Prana Flow Yoga

December 30^th one year ago…This morning I awoke in my own bed, in my own house.  I felt surrounded by warmth.  The blankets wrapped themselves around me as if to secure me from the heartbreak I was feeling.  The blankets served as my force field to the sadness that I did not want to feel.  And just like a normal Colorado morning, the sun pierced through the window lighting my face.  This morning though it was if God was screaming at me, saying “you cannot hide from this.  Get up already and go to your father’s house.”  And so I did.

My sister and brother were awake when I arrived at my father’s house.  Ironically, they looked more like death that morning that my dying father did.  Apparently, they had been taking shifts through the night like watchmen waiting for death to arrive.  At that moment, I wondered if death had arrived last night, would they have greeted death with a kind hand shake escorting him in or would they have began casting a pair of concrete shoes and ask death to simply wait on the porch?  I did not have to wait too long for my answer, as my brother said, “we have a plan.”  What?  Did dad get up in the middle of the night and tell my brother and sister what to do?  Why were they so lucky to hear that plan, while I spent the past five days agonizing about a stinking plan?  Regardless, I guess I was mildly excited that something was in the works.

The plan: set up camp, take shifts, and in true Bob-style we party until death comes knocking.  We ordered pizza, played some of my father’s favorite music, watched some of his favorite TV shows, and laughed and laughed as my father participated with us during some few and far between conscious waking moments.  I wondered in awe how long this could go on.  Actually, I never wanted this to end.  A whole world of truth opened before us.  It was as if the four of us were living some alternate reality.  Suddenly life outside my father’s living room did not matter.  The nurses came and went; the parishioner issuing last rights came and went; and the social worker came and went.  Looking back, all of those bystanders, family outsiders, must have thought us so disrespectful.  As my father lie in bed, his children dance and celebrate around him.  We must have looked like a bunch of loons!  Nothing and no one seemed to be able to disrupt our eternal party, except one woman – Mariah, my father’s best friend.

Mariah arrived that evening, just as she had the past few evenings since my father became bed-ridden, to find a very different situation from the last few nights.  We were happy; my brother, my sister, and I were laughing and smiling, even my father seemed to be smiling in his unconscious state.  Mariah froze.  We froze.  The first thought through my head was “oh no, she is going to freak out – angry!”  But what came out of her mouth was completely unexpected.  “I can feel the joy in this room.  What a fantastic idea!  Your father would be proud,” Mariah said as she threw her jacket off and asked to sit with my father before she sat down to dinner with us.  However, it was not until after dinner when things in my father’s house took an unexpected change.  Mariah’s presence reminded us of one thing – balance.

As Mariah began to sage my father’s room and light candles, my brother, my sister, and I became suddenly aware of the need to create this meditative space.  At the time and for us this was impossible, but for Mariah this was her role.  She was exactly what my father needed at the end of his fun-filled joyous day – a meditative presence.  And so Mariah showed us how to comfort the dying.  She showed us how to be present and open our hearts in a more reflective and quiet manner.  Wow! and how powerful this was.  Suddenly words did not need to be said; instead we felt and felt completely with our hearts open to the feelings never felt and the things never said.  And so today ended, and tomorrow (December 31^st) began in a very similar manner to this: we partied and we meditated.

It was not until January 1^st that my life, my siblings life, and all those lives my father had ever encountered would be changed forever…

This day, December 28^th, one year ago was a very different day.  It went something similar to this…

“Hi, it’s me.  Yes, you need to come, come now.  I know there was a blizzard in Philadelphia, but you need to get on a plane and come here now.  Try to get a flight.  We can figure out the cost later, right now he needs you.  I need you.  There is not much time.”  I then held the phone up to my father’s ear, and quietly listened as he said to my sister, “Come and come quickly.  I will not make it through the night.  I love you, and all of my kids, very, very much, but tonight my soul is ready to move on…”  My sister was then in tears for the first time since my dad’s illness was revealed to us, and I, well, I was beside myself.  Was I really ready to handle all my father’s preparations for his passing on from our world to the next by myself?

It was a long night, but the morning of December 29^th finally arrived.  It was frigid outside, but the sun pierced through the windows.  As the sun began to warm my father’s living room, I awoke with a heavy head to find that my father had made it, not so eloquently, through the night.   Meanwhile, my sister, and to my delight, my brother were more than halfway to Colorado already.  Quite literally my sister and one of my brothers would be arriving into Colorado this evening using all means of transportation necessary: plane, train, and automobile.  I cannot even imagine the organized chaos that occurred during their trip from Philadelphia to Boulder.  While my sister and brother were finding their way out to Colorado, I was trying to physically, mentally, and emotionally prepare my father for his upcoming trip.  This day was exhausting.  As nurses and hospice professionals trudged in and out of my father’s small living space, I was needed to decide care options, and other arrangements for my father. The delight of my day was sharing those intimate conversations with my father.  Those types of conversations that most people hold in their heart, and never dare to speak, but my father and I knew that all needed to be revealed.  Even amongst these moments of sheer translucent joy, I could not wait to see my sister and brother.  I wanted, no needed, them to be with me for so many reasons.

Therefore, I felt a wave of relief when my husband escorted my sister and brother through my father’s door.  The thin door slammed shut and the sound of its slam, for the first time, was the most comforting sound.  It even woke up hope that was fast asleep in the corner since last night.  I knew it would take all three of us to help my dad’s spirit ready and prepare for its departure to the next world.  I could not do this alone, and I know my father would not have wanted me to take on such a task alone.  With my sibling’s arrival, and as if by some unknown awareness, we suddenly assumed our role for preparation of my father’s passing.  We assumed these roles, as easily as it was to assume our birth order within the household.  It was as if our innate beings knew this time would come; we had lived it before, and were ready, willing, and knew what would exactly unfold over the next few days, or so we thought…