Growing Versions

In an effort to start feeling better after a long protracted slog of coping with a slew of little annoying yet draining health stuff that is mostly a residue of neglecting my physical needs for the last long  while, I joined a "pelvic floor exercise class". This class is a lot harder than it sounds, and yet also incredibly effective given that it is essentially a learning "how to breathe" class. As I breathed deep into my pelvic floor (or whatever !!) I inevitably had an emotional response during the second class. My mom died only 3 months ago.  Before that she was very much alive---fully present, even though she lived with discomfort or bothersome side effects. Despite her vitality (or maybe because of it?) , she was very stoic and put up with a lot of nonsense before she died.   We updated each other at least twice a day about things going on in our worlds.  We exchanged tidbits on a continuous basis...what the kids were up to, what they made for a community m...

 She sat in her chair in the living room.  It was the right structure so that she felt supported and aligned. The vantage point from her chair was and still is ever changing. Through the picture window the flowers budded, the leaves fell and snow drifted, day in and day out.  In the evenings she would watch Jamie Oliver and Great British/Canadian Baking Show with my dad, in the mornings, she would have a coffee and make a plan for the day.  It was the place she returned to time and time again throughout the day , for a rest, for a phone conversation, to read. Through the months of her illness, she continued to recruit volunteers, write letters about causes she cared about, write notes to friends, check Facebook and plan meals to try from that spot.  She and dad did a lot of adventerous cooking during that period and still brought food to share with neighbours who were going through something or needing extra help. As her illness weakened her , gradually her worl...