While in yoga school this past week, our teacher Noah decided to have a “Yogis Got Talent” evening. It was not mandatory to participate, but I really wanted to prove to my school mates that I did something besides yoga all day long (not to mention to remind myself of that fact). So I decided to write a poem, or a short reading, sharing with them all that has happened this summer. I have always enjoyed writing, and it was always a skill that my father encouraged me to develop.
I hope you all enjoy. And I really hope that next summer is a little calmer.
Uncertainty. Turmoil. Death. Change. Excitement.
That just about sums it up. Oh, and 100 other various emotions that run the gambit from darkness to light. The full spectrum practice that is life.
Yoga school in June. I go to LA. 22 asana classes, 60 minutes in length (or more) in 6 days. It is physically, mentally, emotionally and energetically exhausting.
I survive. I go back to Seattle.
That’s when I find out how sick my Dad really is.
I get home to my apartment. I get a text from my brother. He tells me to call him. Dad’s in the hospital. It isn’t good. Call your mother.
I call my mother. Dad is not well. As a matter of fact, his cancer is not going away. He’s not going to get better.
Eric and I go to Michigan. It’s a long trip.
We arrive at the hospital. That’s not my Dad in that bed. He’s a shell of the vibrant man he was. Thin. Frail. Dying.
But he knows we are there. For him. To support him and give him all the love we have.
We move Dad to Hospice. He lives another 36 hours. We are with him, in that small room, as he takes his last breaths. As he transitions to the next world. Where I know that I will see him again.
We spend another week in Michigan. There’s a lot to be done. Cleaning. Organizing. Figuring out all the important stuff.
We have a memorial. The church is packed. It’s not easy to say goodbye. But we have a lifetime of good memories. For 37 years, I had the best Dad any girl could have asked for.
We go back to Seattle.
We go to Chicago. I teach my first weekend retreat. It’s small. I teach the shit out of some poses (as Noah likes to say). Everyone loves it.
We see our friends. It’s hard to leave a place that feels so much like home. To leave the people who I love, who love me and get me. Bad jokes and all.
We go back to Seattle. Again.
We go to Santa Cruz. We celebrate the marriage of two wonderful, special friends. It’s beautiful.
We go home.
We start to look for a house. A home. A home that will be our own home. A place we can put down some roots. A place where one day, we can start a family of our own.
We find a house in West Seattle. Three bedrooms, 2 baths, chicken coop and all. We put in an offer. They accept. We are buying a house.
I go to LA. Yoga school is back in session.
And so the practice of life goes on.