I had a rough night last night, struggling to breathe for several hours, so I’ve cancelled facilitating two team sessions today, and I’ve gone back to bed.

I’m not surprised I’ve had a serious flare with asthma following COVID, but for more reasons than one. Our lungs hold our grief.

February is a challenging month for me. My Mama died five years ago on February 15th and the 26th is her birthday, so I am cycling back around the spiral of grief, in an ever-widening gyre.

For me, that is how grief works. We touch into it when our soul calls us to do the work of letting go to enable the fruits of letting come, and that is what transforms us.

I wrote this poem for my Mama this morning.

Five Years

You sweep through my lungs,
an apparition-
Memories growing opague.
The bond of love we shared
when you were here,
knotty, yet strong,
adheres though the veil,
drawing you into
my aura,
anchoring you
in my heart.

Some days,
five years feels like
five minutes.
And others,
fifty years.

As I struggle for breath,
your gentle voice
sings from the ethers-
Comforting me,
reminding me
you’re never far away.

Questioning then,
who I would be
in a future
without you.

Caretaking you
to caretaking me.

Who would I become?

Wondering how your departure
released me
to be my true self
in the shadow
of your afterlife?

Needing to rest
in the silence
as I catch my breath.

Still yearning
To touch your hand.

—

For my Mama
Mary Ruth Bond
2/13/23