The Last Dance

What it means to be human, to live and to die

May I have the last dance? he said, with his palm outstretched and a twinkle in his eye.

A waltz tune – a haunting ballad about love and leaving – drifted over the couples dancing around the auditorium. With my right hand in his, and my left on his shoulder, we swayed in rhythm to the fiddle as we glided around the polished gym floor. A young woman I’ve known since she was four years old sang from the stage:

“Love is a precious thing I'm told

It burns just like West Virginia coal

But when the fire dies down it's cold

There ain't no ash will burn

In every life there comes a time

Where there are no more tears to cry

We must leave something dear behind

There ain't no ash will burn”

~ There Ain’t No Ash Will Burn - Delia Mae

I’ve been dancing with this same group since it began over forty years ago. In that time, couples have married and parted, friends have died, babies have been born who have since grown up to become the next generation of dancers and musicians.

To me, this monthly gathering embodies what matters most: gazing into a stranger’s eyes and seeing their soul. Finding a place to belong. Receiving safe and gentle human touch. Welcoming the primal memory of moving in rhythm with other bodies - our feet echoing the steady percussive pulse of the bass fiddle.

Twenty years ago, I brought my fiancé to one of these events. In truth, I wanted to see whether he would embrace or reject this somewhat quirky obsession of mine. On the “trial run” evening, I was delighted to see him laughing and having fun on the dance floor. We married a few months later.

Kent and Lee at the Masquerade Ball contra dance

We do what is called contra dancing, a spirited folk tradition that’s easy and never boring. Dancers pick a new partner before each dance, form long lines, and dance to live “old-time” music - typically played on fiddle, guitar, bass, and banjo.

A caller walks us through a sequence of moves and the band starts playing. You stay with the same partner for the whole dance, but your neighbors in the line will change with each repetition. By the end of the dance, you’ve danced with dozens of people, grasping hands to connect on a deeply human level, beyond any personal beliefs or political disagreement.

Energetic “newbies” show up at every dance - people of all ages and walks of life - looking for some friendly fun. We host a newcomer’s lesson before each dance, and a bowl of peppermint candies sits beside name badges on the welcome table with a sign, “Enjoy a mint and dance closer!”

Many of the dancers have been friends for decades. We host an annual reunion in the mountains of north Alabama for folks from around the country. Each event has a unique theme - Star Trek, Graceland, and this year, The Wizard of Oz. We celebrate with outlandish costumes, songs, and skits into the wee hours. That reminds me…I need to find some sparkly ruby slippers!

Many of us have made (ahem) adjustments that allow us to keep dancing as we have grown older. Some of us sport knee braces, others use hearing aids or pacemakers, and a few have been known to tape a big X on a hurt shoulder so their partners will swing them carefully. One friend is traveling the difficult path of Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis. She sits, queen-like on her wheelchair throne, tapping her long purple fingernails in rhythm to the music. Another friend waltzes slowly with her husband, for the first time in over a year, since a devastating car crash fractured her neck.

I am touched by how bearing witness to these quiet triumphs - of resilience, adaptation, and love - deepens my own experience on the dance floor. I returned home with my sweetheart after our waltz – sweaty, with tired feet and a full heart. No matter how disjointed I felt before a contra dance, afterwards I always feel set right.

The next morning, I woke early to enjoy a quiet cup of tea on the porch as I searched for new essays by my favorite Substack writers. I was stopped mid-scroll by Parker Palmer’s Awash in an Ocean of Angry Words. In his notes, he posted a YouTube link to one of his poems – on the interplay of dance, life, and death – set to music.

The chorus goes like this…

If I could, I’d dance this way forever

But some soon day my dancing here will end

The music will play on then one day I’ll be gone

I’ll dance into the darkness as new life dances in

…into the holy darkness where new life begins

~ The Music Will Play On - Words and Music by Parker J. Palmer, Music by Carrie Newcomer

Yes, we are aging. We’re moving more gingerly now, sometimes stepping on our partner’s toes or turning left instead of right as we progress down the dance line. But in this forgiving space, gaffes are simply chances for a do-over the next time that move is repeated.

Especially in these times, there is ineffable joy in simply seeing other humans treating one another with respect and moving in harmony.

Life is so precious. My heart swells as I recall the tender memories and precious connections – threads in a bright tapestry that has been woven through the years.

Art by Robert Thomas Weathers

When will the time come for our final dance? As the waltz begins at the close of the evening, I’ll say yes when he reaches for my hand, but neither of us will know if this is the last time we’ll dance together. Which one of us will be left swaying - with our arms folded and tears in our eyes - when the other is gone?

My hope is that, when my time on earth is done, I will dance into the darkness, knowing that I’m leaving something precious behind…while also creating space for new life to dance in and take the floor.

In service of love and truth,

Lee

P.S. - In the coming weeks, I’ll be talking and writing about our local Deathcare community. I hope you’ll join me here as I share reflections on meeting our mortality with grace rather than fear and living fully until our final breath.

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Lee Sumner Irwin is a teacher, visionary, author, artist, intuitive guide, and grandmother who has spent the last few decades discovering a multitude of ways to uplift, inspire, and connect with women who feel called to her work. Over the years she has led retreats worldwide, coached women as they birthed their unique gifts and creative energy, and facilitated healing journeys. Her award-winning first book is Radiant Wise Woman: Breaking Free from the Myths of Menopause and Aging. She currently resides in Alabama with her husband where she enjoys dancing, exploring the wonders of nature, building community, nurturing her family, and finding ever-new ways to express her creativity.

Here at RADIANT WISE WOMEN, you’ll only find soul-filled, honest, and authentic content. No artificial intelligence — just pure human consciousness + creativity.