My dad showed up in the middle of yoga class this morning. It was toward the end of class, during the camel pose, when I felt his presence. He has been dead nearly seven years but his fatherly timing is right on these days, showing up right when I need him most. Something he couldn’t do when he was alive.
The camel pose can leave one feeling nauseous, scared, ecstatic or quite sad. I let the feelings pass and envisioned dad supporting me as I leaned backwards finding the floor with my eyes.
Dad would have hated being in that 100 degree room, all sweaty and sticky, nauseous and emotionally exposed. But today he hung with me, encouraging me to continue instead of opting to rest on my back for the second round of camel. In my mind’s eye I saw the dad of thirty years ago dressed in his wool sweater with elbow patches, Khakis and sensible loafers.
He never came to my soccer games as a kid or watched me as a cheer leader, run track, play volleyball or tennis as a teenager. But today he was my very own personal cheerleader, whispering words of encouragement, believing in me when I was ready to give up.