My grandmother and I first met when she was in her mid-50s and I was, well, newborn. Her stories were often about her front-row seat for World War I, immigration, hard work, putting in overtime, Hoover and Roosevelt, and the occasional night out. At her funeral, many years ago, I met a man who told me she taught him how to dance at a party, when each was in their 20s, thus improving his confidence, social life and prospects. I never thought of her as a party-loving dancer, but there you go.
The thoughts return to me when, like a lot of people of my age and speed, I peruse the newspaper’s page of death announcements. Yes, people live and then they die, and I want to at least be aware when someone from somewhere in my life passes away. Obituary notices are reduced these days – families often inform those who care by social media, for example – and they are expensive; you pay by the inch to get the deceased explained in the newspaper, which is why these announcements typically include little more than a name and date of death, a list of family members still alive and those who have gone before, and information regarding a memorial ceremony or funereal.
Then there are announcements that go on for many inches, and ignore the cost. For someone in the family it is likely the last time they’ll recount, on paper, the life of Mom or Dad or Aunt Emma; these things tend to be written by amateurs and it shows. On the other hand, someone gets to write a highlight reel of a loved one’s life.
Those deceased and male have their educational careers, military service and professional lives mentioned, as well as affinities to the Buffalo Bills, fishing, hunting, motorcycles or other pastimes. It’s the women’s notices which I notice. Many of them, after recounting the raising of children, career, hobbies and references to “excellent cook who enjoyed family get-togethers,” comes the line that gets my imagination soaring: “She was an excellent dancer.”
She was an excellent dancer. She’s in her casket now but she was an excellent dancer. She may have been Italian or Polish or African-American but she was an excellent dancer.
Whatever she lived through, whatever she endured in life t the close of her life, there were opportunities, somewhere and at some time, to get up and dance, and whoever she was, I could see her at parties, wedding receptions, hot summer nights when she, a band and a dance floor were in the same place and at the same time, and she danced. I can see her smiling, doing the steps, looking for the next dance partner. She was having a good time. She was an excellent dancer.
Death being the final stage of life, the deceased leaves with memories, experiences and stories of success and failure, of moments of joy and moments of sadness. You need both so you can tell them apart when they come to you. The man or woman in the casket at the wake had some ups and downs, to be sure, but his or her last moments on earth, or the murmur of mourners in the room, belie the life which has passed. She may be a dead old lady in the most expensive box her family could afford, but there were days of happiness, days of getting through issues, plenty of time to worry and if she was lucky, opportunities to dance.
Make a mental note for the new year: dance more. The way are overwhelmed by bad new makes it easier to spot and celebrate the passing and short-lived joys, the way children eagerly anticipate birthdays since they’ve had so few of them. “Any excuse for a party” was once a wastrel’s mantra; we may be hitting a point of desperation making it a healthy necessity.
It somehow doesn’t matter if it was the cha-cha, the Charleston or the electric slide; that line in the death notice indicates that when the time was right, she charged onto the dance floor and she knew what to do when she got there. She is gone now but I can see her, smiling, shaking up a storm. Then she sits down, out of breath and laughing, Remember her that way.