One Last Dance

We knew that my brother Jim was dying.  He was in a hospital in Texas.  I’d heard from my sister Jude, and from one of our cousins who was with Jim, that it would be “any day now.”   On Friday morning of that week I had called him just to say hello and tell him that I loved him. 

He was weak. I think our cousin was there in the room with him holding the phone to his head so he could visit with me. 

My sister had said a day or two earlier that Jim had told her that our dad was there in the hospital room with him.  That Jim could see him, and visit with him.  Dad had passed away 12 years earlier. 

In our very brief phone call that Friday morning I asked him if Dad was still there.

“Oh yeah,” he said weakly, “he’s here.”  Then after a second’s pause, he added, “Everybody’s here.”

He didn’t have the strength to recite names to me.  I was content to hear that everyone was there, and assumed this meant other relatives and loved ones who had already gone on to Heaven.

I asked Jim to give Dad a hug and a kiss from me and tell him I miss him.  Jim said that he would, and then he told me that he thought he’d be joining Dad soon. 

I swallowed, and nodded into the phone.  Then I said, “When you do go, try to stop in and see Mom on your way.  It would mean a lot to her.”

“Definitely,” he answered.

Mom had later stage Alzheimer’s type dementia and was living in a nursing home a few blocks from my home in Alaska.  Jim hadn’t seen her in a couple of years as he had been living far away and travel for him was difficult.

I told him again that I loved him, and he said the same.  Then we ended our call.

Mid-afternoon I was at work when my sister Jude called to let me know that Jim had just passed away.

I left the office and went to see Mom. 

Mom’s dementia had progressed to the point where language was difficult, and eye contact was rare.  I usually had to bend down to get my face right next to hers for her to see me.  Every once in a while, she’d say a brief phrase like, “Oh say,” or “Oh yah,” in her typical Norwegian-American fashion.  But that was about it for language.

I knew I wouldn’t be telling her about Jim’s death.  There was no point in telling her.  I just sat down next to her on the couch and took hold of her hand.  I told her that it was me, Ruth, her favorite child.  Which sometimes still made her smile. 

That particular day she just closed her eyes and nodded.  Letting me know that she knew it was me. 

After a few minutes I asked her if Jim had stopped by yet.  I explained that he was going to try to stop by today and visit her. 

She opened her eyes and looked at me, and said, “No.” 

Minutes later she drifted to sleep, with her chin resting down on her chest.  Still holding my hand. 

I sat thinking about my brother.  Trying to give this new reality a little time to seep into my brain. 

Mom stirred, and then lifted up one of her feet into the air and began swinging her leg from side to side.  I’d not seen her do anything like this before.  She seemed to still be sleeping.  But after a few seconds she put her foot back onto the floor and then lifted up her other foot, swinging that leg from side to side. 

She continued doing this, alternately lifting up one foot and then the other, swinging one leg back and forth, side to side. 

It wasn’t until I noticed the smile on her face that it occurred to me that she was dancing. 

Jim had lost both of his legs to diabetes and had spent the last six years in a wheelchair.  He’d often told me that he looked forward going to Heaven and being able to run and jump and even dance again.

Mom danced for a while longer, alternately raising up one foot and then the other and swinging them side to side, as I sat next to her on the couch holding her hand.  With tears streaming down my cheeks. 

I whispered a thanks to Jim for stopping by to visit Mom. 

By the time I left for the evening the dancing was over.

The next afternoon I stopped in to see Mom again.  I sat down next to her, and took her hand.  I got down close to her face and told her who I was.  Ruth, her favorite daughter. 

She looked in my direction, though not directly at me, and nodded. 

I started telling her about my garden, and that I needed to start pulling weeds soon before they completely took over.  She seemed to be listening, but I couldn’t tell if there was any understanding.

And then I said, “By the way, did Jim stop in to see you yet?  He had said that he was going to try to come visit you yesterday.”

She turned and looked directly at me, which rarely happened anymore.  She smiled, looking me in the eye, and said, “Oh yes, that was such fun!”

My heart sped up, and the tears started to come.  I swallowed again, mentally counting out how many words Mom had just strung together.  Six.  Six words. It had been some time since Mom had put six words together.

I tried to be casual.  I nodded and said, “Oh good,” as though this wasn’t an unusual conversation all the way around.  And after a moment or two I asked, “Did Dad make it too?  Or was it just Jim?”

“Oh no, he was here, too!” She told me, as the smile spread across her face. “It was such fun!”

I smiled, desperately trying to stay calm.  “Oh good,” I said again, silently counting in my mind how many words she had just said.  Ten words!  Ten!

We sat for a while longer, together on the couch, holding hands.  Mom, with a peaceful smile on her face, staring at nothing.  Me, once again in tears.

My brother had died the day before.  And true to his promise, he’d come to see our mom one more time.  To share one last dance with her.  I had seen it.  And I knew.

It was a gift to my mom.  Getting to see Jim and Dad again, even if only for a brief few moments.  Being able to again enjoy their company, and share a quick dance with them.  It was a gift to my mom.  From the God of the universe.

And it was a gift to me.  For me to see it all happen right in front of me.  And for me to know.