Last night I saw a side of my brother that I hadn’t seen before and never will again.
My brother Jeff died two months ago from a heart attack at the age of 57. In his recent years, he had taken up dancing. He told me when he signed up for a country line dancing class at a local community college. I was surprised, to put it mildly.
My brother was a “loner.” He lived alone and never married. He suffered for decades from depression which doctors didn’t seem able to treat successfully. He was an alcoholic, probably because of the depression. And he had myasthenia gravis, for which he received a military disability pension because it was diagnosed while he was in the Navy. After years of being an angry drunk, my brother stopped drinking, took anger management counseling, and began living.
The last two years of his life may have been the happiest in all his 57 years. What accounted for the change, I don’t know. He didn’t say and I didn’t ask.
He told me that line dancing was hard for him–I would have described him as clumsy–but, with the encouragement of the dance teacher and some of the other students, he persevered. Then he added social dance classes. At the time he died, he was about to start another class. He was looking forward to learning the tango.
My “loner” brother had even gone so far as to dance in some demonstrations and shows that his classes put on at retirement homes and communities. He didn’t invite me to any of them, but he told me about them afterward. Last night I saw one of the shows where he would have danced. His dance teacher invited me. This one was held at the Life’s Garden Retirement Home.
I love amateur shows–the participants do what they enjoy only for the pleasure of sharing what they enjoy with other people. This one, as you may imagine, was especially poignant. As the couples waltzed, rumba-ed, and tangoed around the room, I imagined my brother among them, with his arms around an ethereal partner.
Dancing for eternity is how I want to remember him.
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Nancy: Poignant observations about your brother. I can relate. I’m a few years older than your brother was when he passed on. I, too, had two left feet (clumsey). I remember enjoying line dancing several years ago in Birmingham, AL. It was relatively easy because a Caller calls out the movement that is expected just like in square dancing. Now in Corpus Christi, Tx I couldn’t find any country line dancing but was encouraged to take group ballroom dancing classes with my church group. I was terribily uncoordinated and couldn’t keep a beat. I perserved and took private lessons. I now am able to dance the fox trot, rumba, country two step, and am learning the cha, cha, cha. I, too, look forward to the Tango. It’s not been easy for me, but after every lesson I get a little better. It’s still work, with flashes of joyful fun when my feet go where they should automagically (the result of a lot of hard work, muscle memory etc). At first when I went to dance with someone who was not my teacher, I forgot everything I had learned. That is passing. The intervals when it is fun are getting longer. I am gaining new found confidence on the dance floor.
Nancy, what a moving tribute to your brother and a wonderful way to remember him. I am so sorry for your loss.
Beth from APH
Such a sweet tribute to your brother. I did one also for my big brother, although he is still with me. I love the name of your site, as well.
http://gioiachronicles.blogspot.com/2009_05_01_archive.html
Nancy,
You touched my heart deeply with the thoughts about your brother. My younger brother died a couple of years ago at the age of 53. I wish I could have an experience that would leave me with a “glimpse into eternity” to fill my soul.
Thank you for sharing.
A fellow APH member,
Rose Marie Morrell
A Lifetimetime Remembered, LLC
Hello Nancy,
You moving tribute to your brother brought a tear to my eye as I spent some of my nursing years in one of Adelaide’s large psychiatic hospitals.
Every Friday night, the hospital auxilliary put on a dance in the hall for the patients (with one friday set aside for country dancing, with a caller). We nurses would escourt a group of excited patients to the hall, women with make-up and teased hairdo’s to meet the male patients with their hair slicked down, with ties and white shirts. Patients danced to the music, singly, in pairs of both sexes and sometimes in small groups; all that mattered was the enormous enjoyment as they swayed and sashayed to the music. That night, all of the dancing patients seemed to sleep a more peaceful sleep and seemed more amenable the following day. Ah, the power of music seemed to work its magic on these troubled souls.
Your site and your comments bring your brother into my life my emotions.
How many time we see our other family’s member with some narrow focus, and forget about the many aspects of life.
The life of others are so rich. We can learn important lessons from their experiences without having to depend on our own mistakes.
Nancy, This was very moving to me. It’s wonderful that you had a chance to see that side of your brother before and after his death. This is a very beautiful story. Wendy
Thank you, Wendy. I do feel I received a gift.
Hi Nancy, I came across this site totally by accident…..as you know, we Nancy’s have to put our 2 cents in so here goes…….so sad, beautiful words ……. I have a muscular dystrophy disease also….how sad that your brother went on this journey by himself. Depression, anger, hopelessness uselesness…..just the disease itself takes its toll on a human being but mentally…such a difficult journey not to be undertaken alone. I am glad your brother found something to make changes in his life….I hope you find more pieces of your brothers life,,,,,its funny they do not become treasures until after they are no longer with us…
What a touching post. I have similar feelings of love and admiration for my brothers, especially one who has endured many of life’s challenges. Thank you for sharing. I bet your brother is dancing in Heaven.