I Hope You Dance

I think most of us have that someone special in our lives that makes us smile no matter what they do. It's that someone that we admire. It's that person that we look up to and want to be like.

I want to be like "her" - my great aunt Amelia.

Ever since I was a child, she was this force to be reckoned with. She was pure class, yet tough as nails. She was the model of decorum with the sassiness of a downtown streetwalker.

I cherished every conversation I had with her. If we were at the same wedding, funeral, birthday party, or picnic, I followed her around like she was the Pied Piper. I hung on every word and encouraged her to share story after story with me.

To her, life was just one adventure after another.

Into her 80s she still volunteered at her local nursing home. She enjoyed helping out "the old people" in her spare time.

Through her 80s she still went dancing every Saturday night. Once upon a time I asked her if she was still doing this and she said "I sure try, but it's getting more difficult as I get older. The friends I go dancing with are all daying. Isn't that just the shits?" I giggled with glee at her choice of words.

Once she told me about a tornado warning she'd recently experienced. Someone called to let her know and to urge her to go into her basement - just in case. Her reply? "Hell NO! If it's my time and God wants to come and get me, he's going to find me in my living room and not my dirty basement!" Again, she made me laugh.

She smoked like a chimney. She was never caught in public without her signature red lipstick. She loved drinking beer directly out of the bottle - never EVER a can!

In her lifetime, she visited every continent except Antarctica. She raised five kids. She spoke three languages. She took care of old people. She danced and danced and danced. She lived in her own home until two days before she left this world. She savored each moment she was alive.

She died a short while ago.

Yet, even as she was dying she found a way to bring laughter to my life. I wasn't able to be with her. Her immediate family was all gathering in the hospital. Voices were hushed just as they are whenever someone is gravely ill. I am sure there were a lot of those "how is she doing" comments buzzing around her. Amelia, seemingly was asleep - oblivious to all that went on.

Suddenly, her voice filled the room. Her eyes never opened, but she said "excuse me? Will you all quiet down? I can hear you. I am not dead YET!"

About five minutes later she was gone.

I wasn't sad when I heard she died. She was nearing 100 years old. She'd lived an amazing life. She was ready to let it go.

I was just happy that her passing was so easy for her.

I was even more happy that I was able to share a part of her world as I traveled through my own life. I can smile when I remember her. I will always cherish her memory and consider myself blessed.

I just hope I can still be dancing when I am 90! I wish the same for you.

Peace