The Dance of Life

Saturday morning I was about to write a fun, frivolous post about holiday dance attire; I had collected a Goldilocks assortment of outfits that were too short, too fancy, too tight, too casual…and just right.

Then I got a call from a close friend telling me her mother had died. I forgot all about the post. I even forgot about the holiday dance Gary and I had planned to attend the day of her mother’s calling. When I did remember I wondered if we should go dancing after such a serious and sad event. We could have made the dance if we’d wanted to, even if we stayed until the very end of the calling. And I knew my friend would want time alone after a grueling day.

As it turned out we didn’t go…we were both too worn out emotionally. But we had a nice practice on our own dance floor, just Gary and me. And I’m so glad we did. Dancing is a celebration of life and of our relationship.

I don’t want to think about losing my own parents, but my mother has already told me not to stop dancing after she is gone. She said she would want us to remember her in every step, twirl, and flourish, and that she would be right there with me in spirit. Hopefully that sad day is far into the future, as I believe my mom has many, many more dances left.

At the funeral home I saw a photo of my friend’s parents dancing at her wedding; her mother looked happy, free, and full of joy.

Here’s to you, Lillian…and the best egg dip on the planet.