When your breath draws in

Traveling in a car with three others on our way to a salsa dance lesson. Days and lives recounted in short sweeps. Laughter falling out the windows. Our bodies anticipating the music and fun to be had. It was an easy night with hearts full of light.

The first jolt came as we drove by the area where my mom used to live. I didn’t know we would be passing this close. I felt a mild mind-anxiousness as old thoughts sought to visit …. there was no space in this car of joy. The thoughts flew around like butterflies seeking their mate, and were gone.

We pulled up at the community hall. I turned to the building opposite. My breath drew in. My heart jolted. The sign was bold: The Tauranga Society of Artists. My thoughts were rolling around, but I was unable to capture any of them. Only momentary flashes of color and frames. Me, gliding through exhibits. My mom’s smile. Twenty years ago. But still vibrant now. As alive as when she expanded the Society into a new era. Plainly, she put a cultural bomb under the suburban still life and burst the artists from those walls, internally and externally.

It was time for our dance class. The music drew me into my body, into the presence of now.

Later that night after the salsa exuberance had quietened, I cried.

“I miss you, Ma.”

It has been 16 years since my mom made her onward journey, and yet, unexpected moments like this still remind of the physical absence. Even though we have communication through the spiritual ethers, and I know she is with me, there is something so sacredly precious about skin and bone and blood.

May we honor tender, unexpected moments of loss, wherever and whenever they visit.

I invite you into a simple and soothing meditation for anyone or anything you may be grieving for at this time. See here: https://meghandon.substack.com/p/when-your-breath-draws-in