Our dancing could never be compared with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, nor will it ever be featured on Dancing with the Stars. It wasn’t pretty, or a style. It was ours a perfect marriage of silly steps, twists, and turns. We moved our feet, waved our arms, doing whatever move inspired us in that moment.
We danced in our kitchen, living room, yard, car, and anywhere we felt inspired to show off our “amazing” moves. We may or may not have been working on a routine to be perfected by the time our kids were sassy teens to be danced in the presence of their friends. Driving down the road, you’d find us getting Jiggy with any music playing; always having fun, always dancing.
We loved to dance. Together.
As the illness progressed, and Scott’s pain went from awful to unbearable, we couldn’t dance our regular dance any more. So, we adjusted our moves, and our arms and hands danced together. We danced as long as we could; until the day the music stopped and we could never dance together again.
As time passes, I’m trying to dance. I’m trying to dance with my kids, to bring that joy back into our house, despite this terrible emptiness we all feel. A few weeks ago,
I noticed that I was dancing to the Thrift Shop song in the car again. One kid squealed, while the other hid his face. I remembered our dancing, and smiled. Most days, I still don’t dance in the car, but I have hope that someday, I’ll feel like me again, and dance.
Dancing was our thing; and when the anger hits, I’m so mad that cancer stole our dance, along with my heart.
However, on the cold winter day, when Scott’s iPad suddenly turns on and plays two songs about dancing that we did not own, I know, Scott won. He’s dancing and someday, I will too.