I don’t think I’m alone in saying that when I leave this world, I hope I’m doing something I love. I hope I take my last breath with a smile on my face and gratitude for the life I lived. For all the good people I met along the way. For the beautiful sunrises, sunsets, flowers, and countless natural wonders I was blessed enough to see. And for all the times I laughed, and loved, and danced.
My days are numbered. So are yours. Although I could live to be 120 years old, I probably won’t, so I feel it’s pretty safe to say there are more days behind me than ahead of me now. Therefore, how I choose to live the rest of my days matters—a lot. Dancing, loving, laughing, and taking in the beauty of the world I’m living in sounds like a pretty good game plan. Not much to think about there, except maybe the dancing part. I love to dance. But, to get out on an empty dance floor and dance like no one is watching…well, that takes some nudging and a little pep talk from my heart.
From my vantage point on stage, I see many people dance, and it’s one of my favorite things about performing. From toddlers bobbing their heads and moving their little feet to elderly couples who are perfectly in step with one another through decades of practice—heartwarming entertainment at its best.
For the past three years, I’ve been watching Helen and Jesse dance three, four, and sometimes five nights a week. They follow us wherever we play, as long as it is within a few hours’ driving distance. On a regular night, they drive a minimum of an hour and a half round-trip. Dancing is a priority, and rain, snow, or shine, they’ll be there. If not, we all know something is up.
Now Jesse can dance for hours on end. A few high-ball glasses of whiskey, and he’s like the energizer bunny. From slow ballads to fast rock and roll, very few people I know can keep up with Jesse on the dancefloor. He once told me if he sits too long, he gets stiff, so he’s got to keep moving. And move he does.
Helen, on the other hand, likes the slow dances. She has many favorite songs, but one I know she loves to hear is Floyd Cramer’s Last Date. And Rodney Crowell’s After All This Time. And Sleepwalk. And Maria Elena.
When I watch them dance together, they move seamlessly. The days of stepping on each other’s toes have long passed. I’m not the only one who watches them dance. They don’t know it, but they have a fan club. We live in a resort area, where people come from faraway places to visit. Many of them return year after year, and one thing they always remember about coming to one of our gigs is watching Helen and Jesse dance. I guess it gives us a little hope that some things are made to last and that love abides through thick and thin. Watching them slow-dance offers us all a gift of unhurried time and a fresh perspective.
Helen is a giver. She raised six children, and to this day, she still fishes, hunts wild turkey and whitetail deer and bakes the best cakes from scratch. I have no idea how many pieces of Helen’s cakes I have eaten—I probably don’t need to know. But I can tell you I have enjoyed every bite. That’s not even mentioning the brownies.
In an offering of my deep-felt appreciation and gratitude, I wanted to give something back to Helen, and that’s how the song I Could Dance With You Forever (Helen’s Waltz) came into being—a slow waltz that she could dance to. In the few short years I have known her, she’s taken a few falls and recovered from some serious injuries. One step at a time in three-quarter time just felt right. When I wrote the song, I heard a beautiful fiddle part. My friend Missy McPheeters made that vision a reality. She’s one busy lady, but with the help of her husband who is also a dear friend and a whiz at the recording console, they adorned the song with their talent, love, and attention—a gift I will forever treasure.
I echo the words of many when I say that I hope I’m still dancing like Helen and Jesse when I am in my eighties. And
“When I go, take me dancing and smiling too.”
Listen to the song I Could Dance With You Forever (Helen’s Waltz)