I went to my yoga class today. It was fun, and uplifting, an all-things-good.
Up until the savasana segment, where one lies for ~ 3-5 minutes, reflecting. I don't know how or why, but the backyard of my childhood home came into my mind. My Dad's rose bushes. The wisteria on the back fence. The three Slash Pines, a Father's Day gift from me to him, some thirty years ago. They are sky-high and fabulous. In my yoga mind's eye, I still see an outdoor sculpture that my Dad made many years ago. It was not a popular work of art, and I don't know where it is, now, a year after Dad passed.
I see Gene Beck's cats - our neighbor who harbors cats, much to my Dad's consternation. (And this is another post for another day.)
Lying on my back, I felt tears rolling off the sides of my forehead. I took my t-shirt and wiped the corners of my eyes.
This note is just to acknowledge that one's loss is not over in a month, or in a year.