I remember getting excited that 27 people had viewed our words. Those 27 people will never know the inspiration that they invoked on me, as I leapt forward, encouraged to share my story, coping mechanisms and love for mum on my journey with grief.
I decided I enjoyed being bad at yoga. Of course, I was bad at yoga. I’m a clumsy girl. Yoga is reserved for a different type of elegance, one I can’t even begin to harbour.
Now is the season, the time of the year towards the end of January and the beginning of February, that I get catapulted from a time of bith celebrations, into the furnace of grief – to go back through the smithing process again, for refinement.