On one level, I must have known that something was coming. Something significant…and uncomfortable. With about 30 minutes left of class, I felt my body become restless and my mind impatient. I began wondering when class would be over. WHEN? my body demanded, WHEN!
It had been a great class. We worked the spine: strength, flexibility, energy, and light. I gave myself permission to let my body move freely — be it stiff or sensual. For that was the bodywork of the night.
But when the lights went out and the room went quiet (with the exception of the instructor and slow, steady breathing) the meditative focus changed.
Lying on our backs in Savasana (also known as corpse pose), we were guided in a meditation of preparing to…DIE. Let go, he said. Let go of the worldly possessions which you cannot take with you. Let go of your house, your car. Say good-bye to your family….
Well that was it for me. For as I heard the words, I could see myself preparing to die just a little too clearly. Lying in that hospital bed, inside my family room, I felt both the emotion of caretaker and the dying. I saw the faces of my children, saw their tears, and felt them holding my hands. I could not say good-bye.
The whole of me said NO! And instead of relaxing, I fought the images — which came rapidly.
Instead of Tom dying, it was me. I saw myself in his place and watched the events occur in reverse. My mind and body screamed NO! as I watched me (rather than him) taking that last breath…with the final tear rolling down my cheek instead.
Trying to focus on breathing (because that’s what the living do — breathe), I held on until finally, the meditation was ending. At this point, we were told to picture something gratifying — something that made us happy to be alive. This was when I thought about how lucky I was to be the one to live. Yes, with all the pain I’ve gone through, I was indeed the lucky one.
And I held tight to that thought until I was home safely, hugging my youngest, and telling him how much I loved him.