So I got together with some musicians I used to play with back in the early nineties and it was a blast. Only thirty years removed from our last gig together, we sounded surprisingly tight, albeit a little rusty.
There was a bigger crowd than I expected, and we were pleasantly surprised at the energy of the audience.
The three hours flew by, and I was starting to feel the pressure on my stump as I stood for the entire performance.
Truth be told, the pain was causing me to grimace.
In our final set, we are doing the Allman Brothers’ classic Whipping Post. I get a seven-minute break while the boys jam out and I was really looking forward to sitting and resting my aching leg.
Instead, as I walked down the short steps to the stage, I saw just about every table in the venue filled with people drinking and having fun.
All except one.
A young woman, alone, with a glass of beer on a cardboard coaster.
Of course I joined her.
She needed someone. (not that way, just someone, anyone).
Come to find out, she was at the club after burying her father earlier that morning. I encouraged her to let it out here, in the middle of a rock and roll show.
She did.
Kathy spoke of how she was to be wed next month to her soldier-husband and how she would miss her wedding dance with her Dad.
I found out, through her sobs, that the song was to be Garth Brooks’ The Dance.
As the boys were sliding home on the song, I hopped back onstage. The guys got a great ovation for their musicianship and I leaned over and whispered into our lead guitar players’ ear.
He picked up his acoustic guitar and I hobbled off the stage.
He started playing the only country song he knew (surprise! The Dance!) and I approached Kathy with my hand extended.
“May I have the honor of this dance?”
She took my hand and buried her head in my shoulder sobbing uncontrollably.
I was more afraid of stumbling or falling more than anything, and I was in some serious pain as I had pretty much rubbed my stump raw by now. But I could feel my Mom holding me up as we danced. I could feel every strong woman in my family (and there are a lot of strong women in my family) making sure I didn’t fall. I could also feel my own soulmate Karen making sure I didn’t fail, as she has done since I met her.
The five-minute dance reminded me of our human common denominators and not our differences.
Your pain is my pain.
Your pain is our pain.
Now we weren’t blessed with children, but I am sure I will be alive as long as Kathy remembers her “unofficial” wedding dance with Maddogg on a rainy night in Northwest Ohio.
Stay well.
