We always ring in the New Year with a dance party. Only… It isn’t REALLY ringing in the New Year, because we only pretend that it’s midnight. Because we are old, and we are crotchety, and we would rather do it at 8:45… and we are the grown ups at this party, so we will do it how we darned well please. There is J.T. There is Stevie Wonder. There is Michael Jackson. Chris and I perform a duet to Prince’s Kiss that would bring the house down, if the house had any taste or sense. But alas, the house has neither taste nor sense. So instead, the house hides under the kitchen table plugging their ears in mortification. We dance. We shout out our requests. We try to copy Harry’s complicated moves. Then about six songs in, it comes. The wave comes. I can feel it creeping in quietly around my edges. Seeping into my cracks that have become wider and more pliant with the music and the laughter. I look around, and you are all there. All five of you, moving to the music together. Laughing. Singing. Eyes closed. Wild, and completely free in this moment. And you are beautiful. Dear, God. You’re all just so beautiful. It’s the kind joy that leaves me bleeding. That cuts me into pieces. The kind of joy that whispers to me to take off my shoes and fully feel the floor beneath me, the kind of joy that tells me I am standing on holy ground. I blink fast to try and keep my tears in, this is not a crying type of Stevie Wonder song. But I can’t help it. So I scoop you up and hold you tight. I squeeze you to me, cheek to cheek. I close my eyes, and let the joy flood in. Let it seep into all my holes and cracks. And we dance..jpg)