The Crying Pigeon

I started doing yoga.  I'm ashamed to say that I have not exercised in about 5 years, unless you count competitive sneezing.  I used to be a workout junkie.  Now it's nearly impossible to find the time.  So I'm starting slowly.  I take a yoga class once a week.  I know it's hardly enough but this is my meager attempt to “get my groove back”, so to speak. 

Last Friday, we ended the yoga class in a pigeon pose, which is a hip opener.  It can hurt like hell if you do it right.  As I leaned forward toward my bent knee my thoughts were pulled toward Niko by gravitational force. 

I do admit that I usually think of Niko during yoga.  But those thoughts are voluntary and usually involve visions of Niko doing the yoga poses with me, and it takes every effort of control not to burst out laughing.  I often picture Niko doing the downward dog or the warrior two pose with her usual “what the fuck” look on her face.  I picture her standing (yes, standing!) and moving through her lunges and straightening her little arms until they are completely stretched to the maximum distance from her trunk (still barely reaching the top of her head).  I picture her doing headstands and back bends, with her big head getting in the way of every posture.      

But the thoughts that flowed from the pigeon pose last Friday were involuntary.  I didn’t think of anything in particular, just her face.  I saw the look of concern that sometimes appears on her face, marked by a sideways tugging of her mouth.  I saw her glowing round cheeks, beaming red due to her natural tendency to run hot.  I saw her little square shaped hands rubbing her crusty eyes.  And suddenly a huge ball of emotions welled up in my chest.  It was so strong that I no longer felt the stinging pain in my hips.  I just felt my chest about to burst.  Then my thoughts drifted to Gabrielle and her cute new glasses.  And I started sobbing…. in class… on a slippery yoga mat.  I tried to masquerade the sobs as coughs.  We switched legs in the pose, and I appeared to be having a coughing fit.  The tears just poured from my face.  I was trying to regain control, taking deep breaths and fake coughing, but to no avail.  I was slipping on my wet mat.  I was a ridiculous situation.

Sometimes I feel silly keeping up this blog.  But then I think of Gabby’s parents.  I think about the blog to which they poured their hearts into and what a beautiful and honest chronicle of Gabrielle’s life they have now.  And I think wherever she is now… she can walk and jump and skip and hop and run and do cartwheels.  And she can read, with or without her cute pink glasses.  And she can now read that blog and understand exactly how much she is loved.

And I think about the scary future.  I think about the leaky bucket that is my long-term memory.  I do not want any memories of Niko to slip through the cracks.  And I realize that I, too, have an honest and personal chronicle of Niko.  Gabby was a game changer.  She has inspired me to look at life in a more realistic way and to appreciate the moments.  I can’t pretend that I can avoid Niko's death by not thinking about it.  It’s inevitable.  And that is why I find such everyday-moments so extremely precious.       

… like Niko exploring a new toy

 … or the way her head droops when she gets tired

 

… or rolling onto her elbows.