step to the front of your mat.

step into the fire.

two simple sentences. and i had lost it. completely.

bawling for the loss

bawling with an exhale.

mourning.

mourning wave checks

mourning soccer games

mourning sailing races

mounring my wingman

In a room full of seemingly strangers, who surely noticed my shaking as I was standing at the front of my mat, as tall as I could at that moment. still i cried.

It didn’t last long, but it was real. real deep, real sharp and real empty – and then it moved through me. like a wave in the ocean or the wind in the sky.

Suddenly, I feel like can climb out from under the rock, where I’ve been sheltered, not so patiently waiting for the exhale, like we survived the first year without him, like suddenly things might be allowed to be easier, because he would want no other way. Maximum joy. How can this day get even better? It’s how his mind worked these past few years.

Summer days even better looked like a nap or a surf or an iced cold corona. Summer nights it meant listening to music in the kitchen or staying out all night, or eating clams. Whatever it was these last few years, it was joyful, always joyful. God bless him.

It’s a privilege to see someone you love to the other side. a very sacred privilege, one that tests every thing you’ve ever learned in church, or wherever it is you go to pray.

It is sacred, and the most difficult thing you will ever have to experience with your children, I promise you that.

These last few days have been sacred. They’ve been insulated, by those closest to us, at our bold request – and we were grateful for the space. We really needed the space, especially on the 4th. Gloriously, God delivered us a morning filled with “Dave Matthews Rain”, champagne pops and quiet in the streets. We napped, we got to all that unpacking, we swept the floors and we napped again. Exactly what we would’ve done on any rainy fourth of july in the tiny house by the seaside.

Thank you all for your warm wishes and thoughts. Social media didn’t seem integretous that day, neither did my phone. All that felt right was space on that rainy afternoon. Come sunset, we were met by clearing skies and the annual gathering of neighbors. We broke bread with our favorite beach families and ended our day quietly as we began. And now we get to exhale.  And go to yoga, where my head stays still enough to grasp the words.

And that’s all it took today, two sentences, to unlock the door, to set me free.

Thats the beauty of my yoga practice. It gives me space for grief, it gives me time to heal, it gives me clarity and sweat, forgiveness and accountability. It straightens my muscles for adversity and reminds me to breathe, just breathe. My practice is my prayer, my offering. My BIG HUGE beg of God to keep things moving right along, right here on the safe side of our edge – just a little bit comfortable. My practice is my magic, it moves me through the mud.  It’s so good to be back.

Wishing you wonderfully long even better summer days with the people you love.

xx

NDGS