Powering Through

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My stepmom says she’s reading on my blog that I’m just “powering through” my grief. I resist screaming, what the fuck are you talking about?! Do you mean crawling on my hands and knees, reaching for God with every stretch, breathing, just breathing?

Yes, I’m powering through by praying and wailing and landing on the floor in child’s pose. I’m walking in the woods and howling excruciating sounds like all the grief in the world has been born in my belly and released like a battle cry on behalf of all women who’ve loved. In the woods, I’m a wailing widow at an Italian funeral.

No, I’m not “powering through.” I’m being led. I’m being carried. There’s a team of angels.

Then, there’s yoga. The last time I was with Kevin we had an exciting talk about my yoga plans. Now, my plan is to get my ass to yoga as often as I can. I know this grief could destroy my body and give my mental powers over to Sissy the Cynic. My spirit is dying to be born into this moment.

Mostly, I go to yoga so I can be with people without talking to them. Even more, I go because someone tells me what to do. Normally, I despise being told what to do—and react by doing the opposite.

Normal’s in the rearview mirror, along with the most extraordinary man I ever had. Yeah, I had him and he had me. We got each other. I never enjoyed anyone’s touch, style, words, or company as much as I did this man. Spending 24/7 with Kevin was easy.

He’d tell you I don’t like a lot of people. I try to be big and spiritual, but I’ve also read Many Lives, Many Masters, so sometimes I assume if I don’t like someone, it’s probably a past life issue.

Anyhow, I liked Kevin. I liked him in the way you like your best friend in elementary school. I liked him in the way a woman likes the presence of a man because he can make her feel safe, loved and on Fire! We enjoyed hanging out, traveling, talking, and making love. He knew how to love me. He didn’t give me a break on my bullshit, but he didn’t try to destroy me over my weaknesses. We came so far in such a short time.

Now, for an hour each day, someone tells me what to do and I try. I’m in the fight. I’m still living life. I’m breathing. I’m powering through.

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