The Dance Within

The graceful hands of an elder ballerina, with Alzheimer’s and in a wheelchair, whose music and dance would not be denied.

I watched a video again today, one that went viral a while ago. One that I will never forget. The video is about the elder ballerina in a wheelchair, taken over by Alzheimer’s. But not completely.

Several versions of her name were given. Marta Gonzales, Marta Gonzales Saldana, and Marta Cinta. She was born in Madrid, lived in Cuba, and danced in New York. If you have not seen this video, I encourage you to look it up on YouTube. Plug in elder ballerina or ballerina with Alzheimer’s and you will find it.

Have Kleenex ready when you watch it.

I imagine that younger people may see something quite different if they watch this poignant video. Are their smiles one of pity?

My smile was one of awe at seeing who was still inside of her at that moment caught on camera, that part of her that dementia and age had not been able to completely claim.

It was so moving to watch her face transform as her hands moved gracefully to Swan Lake, having their own memory of what to do, of what to express, of the grace and of the music and the story of the dance with her face expressing what she could no longer use words or her feet and body for. But, oh, those hands and arms fluttering like wings. The magic was still there. I was mesmerized, watching the music transport her back in time, back to who she used to be and still had within her.

She was sitting there in her wheelchair, being encouraged by the young man speaking to her. She began to move slightly as the music started, but then she sat still again. He gently took her hand and kissed her like the diva that she was, that he still honored. He kissed her hand, and the dance within her came back to life.

I watched and was enchanted, able to see her grace and beauty that time and life did not steal. Feeling the music. Turning into that swan before my eyes. I forgot she was in a wheelchair, as she was transported back in time and to the world that she used to live in, for those moments when she could hear the music of her past.

I felt the metaphor in this poignantly beautiful ballet. We all have that spirit and music and our own dance within us. Who we were in our youth. When we could move and express ourselves differently than we now do. When we were seen and appreciated by others in a different way. When the spotlight showed beauty and grace for all to admire.

And here we are, now elders. No longer seen. Certainly not seen as who and how we were. Yet, those parts are within us still.

How do we validate, acknowledge, and honor those parts of ourselves as best as we can? How can we express what we still can? How can we encourage our spirit to still dance and move when it can? Our voices to sing? Our hands to move, write, paint, to express what they will? How can we remember the whole of ourselves as we watch this body of ours change, age, and decline?

Perhaps others cannot see this part of us, understandably. But the real tragedy would be to forget this ourselves. To put these parts completely to rest and bury them before we are buried ourselves. Even a beautiful elderly woman with dementia was gently coaxed to remember and to still allow that part of her to live, even if for a brief moment.

Who were you? What kind of child were you? Curious? Playful? Dancing? Singing? Drawing? Running for the sheer joy of it? Laughing? Joking? Touching? Happy in groups? More comfortable being solitary? What did you love to talk about? What were your dreams? What has your story been up to now? Not to live in the past, but to remember the total of who you have been, so as to allow all of it to still be alive within you.

Aging has its own dance, yes? Moving more slowly, watching our bodies change and be unable to do things that we could do before, and having to find new steps to this dance. Steps that we can handle now. Steps that we may have to think about more, so as to keep our balance. Some steps that become memories only. And sometimes those are gone as well.

Although we may feel as if our bodies betray us, we also can feel the life force still inside of us, even as the outer shell perhaps may not be able to express it in the same way.

We have dance left within us still. We have music inside us. We can still respond with rapture to this music.

We have laughter inside us. We have love still there to give. We are still capable of feeling it all, perhaps even more now that we are aware of the brevity of life in a much more visceral way.

Yes, we cannot deny mortality in the same way as we may have in our youth. We see evidence of it in the mirror. We see it as we look down at our bodies. We feel it in our changing brains. Although we can work to be the best we can be, there is no denying that there will be an end, and that we are much closer to it these days.

The music is coming to an end. But not yet. Not while we are still here. Not while we can remember, or have someone or something help us remember it, feel it, embrace it, dance to it however we can. The ballet is not over yet. Not yet. Let’s see the dance in ourselves. Let’s listen to the music still there. Let’s help each other remember what is still there. Hold the memories for each other as we make more. As we participate in this final movement. The beautiful finale.

Let’s gently take each other’s hands. And help each other to remember. Help each other to still be all that we have been, are now, and can yet be. The choreographer has not finished with us yet. Indeed, perhaps the most beautiful music is yet to come. Saving the best for last.