Early yesterday morning, my Father made his transition from this world. It was a peaceful finish to a long and beautiful life. The past couple of weeks, knowing that he was ready to let go soon, but still hanging on, I sat by his bedside as much as I could. Trying to communicate that we are all accepting of his departure I would sit and focus my thoughts... "I will carry your love in my heart."
1 comment:
Patti,
Thank you for sharing this exquisitely personal experience with us.
Yesterday I attended a yoga class. An Irishman suffering from MS and his wife were there. We mused that if the Catholic Church let you do yoga during mass, then the three of us (now and then) would probably attend mass. The teacher on Sunday evenings is a young woman in her late twenties. She’s certainly not the most experienced teacher at this studio. But like you she is an artist and a teacher. She brings an element of reverence combined with confidence and grace to her class that surprised me the first time I experienced it, only because she’s so young. She ended the class by striking a soft, high-pitched bell while we were in Savasana (corpse pose). As we lay there (before asking us to begin moving our fingers, toes, legs and arms), she read a poem by Mary Oliver. I can’t recall the name of the poem, but there were blossoms on a tree from which bees would sip honey and then dance with such delight. Mary Oliver opened a flower; and she smelled it, tasted it, and identified each of its components and its seeds. Eventually a blossom falls to the ground. I thought of death. Since I’d been thinking of your father and your family the past couple days, I thought of him then. But in the poem it didn’t seem like the end, nor did the blossom go to waste.
patrick
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