Monday Night Dancing

Although we lived hundreds of miles apart, Mom and I found one way we could still be together and enjoy each other’s company. For a couple of hours on Monday nights, we would forget about the battle with Parkinson’s that kept Mom homebound far away. I could even forget about the guilt that sometimes plagued me for not being able to see her as often as we both would have liked.

Our evenings together began when Tom Bergeron announced each celebrity and their professional partner on Dancing With the Stars. During the string of commercials between each dance routine, I’d call Mom. In my mind, I could see her fumbling to answer the phone with her crippled hands.

“Do you have a favorite yet?” she always asked even before saying hello.

“Not yet. Do you?”

We talked about purple sequins and feathery dresses, foxtrots, jives and tangos. We usually agreed on our favorite choices, but often definitely disagreed with the judges. Then suddenly, “The show’s back on!”, and we hung up quickly, sometimes mid-sentence. We didn’t want to miss a second of the next dance.

It felt to me as if Mom and I were actually together in the same room on those wonderful Monday evenings. She always seemed more energized and cheerful at the end of our evening of dance. I was too.