Where Will You Dance: A Holiday Poem for Corrie

Where will you dance when people lay
red flowers upon their loved ones' 
graves, so the saying rings true, "Gone,
but not forgotten"--no matter the count
of years since they've left. 

In the time you were mine, your love was 
spring on the horizon. While the years pass by, 
I sometimes
walk into a room full of confidence, as if 
I've spent four hours of a June 
morning in your gardens. Then, 
when the nightmares come or I fail 
to fight a trigger off, I wish to bury myself 
under the sheets. It's the rise and fall, 
the wave and its crash, the push and pull 
because how could I ever forget you?

Corrie’s grave all decorated for Christmas.

I was doing amazing Christmas Eve morning and into the afternoon. I faced a trigger on Sunday night, but it’s not that you’re triggered. It’s how you bounce back. Anyone who has lost their loved one, a child, sibling, parent, grandparent or close friend; shows strength in how they continue to live.

It's a misconception that I never dance nor sing
because I sang to you again on Christmas Eve
as you would ask of me. When I am at my 
greatest peace--not stressing, impressing, or
attempting to mask my mind so different 
from others--I play music, and it grows louder
as I dance with a smile and decorate your grave. 

I imagine you dance the steps better
than me because you would’ve been in
gymnastics or dance for years by now.
We danced to Taylor Swift in the kitchen
only days before you died, and some of
Stevie’s songs, too. But I don’t play
Taylor anymore, nor “Landslide” and 
“Edge of Seventeen."

But I laugh and find myself in the
gardens, a smile upon my face, or
with a small group of people
who understand when I talk about you.
It’s something to see—going out in
the world to appear natural and 
normal, all buttoned up, dressed up,
fussed up when all I want to do
is stay home and grow stuff. I hear 
you say, “Mommy, are we going places?”
with the hope in your voice that
I’d take you to a store with treasures.

I added Corrie’s hummingbird light, as it became her symbol after a positive dream about 10 weeks after her death on May 27, 2020.

I accept what is in my control. I can’t do anything about the life lost, but I am the protector and keeper of Corrie’s memory. For the cemetery, Christmas is my favorite time of year because I set up her grave to shine for everyone.

My husband, John, said astronauts should see it from space.

Where will you dance after the rain 
and Christmas ends? A new year,
a new year to add on to the years
since you've been on Earth. I went
to a family thing--the first time I've 
left home during the holiday since
you earned your wings and golden
dancing shoes because no matter 
what fundamentalists believe 
Christians do dance in the street. 

It took some talking and convincing, 
and I thought after holding a small
baby shower for another, I could 
handle a new space full of people 
without your face. But the waves 
of people came, and I saw a face
you knew when you were here. 
I wondered, Are you remembered
or forgotten? Then I couldn't hear
a word anyone said. The tears 
almost poured, until I got up and
walked away. I did not cry, 
and I survived.

When I'm at my greatest peace, I 
laugh and sometimes sing. When 
I fail to fight the trigger off, I wish
to bury myself under the sheets. 
It's the rise and fall, 
the wave and its crash, the push and pull 
because how could I ever forget you?
But I was not made for giving up, or 
abandoning your memory to the waves.

One of the children’s graves I decorated for Christmas on Corrie’s Kinder Memorial Walk.

Corrie’s grave during daylight on what was a beautiful Christmas Eve day.

Perhaps my favorite child’s grave on the Kinder Memorial Walk, I felt a kindred spirit with her mother because she wrote a poem for her daughter’s grave.

Will you dance when I dance, and
will you sing when I sing? Angel, know
I'm fine this Christmas holiday. It was 
a moment when I lost myself, but I come
back again. But promise me you will 
dance if I dance in your heaven space.