I’d like for you to meet my mom.

But the truth is that she is no longer here with us in the physical form. If she was, she would greet you with the sincerest and strongest embrace. If she was, the buoyancy of her laughter would lift you and any sinking ship afloat again. If she was, you’d know that you matter in this world because she’d make sure of it. If she was, she’d leave you knowing that angels walk among us.

She’s my why. She’s both the reason I practice and the reason I teach.

After my mom passed away in form but not in spirit in 2014 from grade IV brain cancer called glioblastoma multiforme (GBM), yoga was the singular thing that saved me from the paralyzing grief of her loss, and I dedicated every practice to her alone. Each practice, the movement of body and breath felt monumental when I realized I’d been holding my breath from the day she was diagnosed. Each practice, each balance pose became a small victory of standing to my feet again. Each practice, each backward bend opened my heart and the floodgates back to her. Each practice, the final resting pose of savasana left shoulder blade sweat prints on my mat that unmistakably looked like wings. And it dawned on me the way the sun always rises that she was still there - still here - just out of sight. Practice became the way of seeing what cannot be seen with clarity and a deep sense of knowing, “Oh, there you are. And here I am now.”

Yoga and meditation are conduits back to ourselves, to the people we love whether they’re here in form or not, to our communities, and our world. They allow us to feel the full gamut of what it means to be human in a culture so hard at work trying to make us into machines. They allow us to seek and find that which connects us: feet to ground, shoulder blades to mat, hands to heart, eyes to whatever is there right in front of you. They allow us to move and breathe through the muck instead of getting stuck there. Besides, there are whole worlds to explore, mountains to be climbed, valleys of wildflowers to be witnessed, terrains you’ve never imagined, oceans to dream of, NYC streets to dance upon, and sunshine to be sung.

I am grateful for everything that practice has shown me, and I hope to share it with you one day.

I wish I could share my mom’s grace with you too. You would have loved her.

If you’d like to help my mom in memory or the thousands upon thousands of people affected by GBM, please support the work, research, funding, and advocacy of National Brain Tumor Society to defeat GBM. You are necessary, and your help is so desperately needed.