I never saw my mother dance. I can’t think of a single time. Dancing does not remind me of my mother. Were I to get married, were she still alive, we might not have done this part, the mother-son dance. Or maybe we would have fumbled through it, my mother laughing, looking at her feet, watching them shuffle in ways I had never seen. I can’t know the answer to this question, Would my mother have danced with me at my wedding? And this, the certainty that I would never find out, that there would be nothing new between my mother and me, descended while I watched Andrew dance with his mother, a new
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