So we enrolled Teri in same dance school and she really seemed to enjoy lessons and her new friends. She was now, of course, a dancer, like her sister. And Teri very much looked forward to climax of her first dance season, year-end dance recital this school put on.

If you’ve ever been a dance parent, you of course realize that obligation is quite large. Aside from weekly lessons, scheduled on different days in our case, there is extra investment of time and money preparing for ‘big event’ - extra lessons and rehearsals, fittings for completely different head-to-toe costume required for each dance number and a parents meeting for each dancer to make sure everyone was on same stage come recital night. Baseball parents have it easy!

As fate would have it, Teri had surgery to lengthen her heel cord a few weeks prior to her dancing debut. But that didn’t stop her from lugging around heavy cast trying keep up with other performers. That’s my girl!

The big night arrives and in a flurry of hurried activity, we deliver our girls backstage complete with special hair do’s and a full coat of stage war paint and we take our seats in auditorium.

The place darkens, curtain rises and show begins with performances of some of advanced students. They beam with pride showing off stuff they had worked so hard on all year long. Two of Sara’s dances were slated and as always, she didn’t miss a step.

I noticed her from my balcony within days of moving in to my highrise, walking 2 little white dogs around block. She was always alone, always with a look of deep sadness on her face.

I must have ran into her at least twenty times during my year-and-a- quarter of living here, on elevator or on grounds of our building, each time trying to engage her in conversation - about weather, her dogs, anything to try to get her to at least, smile.

Never once did she smile though, or answer me with more than a couple of words. After each attempt, I just left her with my smile, and let it go.

Like you I'm sure, I have been face-to-face with people that have been deeply depressed. In my heart of hearts, I knew she was. Without knowing anything about her, I could only surmise that whatever had happened in her life to cause this disfigurement was reason. Perhaps shallow of me, but I couldn't even imagine looking in mirror each day to see such hideous physical devastation.

On Monday of last week, I proceeded out main doors of my building to go on my morning walk. I noticed 2 police cars and a forensics van in visitors parking lot. My mind began to wonder as to what this could possibly have been about. I concluded that perhaps an elderly tenant had passed away, and promptly forgot about it.

On following Friday, I discovered truth. I saw one of building managers who had just returned from a funeral - funeral of this young woman.

She had done what was unperceivable to me - she took her own life.

I was shaken. I learned in that conversation that her scars were result of surgery, for cancer. I became deeply disturbed.