At yesterday's "soft yoga" class one of our regular yogis graced us with her presence. I don't know her name, but I adore her spirit. A year or so ago I remember mentioning to her that it was good to see her again, that it had been a while, and she replied that she had just lost her daughter. I noticed then a necklace with a pendant bearing her daughter's name, and I realized that I had recently read an obituary in the newspaper for a 3-year-old girl with that name. I told her how sorry I was, and she warmly replied that it was OK, she (her daughter) had fought hard.
Every time she comes to my class with her shy smile and vibrant red hair, every time I lay my hands on her as she lies in Savasana, I can't help thinking that I am touching a mother whose child has died. I want so much to be able to offer some comfort, yet she never shows any type of sorrow, at least not at yoga.
At the end of last night's class, she approached me to say that she is a member of a child cancer organization, and she thought that perhaps the kind of class I taught last night could be something for the other parents in her group. Without hesitation I said, "I'll be there." If all goes as planned, it will be in Skåne, probably in September.
I don't think I have ever felt so humble as I did when I received this request. As a mother of two, these parents have been subjected my absolute greatest fear. The strength they must possess in order to carry on astounds me. The wisdom of life's true value, which they must have attained through their suffering, cannot be fathomed.
This summer I plan on preparing myself by trying to teach with compassion and without pity, as I feel that pity is a non-productive emotion. I so want to be able to offer something, give something, anything, in order to help, even if it's just a tiny, little bit, in the healing process. In return I hope to learn something about cherishing that which I have, my treasures that I all too often take for granted.
framgooglad bild
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