Grief, Yoga and Irish Wakes, Part 2

Going to a yoga class after Anne Mullaney's wake reminded me that I had done so the day of my mother's funeral in 2009.  This is the reflection I wrote:

My M(OM)

Since beginning a yoga practice over a year ago, I stand taller, breathe more consciously, and have gained in strength, balance and flexibility.  Then in June 2009, my mom died and yoga gave me something much more – a place and a way to grieve.     

Dementia had invaded her mind.  When she spoke it was as if the keyboard that spelled out words in her head had shifted, and out of her mouth came unintelligible syllables in a language only she understood.  She also had diabetes, osteoporosis and arthritis and was confined to bed.   She could barely move. 

My brother and I were with her when she died, in the nursing home where she spent the last 17 months of her life.  I got a call at work that her condition had deteriorated, and within five minutes of arriving, she died.  My brother Frank and I touched her forehead, told her we loved her and kissed her.  She took several labored breaths and then …stopped.

My rote response, when someone would express their sympathy or support, was:  “That’s OK, my mom was sick for a long time”.   Or, “I said my goodbyes to my mom years ago”.   Tears did not come easily because frankly, I was relieved that her suffering was over.

On the day of my mom’s funeral, after everyone went their separate ways, I took a yoga class.  I could not think of any other constructive way to cope or anything I would rather do.  A pregnant woman, apparently taking her first class, was two mats away.  Kris, the instructor, was particularly solicitous in adjusting her postures and assured her that they could be different after the baby was born.  Something about my awareness of her full body and impending motherhood and the intensity of the day’s events became overwhelming. 

During final relaxation, tears trickled from the corners of my eyes and fell to the mat.   

I got into yoga to benefit my health.  At first it was primarily an interest in my physical health.  Then it became more about mental and spiritual health.  One of the more disconcerting (to me, anyway) aspects of yoga that is part of some classes is chanting ‘Om’; it feels too Hindu or Buddhist for my Catholic sensibilities.   

I don’t usually chant.  But that day, at the end of class, I did, three times…“Mom…Mom…Mom”.