by Joyce Peirce, co-founder of Gentle Yogis
In some cultures and religions, the end of October and the beginning of November are traditionally a time for remembering. Allhallowtide encompasses Halloween, All Saints’ Day, and All Souls’ Day, with the latter traditionally set aside to remember those who have died.
That idea of remembering has been very present for me lately. I’ve been thinking about people who have shaped my life—and about how, even though they’re no longer with me, they continue to be part of it.
In October, I was immersed in planning and producing a celebration of life for our dear longtime friend, Louisa.
Putting together a celebration of life or memorial is a big undertaking. For me, the tasks included reaching out to invite everyone who knew Louisa, writing a humorous and touching eulogy, collecting tributes, culling through, digitizing, and organizing hundreds of photographs into a slideshow format, choosing music, planning the decor (Halloween was important to Louisa), delegating reception set-up (to Rudy!), and connecting with people who had various support roles, including live music. Whew! But underneath all of that, it was an opportunity for me to focus on remembering Louisa and connecting with people who loved her. The celebration itself was an opportunity to laugh about the things that made her so wonderfully, outrageously herself, and to be reminded of how much one person can mean to so many people.
Giving the eulogy was a real challenge. There was a moment when I wasn’t sure I could keep going. I had to stop, take several breaths, become aware of my feet on the floor, and take the time I needed so as not to just collapse into the loss. I also called upon Louisa’s spirit to be with me. I wasn’t concerned about what those waiting for me to continue might be experiencing. I realized afterward that the capacity I had to ground my energy by supporting myself rather than just feeling pressure to do a good job is something yoga has taught me. I have become even more adept at this as a result of the past few years of doing therapeutic work. The practice is to “be with” instead of pushing away or transcending—feeling what I’m feeling, breathing, and staying present for whatever is happening in the moment. Being able to find that support within myself when difficult moments arise is a blessing.
Then this past week, I was away visiting a friend, Forrest, age 32, who is the son of a dear friend who died a dozen years ago. I was thinking about how relationships evolve in ways we don’t always expect. I would not be as close to Forrest if his mom had lived. Certainly, I would be more than willing to give up my friendship with Forrest if he could have his mom back, but it doesn’t work that way. So, I cherish this unique relationship with a wonderful young man and the privilege of watching him grow and change over the years. He hugs just like she did, with her unique little finger scritching on my shoulder. He shares openly with me about the challenges in his life and I get to remind him of how proud she would be of him.
I carry people with me in my memories and the stories, but I also see pieces of them in the people they loved. Sometimes I also notice that something I say or do is coming from that connection to someone who has gone from this earthly plane. I say the words “maybe so” with an inflection that sounds just like my mom. I turn to walk the other way and my arms swing in a particular way that feels like my dad. I say something in a way that actually sounds more like my sister than me.
These big and little experiences make me feel very grateful— for the people who are here now, and for all the people who have been part of my life.
One of the songs I selected for my friend’s life review slideshow is Jon Batiste’s Butterfly. To me, the song is a beautiful tribute to resilience, healing, letting go, and allowing for change. I’ve been really aware lately of how much of life is about change. I have a reminder on a wall in our home that has been there for 20 years. I had written on a ripped piece of paper, “No change” and taped it to the transition wall between two rooms to tell our friend who was doing interior painting not to add color to that section. He wrote back on that note, “Sorry. Everything changes.” I have no plans to ever take that note down.
People come into our lives. Circumstances change. People die. We change. But through all of it, there are threads that remain.
I am grateful for the path of yoga that I embarked on so many years ago. And that I married a gentle yogi who is also dedicated to growing and learning to be present for all of life. Being present and making room for this moment starts with noticing. I notice my breathing. I notice what’s happening in my body. I notice the sensations of emotion. I feel. I allow. I keep practicing as best I can, especially when the winds of change bring emotional challenges. And as Rudy reminds me and all his students, “We are all entitled to be in development with anything, anywhere, anytime, forever.”