He didn’t dance for a LONG time.
This was a big deal. Dancing was Hubbie’s forte. The way he effortlessly and magically glided to the folk music, his feet seemingly floating in the air, arms waving about in focused movement as if conducting the people and arena around him…
The love and passion were so evident on his face when he danced like this. It was pure joy and happiness for the music manifested, and the expression came forth as his body responded to the music, from the beam stretching from cheek to cheek, all the way to his tip-toes.
It’s all about moving on your tip-toes. There is NO OTHER way to do it, he would say.
So I knew then when his Dad died, that he would stay off the dancing for a while.
Because, not doing the things you love, as passionate as you might be about them, is one of the natural processes of grieving. Hell, you don’t want to do barely anything, let alone something that makes you happy, or used to make you happy, when you are so sad.
It was harder in his case to even contemplate dancing… because it had been a great love he and his Dad shared.
Father and Son. The image epitome. Side by side, arms outstretched, touching shoulders, as they moved in perfect unison, in big grand movements, sweeping their arms wide as they turned around, and kicked and jumped and paraded for all to see.
It was the perfect image of familial bliss. And it was.
But after a year of grieving, Hubbie still couldn’t do it. He forced himself here and there, but there was just no love for the act of dancing…
He stopped dancing. Cold turkey. Just, GONE.
It made me so sad. Here was a part of Hubbie that brought him so much joy, and yet he wasn’t doing it anymore, so strong was the loss and unhappiness in his heart.
“Do it for your Dad,” I would suggest gently. “He would be so proud to see you dancing on in his name.”
But my words were empty. The intention was meaningless, because the person behind the meaning, was not here anymore.
This year will mark 5 years from his Dad’s passing. And though there were some small moments over the past year where he danced here, he danced there, with some substance of meaning, a breadth of the passion he used to hold, signifying a subtle change to the Hubbie of old maybe occurring… tonight something happened.
He had the music on before we headed out, and was dancing around the house, “warming up.”
He made sure to have his dancing shoes on.
And when a suitable song sang out over the dance floor, he took me… and he also took the arm of his Dad’s peer – a close relative and friend of his father’s, a fellow music lover and dancing companion – and he said “you’re coming with me. In place of my Dad.”
I was on one side of Hubbie, looking over as the two of them made light of their feet. They danced and jumped around, hopping and skipping, and turning around with grins from ear to ear.
His late father’s peer stood proudly beside Hubbie, honoured he had been chosen to dance in place of such an important and influential person from Hubbie’s life.
And in that moment as I glanced over at the two of them making a scene, causing a dancefloor stir, and galloping around jovially, something in my heart tugged, and I teared up.
There was that smile.
There was the skip in his step.
The lightness of movement had returned.
He was dancing again, full gusto.
My Hubbie, was back ♥♥♥