Friday morning …
As she descended the steps of the bus at the adult day care center, I studied the woman's thin frame and how she greeted my companion with a smile. As she was introduced to me, I held my hand out to take hers.
"Ooh, your hands are warm!"
Laughing, I wrapped my other one around hers and gently rubbed some of my warmth into hers. And hand-in-hand, we entered the building as I noticed she had some vision problems.
"It's getting cold," she said. "I don't handle the cold as well as I used to."
"Well, today's warmer than usual for this time of year. I brought you some sunshine from Peoria, Illinois."
"Lovely!"
My companion explained to me how this woman had been a tap dance and ballet instructor for 52 years.
"Fifty-eight years," the petite woman corrected with a smile.
"Oh my goodness!" I said. "I took tap dance when I was a kid."
"Why didn't you continue?"
I smiled and explained how my interests had changed.
I let her join her friends and the staff and volunteers as they indulged in some freshly made pancakes.
Smiling, I observed this mix of about eight attendees, several of whom have Alzheimer's or dementia. My new friend, the dancer, was among them.
A staff member told me how this woman was a fixture in the community with her dancing expertise and how she had led a couple of programs during her time at the center on dance techniques … and how she still had the swing in those hips.
And she also had macular degeneration and was losing her vision.
Fast forward to Friday afternoon …
As I led a presentation for caregivers about coping with Alzheimer's, I noticed the frequent tears of a female attendee. Though it broke my heart, I stayed on track and completed my talk. At the conclusion, this woman came up to me. Before she said anything, I asked, "Can I give you a hug? I could tell this was tough on you."
And she let me hug her thin frame.
She said she was trying to deal with the challenges of her mother's Alzheimer's. It wasn't easy at times as her mother was a strong woman who knew how to command attention, especially after being a dance instructor most of her life.
"Is your mom …" I asked, saying the name of the woman I had met that morning.
"Yes." She was surprised.
I laughed and described how her mother had questioned why I hadn't continued my tap dancing lessons.
Yes, that was her mom.
I'm reassured of my belief that there are no coincidences in the universe. A family facing memory loss had unknowingly given me a special memory … and transported me back to the echos of those silver metal taps on my shoes across the wooden stage … the colored ribbons that replaced shoe laces, my stiff hair-sprayed head, the body suit costume and my brightly red painted cheeks so that I glowed on stage …
Yes, they had tap danced their way into my heart …
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