Just Love Harder

April is a rough month for me. Then comes May. There’s Mother’s Day, a day when I miss my own mother and the son who made me a mom for the first time. At the end of the month is Ethan’s birthday. This year he would turn 31 on the 31^st. Kind of a cool occasion  that we will miss celebrating with him. And yesterday was May 9^th. Ethan and Julia had planned to get married on May 9, 2020. They—okay, probably mostly Julia—had everything in place for a ceremony that would have showcased their individuality, their creativity, their warmth, and their love. My sister and I had planned a Paris-themed bridal shower for Julia. I had gone shopping with friends over the winter and found the perfect dress that now hangs in my closet because I don’t know what to do with it.

May 9^th sneaks up on me. It doesn’t loom on the horizon like April 7^th, the day Ethan died. But when it comes up, the pain hits me in different ways. There is the acute, sharp stab of loss. Then there is the emptiness and void. . .the absolute letdown that comes after anticipation that never comes to fruition. There is the buzzing, unreal pain of lingering devastation. And there is a type of pain that is hard to explain. It comes from erasure. The erasure of a future that felt golden and promised. That type of pain can swallow you up like a black hole.

I was driving to work this week when I realized May 9^th was almost here. I thought about what the day would have been like, and I pictured Ethan dancing like a fool at the reception. Ethan was constantly in motion. Even when he seemed to be sitting still, his legs would be shaking or he’d be bopping his head to a rhythm only he could hear. He paced when he talked. He jumped up when he had an idea. He was exhausting, and he drove his teachers, coworkers, and friends bananas with his unyielding noise and energy.

And he danced all the time. He danced in public and at home, in the classroom and on the stage. People use the expression “dance like no one is watching,” but Ethan danced like a goofball no matter who was watching. If there’s a gene for having inhibitions, I never had that gene, and I certainly didn’t pass it down to Ethan. I honestly don’t think it was possible for Ethan to feel embarrassment. He was a silly, ridiculous, annoying whirling dervish who would have been completely in his element on the dance floor at his own wedding.

Ethan and I talked about whether we would do a “mother and son” dance, and we settled on dancing together to “These are Days” by 10,000 Maniacs. Tom didn’t think that was an easy song to dance to, but Ethan and I were both fearless dancers who would dance to any music, or no music at all.

Today, I want to be looking through wedding photos. I want to be rewatching video footage from that day. I want to be toasting my beautiful kids on their anniversary. My mother’s heart aches for itself and for my beloved Julia who lost so very much.

When I feel overwhelmed with grief, I ask myself how I can channel that unspent love into something that would honor Ethan’s memory. At Christmastime, my friends and I channel that love into providing Christmas gifts for families. On Ethan’s birthday, I ask people to do acts of kindness in Ethan’s name. And starting this year, I’d like to honor the time around May 9^th by asking everyone I know to dance like Ethan.

Dancing is fun and freeing, and it’s something that Ethan loved to do (whether it was in an appropriate place or not). And emotional healing is deeply connected to moving the body. That’s something I’ve always known intuitively, and last year when I was completing my graduate degree in psychology, I did research into the ways physical activity and mindful movement allow our psyches to process and release pain.

So, dance! It doesn’t matter how “good” your moves are. Just move. Move in whatever ways your body allows you and your spirit moves you. And please share them with me and with others. Make a little video and post it in the comments, or on my social media, or your own. Tag me or give it a #DanceLikeEthan. Ask someone to dance with you or close your bedroom door and let yourself go. It’s hard to feel sad when you’re dancing.