Holding Her Tightly In the Moment of Pain
Grasping my breath as it slips though my throat and onto my tongue. How different does my breath feel moving through my body in a moment like this? The rhythm and the vibrations feel so connected and so deep, I think to myself, “Have I always felt my breath in this way?”. I’m not even sure what it felt like before, I can’t remember that long ago…all the way to last week when the floor disappeared from my feet, when my body fell to the floor like an empty bag of bones over and over again. Make it stop! Why does my heart feel like this? My chest is in pain. I want to return to the me I was before I opened my email, the one that could breathe without feeling the pressure of an elephant on her chest. I want to hold her and tell her she will be ok. I want to regain my strength and return to her so she knows she will be all right, she is safe. I need her to know she is not gone. She is still here and she will be able to breathe again, just hold on.
Previously feeling so grounded and so in tuned with myself and the space I was in, then like a finger flicking a tiny bug, I was tumbling and falling. I will regain my sense of self and I will prepare myself for whatever is before me. I will continue to work and overcome each challenge that is kindly placed before me. It’s the way of remaining patient with the process maybe? I continue to find these beautiful moments of awareness and connection, hearing over and over again “there are no coincidences and each thing is a stepping stone to the next.
She so desperately needs to remain with herself, consoling herself and allowing herself the space she needs to take the next step - no matter how big or small the step. In these moments I am reminded that if I am remaining present in each moment I can feel my breath clearly each time - in and out. I am still here. I will not leave myself or this knowing. If I can meet her in this moment of pain and surrender, I can offer her the strength to take her next breath, then maybe another step. I feel the heaviness of everyones response and the desperate pleads for the information to not be what the doctor thinks. I find comfort in knowing that people have absolutely made it with less than I have know, and I have so much. I can fly with broken wings, I know I can. I know I will.