful Gretta did that day. She was so loved—and right then, she needed to know that.

What else is there…?

Here’s to you, you, Gretta. Keep those kids singing and dancing, laughing and clapping… I can only imagine. There must be children’s theatre in heaven.

Thank you for remembering her with me
🪽✨🤍

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