Bathe In This Song All Night Long

Tuesday, October 29

Right this second:

I’ve had this track on repeat for six moon salutations, half a banana and two fire log poses.

The train goes by. It shakes the crumbs on my plate.

Gold lilies we bought two weeks ago are perfectly fat and intact in a too-small vase on the kitchen counter. I can’t get over it.

My heart breaks a little because I think my father would have loved that song. He’ll never get to hear it. He would have thrown the doors of his house open, cranked the volume too loud and pissed the neighbors off.

My Dad disappeared on a detox mission once. He resurfaced thinner and blonder. He cooked an elaborate meal for me and my best friend, chain-smoking in the kitchen, talking to his dog in perfect German.

He quizzed us on Alice Cooper songs and said we ought to watch Death Wish 4 followed by Under Siege, starring Steven Seagal. We talked him into The Lost Boys instead.

As if that weren’t enough:

Panda to Steven Seagal: "GTFO."

Panda to Steven Seagal: “GTFO.”

The next day, he bribed me and her to drive to his favorite restaurant in Green Bay to bring him back gnocchi. When we got back to his place, he served us homemade apple pie and Tab sodas. That was the last time I saw him healthy, with steady hands.

The loss still chokes me. Now that he’s twelve years gone, I think of him as if he were a child all along. I remember him most often just when the trees go bare. This is the time of year when he was most lost.

You’d never meet a nicer guy. He could figure out what you loved most and get you to talk about it. You get disoriented by the sheer size of a personality like his.

We all have our vices. It’s no secret that empathy doesn’t come easy. Shared experience is what tells us to soothe a crying child or to laugh at a joke.

I know that the person next to me in the grocery store checkout line has as much to mourn and as much to celebrate as I do.

A quiet life surrounds me. My family is close. I have plenty, and I get to teach yoga tonight. The room will be dark. People will open the door for each other, and step on to a warm floor.

How does it begin?

“This is a one hour yoga class.” Friendships forge. Courage rears its head in every corner.

We all go home softer, tougher and a little more truthful than before. We try and try, anyhow. Shaky hands or not.