Sharon Sapienza – a celebration of a life well-lived

The death of the vibrant Sharon Sapienza has left us all devastated even if we did not know her well, or if we did not know her at all. It is another death which is out of season. To quote the wise Dante: ‘Non c’e peggior dolor di ricordarsi dei momenti felici nella miseria’. Yes, there is no greater sorrow than to recall happy times in misery. I am publishing this photo as my last salute to her and her husband and in homage to her parents.

Since an early age Sharon shone and oozed energy.  She is the same age as my darling eldest and they were in the same class at school. It was my daughter who gave me the astounding news after a phone call from a friend, as we both turned stone cold in her kitchen.

So many thoughts and images rushed into my mind mostly from a former editor’s point of view. I had handled many press releases, interviews and photos of Sharon. And of course had seen her or her troupe perform on several occasions. I had also featured her wedding in the January 2009 issue of First, our monthly magazine in which Albert Storace gave an eye witness account of the various parties which were held to celebrate this love story, parties which took place in both Malta and Spain.

Although an only child her parents supported her in every way, even when she wanted to leave Malta and go and study flamenco in Seville. She knew what she wanted to do and went ahead and did it. What is more difficult than following a profession such as flamenco in the heart of Spain itself where almost every girl is a flamenco dancer? And what is harder than to see your child leave Malta and out of your ken?

Sharon left for Spain in 1992 for Seville at first to follow her career as a flamenco dancer and eventually to become artistic director of her own company, Sonakay. Eventually in her adopted country she met her husband to be José Antonio Esquina. And here I have to comment. I found it surprising and even hurtful that on the comments board of yesterday’s The Times, under the announcement of Sharon’s death, condolences were given to her parents but never to her husband. Can you imagine how her husband must be feeling at a time like this – the sudden death of his beloved after just a few years marriage?

Yesterday at a reception at the French residence I met Professor Carmel Vassallo, the expert and lover of Spanish language and literature at the University of Malta, who told me that Sharon had contacted him for help and guidance which he gave her until she settled in Seville in 1992.  No emails then nor internet. You had to have the determination and an iron will to follow your dream anywhere abroad and it could not be done without the support of family and friends – and very often strangers too.

The photos of her wedding I have before me are of a happy family celebration. Sharon glows in every single one of them. I am looking at them and thinking: I must be dreaming, this cannot be true that Sharon is no more. This is the stuff of nightmares.

When we bring children into the world we enter another ‘club’. Picking your way through life is an awesome task and we all want to give a helping hand to our children. We never cease to wonder if we have equipped them properly for a world which seems so often irrational. They sit there, on the sofa, expecting to be brought up. But we are all subject to our nature and our genes. Many qualities are inherited, even from our ancestors but perhaps unknowingly we also pass on our values to them.

Looking back I laugh at some of my antics, as my daughters must have done then, in their teens and early twenties.

 Lately I came across a small number of ‘contracts’ concluded with them, which now amuse us. But those contracts reflect some of my fears. In one of them signed and sealed, there is an agreement between us that they would not go into Paceville with high heels on a rainy day. And  a few years ago heels were not so high compared to today’s monstrosities. What was I thinking of? I have little doubt that that ‘contract’ was completely ignored and merely signed to humour me and allay my ‘what if?’ fears.

I was certain of one thing. I did not want them to spend their youth with an endless list of does and don’ts. But of course although I claim to be fearless it has to be said that I had my own anxieties and would sit waiting for them, visualizing all sorts of scenarios. We rarely had ‘scenes’ but the occasional differences of opinion which took long to reach a compromise. Rarely, but it happened sometimes, we were like the troops of opposing armies on the Western Front, who came out of their trenches and briefly fraternized at Christmas.

What a lot of responsibilities parents have. Now as never before. Moral lassitude is all around us. I now look at my three grandchildren and wonder what life is going to be like when they are in their teens and twenties. Yes, bringing up children is an endless questioning of the self.

Before I worried for the two of them. Now I worry about their husbands and their children too.

Frank and Edwige must have had their own worries when their only daughter left for Seville. But she obviously absorbed their values without even knowing it.

Sharon lived a short life but crammed all she could into it. She really lived for two people and that is something her parents and husband must be proud of even if life has treated them harshly. But how many are not wounded soldiers, if not today tomorrow, if not in one way, in another?

I lately read a short article about Jean-Louis Trintingnant whose latest film Amour is making headlines everywhere. I remember him best in Il Deserto dei Tartari based on the wonderful novel by Dino Buzzati and Un homme et une femme. With his second wife, the actress and director Nadine Marquand, they had three children, one of them dying a cot death. Another one, Marie you may remember, was killed by her boyfriend-singer in a hotel room.  She had four sons and was only 41-years-old. In the interview Louis Trintingnant talks of the feeling of devastation after the death of Marie in 2003, and explains how he was unable to talk for some time. But finally:  “I had to make a choice. And I chose to live.” I believe that these are important words on which all of us who have been struck dumb by life. The choice is ours. Either to let our spirit die and live a living death or to choose to do something with our lives which, no matter what, will never be the same again. I wish to pass on this message to Edwige, Frank and Sharon’s husband José. “Live again as best you can. You still have much to contribute and especially now with this heart-breaking experience, you will have even  more”. It is hard, very hard but well worth the effort. I have no consoling words to offer. Ultimately we have to try and heal ourselves.

You are all in my thoughts.