Bob and I are definately not great dancers. We are not even good enough to be called bad dancers. Have you ever seen the Seinfeld episode where Elaine dances? It really looks more like she is having a seizure. That's us. Do we care? Not even an ounce. We love to dance with each other. We dance in the kitchen, in the living room, in the backyard and in the barn. You name it, we have probably danced there. When I heard Glenn Miller, I literally ran into the living room to dance with Bob. Naturally, Miranda and her neighborhood friends were mortified and ran screaming out the back door. However, as we twirled through the room, I did notice about five little faces plastered to the window giggling.
My dad has had a tough few days with his dementia knocking him out of reality further than I have ever seen before. As I danced unashamedly this afternoon with my husband, I thought of how much my parents loved Glenn Miller. Then the idea hit me. Bob and I ran to Dad's room and got him to come into the living room with us. Once settled on the couch, Bob cranked up the music .....In The Mood, to be exact ..... and away we went with our own rendition of 1940's swing. As I glanced at my dad, I saw a slight grin creeping onto his face. By the time the song ended, Bob and I stood huffing and puffing as old, fat people do after making fools of themselves. When I looked at my dad, he had the biggest snaggle-toothed smile on his face. He was literally giddy. Bob put another song on and sat down to sing with the old man while I went into the kitchen under the guise of making lunch.
The truth is, I had to leave the room and have a good, long awaited cry. I remembered how much I loved watching my parents dance. Man, could they ever dance. Nevermind that they might not have spoken for days over who knows what. When the tension in the house would build as tensions do, I in my childish, unknowing way, would put on In The Mood and run to beg my parents to dance. You know what? They always would. Speaking or not, they danced. Happy or sad, they danced. Hopeful or desperate, they danced. It was amazing. I am not sure why, but as a kid, I would always cry when I watched them dancing together. Maybe because it was so beautiful, so perfect. They knew exactly what to do and when to do it, and they always ended up smiling. Even if they wouldn't or couldn't look at one another, they smiled.
As I stood at the kitchen sink, sobbing, missing my mother, wishing desperately she was here, wishing I could see her and my dad dance just one more time, I did the only thing I knew to do. I went back into the living room and I danced. I danced with my husband and I danced with my father ....... and I smiled.
