In my widowhood, I’ve become a bit of a dancing queen.

Now that’s not to say that I didn’t dance a lot when Stephen was alive. As I’ve mentioned on other parts of my blog, Stephen was my dance teacher and we had impromptu dance parties on a regular basis. Dancing was one of my absolute favorite ways to spend time with Stephen. That guy knew how to boogie!

So as you can imagine, when I lost him, I simply could not dance. I was in such an intense state of depression and overwhelm that the notion of ever dancing again felt impossible. But after several months of wallowing, I knew that I would have to start moving and grooving again eventually. I missed the joy of synchronizing movement to music. I missed the subtle communication of reading another’s body language, and knowing exactly what to do with no words required. I missed the blissful euphoria of the “dancer’s high.” (Similar to a runner’s high, but in my opinion, way more fun than jogging.) The notion of dancing with someone other than Stephen, however, was a major hurdle for me to overcome. After ten years of dancing with one person, could I learn to dance with new people?

In the fall of 2024, I decided to begin my pursuit of dance-iness. I started with contra dancing, a form of social folk dance that I’d tried a couple times with Stephen. I recalled that the community was welcoming to beginners and very accommodating to people who show up without a partner, because you are expected to take turns dancing with lots of people over the course of the evening. And it was the perfect place to start! The Kalamazoo dancing community is incredibly kind and fun, and I started to quickly make friends.

When the summer of 2025 came along, I started pursuing other forms of social dance, because the contra dancing in Kalamazoo takes a break in the summer. First it was East Coast swing classes, then in the fall I took Bachata lessons, and in the winter, I began country line dancing! Now, my calendar is so jam-packed with dancing I have to start picking and choosing what I’m going to attend on any given night!

The Choreography of Grief

Stephen’s mother Dee is a beautiful dancer. She danced professionally when she was younger, and now she is a dance-movement therapist. She is delighted by all the dancing I’ve been doing as part of my grief journey, and we had the opportunity to go contra dancing together last fall. As we were preparing to scatter the remainder of Stephen’s ashes (mixed together with Kelvin’s), she shared with me that people have asked her how she can laugh and dance when her son is dead. And her simple response is:

Because it’s the only way to live.

I couldn’t agree more. I initially tried “living” by feeling sorry for myself and praying before bed each night that I would die in my sleep. But that really didn’t feel like living to me. It also certainly wasn’t the kind of life Stephen would want me to live. I married someone who truly knew how to grab life by the reins and make the most of each day. (Take a look at his epic obituary. So many people told me after reading it, “How did he do all that in 39 years?!” I can tell you how. He spent very little time doom-scrolling on his phone and binge-watching Netflix shows.)

So I set out to build a life for myself that was infused with all the things that bring me joy (many of which Stephen introduced to me), had the essence of Stephen’s curiosity and vivacious spirit, but was also distinctly, uniquely Erin. Dee wisely refers to this process as my “choreography of grief.” After many weeks of missteps and stumbling, I eventually found my choreography. Navigating each day is a dance, and for those like Dee who have had the privilege to watch and aid in my choreography skills, they can confirm that it is incredibly beautiful. It honors Stephen’s life. It honors the person I became while dancing on his side. And it honors my constant evolution and growth, as I become more confident in my ability to keep dancing (literally and metaphorically) through life, no matter what curveballs come my way.

When I went contra dancing a couple nights ago, one of the gentlemen twirling me around said “You are literally flying right now!” And yes, there are moments when I’m spinning so fast, I feel like my feet are barely touching the ground. In those moments, I close my eyes, relish the euphoria, and say to myself:

I’m never gonna not dance again!