I still don't have a good answer.
Sometimes I give a long answer…and I might end it with "aren't you sorry you asked?"
That's not to say that people aren't well meaning or willing to listen. (Usually they answer, "of course I'm not sorry I asked.")
Sometimes I don't give an answer beyond "I'm okay."
It just means that I don't always have an answer ready.
Or maybe I'm actually feeling okay…at that moment.
I don't know.
Today I went to my first yoga class since we moved back from Ronald McDonald House.
That's a long time.
I missed it. I missed the routine of spreading out my mat and taking that first deep cleansing breath. I missed the teacher pushing on my shoulders to deepen my downward-facing dog. I missed the shared feeling of a roomful of people trying really hard to not pay attention to anyone else.
A friend invited me to join her and I was so grateful to take her up on the offer.
Whoa, were there a lot of landmines in attending a yoga class.
I couldn't help but think of Sammy and his yoga experiences, which he loved, by the way.
Spreading out my mat…the last time I remember doing that was in the hospital.
The teacher happened to suggest that we poke our heads out like turtles…really? turtles?
And I couldn't help but hope that no one saw the tears running down my face when I smelled the scent of the china-gel on the teacher's hands. I could barely take that first deep cleansing breath. I could barely breathe at all. I could barely breathe for wishing that it was October again...
And then…near the end of class…the teacher explained that our breath should become slower. That we should lengthen the exhales…and suddenly I was transported to those last few minutes of Sammy's life. As his breathing slowed down and unconsciously I found myself matching my breaths to his, holding mine, waiting for the next inhale, praying that it would come….and then it was over.
The class was over too.
I wiped my tears (and sweat -- it was a "hot yoga" class!) and emerged back into the bright world…expecting to feel more fragile but instead feeling just a tiny bit stronger. I melted down (a few times, actually), yes. But I kept on going.
At one point during the class, Sheryl Crow's voice came through the speakers:
Everyday is a winding road
I get a little bit closer
Everyday is a faded sign
I get a little bit closer to feeling fine
It was another tearful moment for me. No kidding…every day is a winding road. I never know exactly what's going to make it or break it. And sometimes it's all just fine….sometimes it isn't. It ebbs and flows, like a yoga class.
This is hard.
Probably one of the hardest things I've ever had to do: find my way along this winding road.
I'm so grateful that I'm not alone.
|yoga on c.diff lockdown|
|Yoga with Danny|
|Sammy's favorite pre-bedtime activity in the hospital|