This is not a "tango book," but a story of survival that cuts across death, cancer, Alzheimer's, loss of home and homeland and cherished heirlooms and possessions, loss of shared histories, of hope for one's children, of hope for the future, of love. But it's also about finding love and unexpected joy. And about listening to the music and dancing. I started writing this story at the time it began--in February of 1992, when I was so depressed after my husband's death I wanted to swallow all of his left-over meds and follow him into the beyond. So what began in a way as a journal or diary became the chronicle of my road to survival in four countries. And once I made that decision to live no matter what tragedy came my way, I plugged on, through one tremendous loss after another, by dancing. No, not yet had the tango found me, but whatever dance there was at the time came to my rescue. I had always been a dancer, and now I knew dance could save me from despair.
This is not a "tango book," but a story of survival that cuts across death, cancer, Alzheimer's, loss of home and homeland and cherished heirlooms and possessions, loss of shared histories, of hope for one's children, of hope for the future, of love. But it's also about finding love and unexpected joy. And about listening to the music and dancing. I started writing this story at the time it began--in February of 1992, when I was so depressed after my husband's death I wanted to swallow all of his left-over meds and follow him into the beyond. So what began in a way as a journal or diary became the chronicle of my road to survival in four countries. And once I made that decision to live no matter what tragedy came my way, I plugged on, through one tremendous loss after another, by dancing. No, not yet had the tango found me, but whatever dance there was at the time came to my rescue. I had always been a dancer, and now I knew dance could save me from despair.