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My parents married on June 27, 1942 in a beautiful stone church in upstate New York. The bride was seventeen, the groom twenty. After promising to love and to cherish until parted by death they danced at the reception. They kept these promises and continued to dance for seventy years.
During their courtship and their entire married life they enjoyed big band music. They were beautiful dancers, commanding a dance floor with style and grace. We kids grew to love the sound of Glenn Miller and Tommy Dorsey conjuring up images of our parents gazing into each other’s eyes as they glided across the floor.
I was the oldest, followed by my brother Terry and three sisters Judy, Gail, and Joni. We grew up in a house filled with love and strong sense of family. The radio was always playing music and at the first strains of Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood” or “Sentimental Journey” our parents rolled the living room rug back and we sat crossed legged on the sofa to watch the magic happen. The hardwood floors of the farmhouse became a grand ballroom as we watched them move as one.
Tragedy struck In 1976 when our brother, Terry, was killed in a horrible accident. He was thirty and left behind a young wife and three-year old daughter.
Having suffered rheumatic fever and subsequent heart damage as a child, Mom was beginning to experience symptoms of a ravaged heart. Three months after Terry’s death, our mother had her first open heart surgery at age fifty. She recovered from surgery without a single complication in spite of grieving the loss of her only son.
In 1992 and in 2002, subsequent heart surgeries continued to show us Dad’s devotion. By her side day and night, he was her dance partner and referred to her as his Princess.
In spite of health issues, Mom and Dad’s dancing days weren’t over. Their love for big band music continued, but they could only hold each other and sway in time to the music. They both longed to twirl around the floor as in earlier years, but settled for the gentle swing and sway.
When my father, who had alway been the hearty one got sick, we steeled ourselves. The doctors at Duke Medical Center diagnosed aortic stenosis and at the age of ninety-one Dad had open heart surgery. For two days, Mom didn’t leave his side. She looked drawn and pale. We knew Mom was tired, but we didn’t know she was in kidney failure.
On the third day of Dad’s post-op recovery, eighty-seven year old Mom was hospitalized. Our hearts were heavy. It was the end of an era. Despite the seriousness of each of their conditions, the Lord was not done with them. Their love and devotion would show the rest of the family the meaning of the words “For better, for worse, in sickness and in health.”
A week later, both parents, weak and tired, were discharged to my sister, Judy’s home. Timing was critical for the surprise we planned. I had arrived with Mom and gotten her settled in bed when Judy came through the door with Dad. With her assistance, he headed for the bedroom.
Judy steadied Dad as he paused, gazing Mom in their bed. He bent over and kissed Mom on the cheek. “Is it really you, Princess?”
She reached up with her hand and cupped it around his head. “Yes, it’s me. Are you really here?”
He answered by getting in bed with her. They nestled into each other’s arms as Judy and I stood in the doorway crying. We didn’t know how long we’d have either of them, but we knew we’d do our best to keep them together.
Six weeks later, Mom had a setback and died after a few days in the hospital. The family was devastated. It was as if we had the wind knocked out of us.
Living without her was a struggle for Dad. They had been married seventy years. A year after mom’s death, Dad fell ill and began his downward spiral. Two months later, as he lay dying, he turned to me and announced in a weak voice, “I’m going to be with your mother for our anniversary on June 27th. We are going on a cruise and we’ll dance to big band music.”
It was one of the last conversations we had. He passed peacefully the evening of June 26th, the day before their anniversary.
Mom and Dad were both cremated. They requested that their ashes be combined and spread on my brother’s grave and then be committed to the waters in front of the summer vacation house. We honored their request, but added touches we thought they would both love.
For the entire four-day weekend we honored their memory. We gathered as sisters and our husbands along with Terry’s widow and experienced a closeness only explained by divine Providence and parental influence.
Having combined Mom and Dad’s cremated remains, we returned them to a heart-shaped biodegradable box provided by the funeral home. We sealed it shut with super glue, as directed, preparing for a water burial.
On a beautiful sunny day in early September, two kayaks and a fishing boat left the dock slowly moving into deeper water of the Bay. Youngest sister Joni paddled one of the kayaks, our brother-in-law Jeff accompanied her. The rest of us were in the boat. Mark turned the stereo system on and big band music began playing. Strains of “Moonlight Serenade” followed by “Sentimental Journey” traveled across the water.
Gently resting the container on the gunwale of the boat, each sister placed a hand on the heart shaped box for the last time. We said a prayer as we prepared to commit our parents’ ashes to the body of water which they loved so dearly.
Joni, sitting low in her kayak, received the box and reverently placed it in the water. It began to sink in exactly four minutes, as the directions said it would. We watched until it sank out of sight. “Sentimental Journey” was into the chorus.
Suddenly, two identical whirlpools rose to the surface side by side and moved in perfect syncopation across the surface of the water toward the main house. All of us watched in stunned silence as tears streamed down our faces. We looked at each other and said, “Did you see that?”
Dad had told me they were going on a cruise and would be dancing to big band music. He was absolutely right. At that moment, each one of us knew it was a sign from our beloved parents, a joyous sign of a couple in love gliding across the surface of a new dance floor in their last dance.
During their courtship and their entire married life they enjoyed big band music. They were beautiful dancers, commanding a dance floor with style and grace. We kids grew to love the sound of Glenn Miller and Tommy Dorsey conjuring up images of our parents gazing into each other’s eyes as they glided across the floor.
I was the oldest, followed by my brother Terry and three sisters Judy, Gail, and Joni. We grew up in a house filled with love and strong sense of family. The radio was always playing music and at the first strains of Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood” or “Sentimental Journey” our parents rolled the living room rug back and we sat crossed legged on the sofa to watch the magic happen. The hardwood floors of the farmhouse became a grand ballroom as we watched them move as one.
Tragedy struck In 1976 when our brother, Terry, was killed in a horrible accident. He was thirty and left behind a young wife and three-year old daughter.
Having suffered rheumatic fever and subsequent heart damage as a child, Mom was beginning to experience symptoms of a ravaged heart. Three months after Terry’s death, our mother had her first open heart surgery at age fifty. She recovered from surgery without a single complication in spite of grieving the loss of her only son.
In 1992 and in 2002, subsequent heart surgeries continued to show us Dad’s devotion. By her side day and night, he was her dance partner and referred to her as his Princess.
In spite of health issues, Mom and Dad’s dancing days weren’t over. Their love for big band music continued, but they could only hold each other and sway in time to the music. They both longed to twirl around the floor as in earlier years, but settled for the gentle swing and sway.
When my father, who had alway been the hearty one got sick, we steeled ourselves. The doctors at Duke Medical Center diagnosed aortic stenosis and at the age of ninety-one Dad had open heart surgery. For two days, Mom didn’t leave his side. She looked drawn and pale. We knew Mom was tired, but we didn’t know she was in kidney failure.
On the third day of Dad’s post-op recovery, eighty-seven year old Mom was hospitalized. Our hearts were heavy. It was the end of an era. Despite the seriousness of each of their conditions, the Lord was not done with them. Their love and devotion would show the rest of the family the meaning of the words “For better, for worse, in sickness and in health.”
A week later, both parents, weak and tired, were discharged to my sister, Judy’s home. Timing was critical for the surprise we planned. I had arrived with Mom and gotten her settled in bed when Judy came through the door with Dad. With her assistance, he headed for the bedroom.
Judy steadied Dad as he paused, gazing Mom in their bed. He bent over and kissed Mom on the cheek. “Is it really you, Princess?”
She reached up with her hand and cupped it around his head. “Yes, it’s me. Are you really here?”
He answered by getting in bed with her. They nestled into each other’s arms as Judy and I stood in the doorway crying. We didn’t know how long we’d have either of them, but we knew we’d do our best to keep them together.
Six weeks later, Mom had a setback and died after a few days in the hospital. The family was devastated. It was as if we had the wind knocked out of us.
Living without her was a struggle for Dad. They had been married seventy years. A year after mom’s death, Dad fell ill and began his downward spiral. Two months later, as he lay dying, he turned to me and announced in a weak voice, “I’m going to be with your mother for our anniversary on June 27th. We are going on a cruise and we’ll dance to big band music.”
It was one of the last conversations we had. He passed peacefully the evening of June 26th, the day before their anniversary.
Mom and Dad were both cremated. They requested that their ashes be combined and spread on my brother’s grave and then be committed to the waters in front of the summer vacation house. We honored their request, but added touches we thought they would both love.
For the entire four-day weekend we honored their memory. We gathered as sisters and our husbands along with Terry’s widow and experienced a closeness only explained by divine Providence and parental influence.
Having combined Mom and Dad’s cremated remains, we returned them to a heart-shaped biodegradable box provided by the funeral home. We sealed it shut with super glue, as directed, preparing for a water burial.
On a beautiful sunny day in early September, two kayaks and a fishing boat left the dock slowly moving into deeper water of the Bay. Youngest sister Joni paddled one of the kayaks, our brother-in-law Jeff accompanied her. The rest of us were in the boat. Mark turned the stereo system on and big band music began playing. Strains of “Moonlight Serenade” followed by “Sentimental Journey” traveled across the water.
Gently resting the container on the gunwale of the boat, each sister placed a hand on the heart shaped box for the last time. We said a prayer as we prepared to commit our parents’ ashes to the body of water which they loved so dearly.
Joni, sitting low in her kayak, received the box and reverently placed it in the water. It began to sink in exactly four minutes, as the directions said it would. We watched until it sank out of sight. “Sentimental Journey” was into the chorus.
Suddenly, two identical whirlpools rose to the surface side by side and moved in perfect syncopation across the surface of the water toward the main house. All of us watched in stunned silence as tears streamed down our faces. We looked at each other and said, “Did you see that?”
Dad had told me they were going on a cruise and would be dancing to big band music. He was absolutely right. At that moment, each one of us knew it was a sign from our beloved parents, a joyous sign of a couple in love gliding across the surface of a new dance floor in their last dance.
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