Danse Macabre

Our bedroom window faces to the backyard on a very quiet street. By 4:30 in the morning in spring and summer the birds start singing cheerfully. Ours is a very peaceful garden, full of flowers, birds and bees. You can hear the slightest breeze, as it stirs the Buddhist style chimes. Late at night too, it is so quiet , you can hear the stars sigh. That silence is precious to me, in the wake of recovering from the destruction of my family. The death of both my younger sisters, of both my parents, the loss of my only brother, and no support or empathy from my in-laws. When sorrow takes over my heart, the silence becomes a weight on my chest, suffocating my spirit. I finally got some relief from those deafening moments of grief-stricken silence this weekend, when I looked outside my bedroom window, and music started to play in my head, opening up space and relief in my aching heart. The hypnotic violins of Camille Saint-Saens 1875 "Danse Macabre" started its music in my head. The famous piece of music celebrating a night of dance and merriment by the dead on Halloween, leaving their graves for one night, started playing its fantasy, and my heart's eye saw my two sisters dancing together in white, sweeping gowns, escaping their eternal sleep as they swirled around on the grass of my lawn in the pale moonlight. My father never enjoyed dancing much, but here he was, swaying slowly, dressed in a warm light brown sweater, his eyes far away in a place only he could see. My mother was fully made up, glittering in jewelry and a taffeta black gown, cooing to herself as she swirled in big circles, laughing. I watched mesmerized, as the music gained crescendo, and noticed a faint smile and contented sigh come to my face. They twirled in synchronicity now, and I started humming quietly. The music swelled to full orchestra. Then, a warning form the violin and a last frenetic swirl from the dead dancers, and they fled, and all fell silent, leaving me with the moon and swallowed tears. But now the music is here, amid the silence of the dead, and the scent of cemetery in those grieving moments is fading, finally. Eight years after the height of the trauma, mercy and prayer have found a way and the silence now is filled with music. I let out a deep, relaxed breath. Peace has finally come to my garden. Sleep, Ludwina. Sleep, Goedele. Sleep, mother. Sleep, Papa. I'll be here when you want to dance again.