Just Dance

"From the top!"

Every time Mr. Marvin says it, I feel like a star, even though I am the worst dancer in my class, with the least amount of experience.  But for one summer for a few weeks at the YWCA, I had not had any tap dancing training.  When I started taking classes 5 weeks ago I figured I was too old to learn and would promptly make a fool of myself and in fact, I do, every week when we learn a new and more complicated combination.  And I love it.

I love learning.  I love growing.  For the first time in my life, I sincerely love being corrected.  I love the patience Mr. Marvin extends me.  I love the students who encourage me even when they are already so good.  Most of all, I love that for an hour every week, I am just dancing, the satisfying, rhythmic (when I can manage it) tap of my shoes distracting me from the incessant dialogue in my mind over my responsibilities, my shortcomings, my trauma, my grief.

A sign in the studio reads, "Life isn't about hiding from the storm.  It's about learning to dance in the rain."  8 years ago today I "came out" with Gabriel's terminal diagnosis.  Looking back it was perfectly timed and carried out, but back then I was really just flying by the seat of my pants. I always want everything to go according to my plan, and the situation I was facing was nothing like what I had planned.   For nearly 6 weeks I carried the painful burden of knowing my son would die, with a growing belly that was increasingly being met with smiles and words of congratulations.  And I smiled, and carried on, but inside my storm was raging.  And then I opened up to my friends, and there I was, dancing in the rain.  There were days I cried and days that I laughed, but I was living in a way that I never had, and enjoying every minute with my son.

Life since then has been a roller coaster of experiences, and emotions, and long bouts of depression, and moments of great joy.  And I'm tired.  I am tired on Tuesday nights at 7:15 when I leave for dance class.  By then, I have wrangled two kids and dropped them off at two different places, having had to remember which Dr. Suess dress up day it is, and to pack Delilah's lunch and grab her therapy binder.  I feel a sense of relief when each child gets to her respective location, and I am on my way to work, but I immediately begin missing them.  They are on my mind even as I listen to my clients, argue with opposing counsel, present my case to the judge, and think about getting dinner on the table for them in the evening. After work our home is a mad rush of dinner and dishes and laundry and baths and playing.  Marcos and I are in survival mode, just trying to keep our heads above water.  And at 7:15, I head out, and once again I begin missing my girls, wondering which stories they will choose at bedtime, and about the funny things 'Mr. Bear' will say that night.  Then I put on my tap shoes, and we do some shuffles to warm up, and I am dancing.  I am dancing because my son can't, so I will.  I am dancing because my girls are learning, and I want to teach them.  I am dancing because it feels good.  It doesn't come naturally to me.  I have to think about my steps, I am training my body to do things it hasn't had to do.  It's work, and I love it.

In June, two days before Gabriel's 8th birthday, I will perform in the same recital as my girls, on the stage in the East High auditorium where I performed in plays and concerts and received scholarships and awards when I was in high school.  I'm nervous already - More than I ever was to do any of those things.  What if I mess up?

One of the most important things I am learning in dance is that inevitably, I will mess up.  I make mistakes, my plans get off track, and things don't always go as I want them to.  I can practice, I can prepare, but life will still happen.  So what I'm learning, is to recover, and keep dancing, even in the rain.