Singing and Dancing. From the first moments that my boy could speak and stand upright, he was singing and dancing. Music was his thing (I have the Smithsonian size historical display of iPods through time to prove it). His musical taste ran from show tunes, to heavy metal, to jazz, to Disney, to country and all the genre in between. He didn’t care. If it had a melody, he danced. If it had words (and even sometimes when it didn’t) he sang. Christmas and birthday lists always included iTunes cards, for there was always some new artist or new album or new song that he needed to have in his library. Looking back, I can see now how his near constant joy in singing and dancing saved me.
He taught me, so subtly I am only now realizing it, that if you can take just a minute to breathe, sing and dance, you can handle anything that comes at you. Examples, you say? Car. Dancing. Never failed. I’d be in the driver’s seat, he’d be in the back because Universe Forbid he sit next to his WEIRDO MOM, I’d be always focused on getting “there” on time–school, work, appointment, wherever, shoulders all hunchy, face all scowly because the drivers around me just would. not get. out. of. my. way. we. had. things. to. do., and I’d feel it. A soft hand reaching through the seats, sometimes with an earbud in it, and a voice saying, “Mom. Let’s do some Car Dancing” And, since I was not immune to his charms–no one was but that’s another post–I’d plug his iPod of the Day into the speakers in the car and we’d Car Dance. And my shoulders would unhunch, and my face would unscowl, and it would be OK. Every damn time. We’d still have places to go, all the things were still resting on my shoulders, but in that moment, I could breathe, hold the burdens more loosely, and Car Dance.
I have so many other examples, and as I write this, so many memories buzzing around in my head–Kitchen Dancing. Laundry Dancing. Driveway Bus Dancing. He trained me well: in the most stressful of moments, there’s always time for a little bit of Dancing. Did it make all the bills, seizures, illnesses, and constant worry go away? Of course not. I am not naive nor ridiculous. He knew that too. But it did, for the moment, force me to unhunch, unscowl, and take a breath to enjoy a moment with just my boy and me. To take a second to stop and drop into perspective all the things around me that infringed on my joy and my time with him, just the two of us in our little bubble of Dancing.
Toward the end, when his voice betrayed him and his body abandoned him, the Dancing fell to me to do. His touch and his voice became a look and a very small smile. Let’s Dance, Mom. And so I did. While my heart was breaking and my soul was shattering, I Danced. And in that moment, for that little bit of time, I could remember and put into perspective it’s about joy, it’s about time with him, it’s about unhunching and unscowling and taking a breath in order to make holding the burdens a little easier.
The burdens are different now. Grief, balancing work and personal, all the other outside shit that is weighing on all of us, and they feel just as heavy. They make me hunch my shoulders, and scowl my face, and feel sick inside with the “how will I?” and “when will it?” that can overtake and overwhelm me in seconds. It’s when I’m feeling my worst that I will finally feel the Universe Throat Punching me, and I realize my boy is saying, “Mom. Heidi. (if I wasn’t listening, I’d get ‘Heidi Strasser. I’m talking to you’) Let’s Dance”. I’ll fire up his iTunes, say “Noah, give me a song”, and inevitably something will come up that requires a little Dancing. And I will Dance. And maybe my eyes will get a little bit sweaty, and my arms will feel a little bit empty, but I will Dance, and my heart will get a little bit lighter. And my shoulders will unhunch and my face will unscowl, and I will be able to find again that little bit of Joy and Laughter, Love and Light that is his.
