Four weeks ago my dad passed away. It’s been a sad journey to say the very least. The kids were all very close to him and have had a difficult time processing the fact that he is really gone. At the end of his Celebration of Life service, a video picture montage played to one of his favorite songs by the Beatles, “Here Comes the Sun.” There was not a dry eye in the house.
As we were all hanging out in the living room the other night, I told the kids it was time for bed. The protests were unusually loud and my voice even louder. I was cranky, tired and ready to start my vegetation routine for the night. Seriously. Rocky grabbed my iPhone which nearly drew fire from my eyes until the song he chose started lofting throughout the speakers. Rocky said, “Here Comes the Sun! C’mon Mom, let’s dance!” I know this was a moment and all, but ahhhhh, no. I don’t dance. I’m a terrible dancer. It stems from my junior high days when I was that awkwardly tall girl tripping on her feet and clapping on the off -beat. It was soon clear that I had no choice as the kids grabbed my hands, pulled me up and just started jammin’ to this classic song. Maverick got in on the action too with his sprinkler and lawnmower moves (yeah, he may have had some junior high issues too). While I still clapped on the off-beat, I said, “It’s ALRIGHT…do do do…”