The Rainbow Ballroom

I took the day off from work last Monday, the day after my birthday. It was partly to give myself a day away from the grind, and partly to spend the day handling some paperwork regarding my mother’s estate, Monday’s bit being the most complicated piece thus far. On my way to visit with the financial advisor who’d be helping me with the documents, I found myself thinking again of my mother’s last months, and running through the decisions that were made along the way. I know that what was done was done, and all was exactly as it needed to be for whatever mysterious karmic reasons there may be for these things, but in my worse moments I find myself second-guessing decisions I made or participated in. Did I absolutely do everything I could? Did I ask the right questions; hold enough of the right medical personnel accountable? Would she still be here if I had not recommended and advocated a move to a safer environment, closer to me? As the internal torture session began, I came to a moment when I thought, no, you can’t go through this again. This must stop at some point. That’s when I made a decision.

Lately I’ve had occasion to think about the Rainbow Bridge, since both my sister and cousin have mentioned it in relation to Murphy’s condition. It’s a place we can imagine our departed companion animals, whole and happy again. So right then and there while walking down the street, I founded the Rainbow Ballroom. It’s a place where my mother is young and dancing, where the room is full of dance partners, and every one is a man who knows how to dance, and who is imbued with the qualities of tenderness, light-heartedness, constancy and loyalty, who means what he says, doesn’t say anything he doesn’t mean, and keeps his promises. Each one vies for her hand, and her heart is open to them. Every evening there is a dance, and every evening she’s there, dancing the tango, the rumba, and all those other dances she used to try to teach me in our kitchen when I was a kid. When she’s not at the Rainbow Ballroom, she may be in the Rainbow Rehearsal Room, working out the steps to a new routine or teaching the hopelessly klutzy to be as graceful as she. Or she may be on stage at the Rainbow Theatre, in the world’s most precise chorus line, kicking high or doing the soft shoe with hat and cane. Other times, she’s at the Rainbow Folk Festival, in full Ukrainian regalia, her thick and shiny brown hair bouncing softly and loosely as she dances. She is smiling. She’s the greatest among all the great dancers there, and she’s laughing with delight. Some evenings at the Rainbow Theatre, she’s the featured singer, and her most famous numbers are Besame Mucho and I Wish I Knew, the A and B sides of a record she cut in a penny arcade as a young woman, full of hope and promise. Roses are thrown at her feet, thousands cheer, and she owns the town.

So as of today, no more will I see her in her bed in Room #65 at the rehab center. From now on, she’ll be dancing at the Rainbow Ballroom.