The 25th anniversary was noted, but since I was traveling, the day passed without too much thinking about the relevance of it. My sister and I visited his grave the next day, something I rarely do. His birthday will come again this Friday, and my 68th birthday in August. You can bet I’m thinking about how short his life really was, as I enter the same year that took him away.
Today I cried early on, and then did my best to let it go. Later, my sister Margie texted me her sadness at the moment I was reading the above Facebook comment my friend Kara had reposted. I told Margie I was feeling similar sadness, and perhaps it is the rain and lack of sun that was adding to it for me. I sent her the post, and she loved it as much as I did.
I was glad to have the Sunday yoga and meditation class to rest my mind and body into, and was happy that my favorite teacher, Linda, would be doing the class today. The thing is, Linda forgot the key to the studio at home and so we decided to have a short class outside, right there in the outdoor hallway next to a fountain and under a canopy. The rain had stopped, but it was still overcast and there was a cool breeze, a real blessing in our area in June.
Linda had brought her crystal bowls, and so after some movement we settled into a crystal bowl meditation. The rain began again, pitter-patting on the canopy above us, adding to the ethereal crystal vibrations and the bird sounds and the water fall of the fountain. It was then I remembered the post. I looked at the moment and realized that my father was here. Hadn’t I been the one silently asking for rain all week to cool things down? It was an answered prayer.
I looked further, and could see him in the yoga and the bowls and the cool breeze. It had all come together in an unusual and spectacular way. Once I looked, really looked into the moment, I could see he is everywhere I am.
And I knew despite the way it sometimes appears, nothing has ever been lost.
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