I was feeling sluggish and missing our daily walk, but it was frigid here today, far to cold and windy to go out. So I cranked the music, a little Rani Arbo, a little Squirrel Nut Zippers, and we danced. I danced for Kathleen and she watched and laughed, and then I scooped her up and zipped her all over the room. Brian heard the Squirrel Nuts and came down and danced with us for a song too.
Joy and laughter and delight
twirling around with Kathleen in my arms.
Mid-twirl, the memory caught me for a moment, made me miss a step.
The memory of
with Henry in my arms.
Twirling to show that I can,
that there is nothing attached to him
no lines to trip on or step over.
All that in an instant. I pushed it away, wanting to stay in the vortex of pure joy of dancing with my giggly, grinning girl. So fun, so silly, so alive.
But tonight that image came back to me, the image of me with Henry, not in our living room, but in a hospital room eight floors up, overlooking busy city streets, sun streaming in the windows. There was no music, unless my excitement was audible.
Tonight the memory of twirling with my boy made me smile. It was the first time I was able to dance with him, the first time we were untethered, free to move, to go, to twirl.
Another day, I might lament that we will never dance together again, never twirl until we fall down dizzy and laughing, but not tonight.
Tonight it is simply enough that we got to dance.