It became a ritual, a beautiful class at the intensive care unit. Yoga is unity. And I joined my dear friend for a different kind of yoga around her hospital bed, dressed alike in our blue paper hospital gowns and matching masks. Shed been trying to heal for a month now, beeping machines and blinking lights keeping her alive  and for many weeks before, fighting off the ravaging beast we call esophageal cancer.

Photo by Joe Glynn.

Then, one day we faced the decision I’d only read about in the newspaper. When do you let a person pass on  freeing her from the tubes that can both save and strangle? My friend was alert enough to talk with us. Unable to make noise because of her tracheotomy, her parched lips mouthed her wishes. Her son dabbed her mouth with a tiny pink sponge, rubbing ChapStick on pale lips, lightly purple because of weeks of labored breathing.
Just be sure, she said.

Sure of what, Mom? Her son asked, leaning close and staring in to her eyes.

She didn’t seem to have the strength to add more, but I think we knew. As with birth, when words are few, death also doesn’t demand much talking. It is all in the eyes. And my friend would only say goodbye if she knew shed gone the distance and there was no more hope.

Without our breath as a guide, our body finds no poses, no energy, balance or expression. Her breath was leaving and sadly none of us could help her find it again.

In her last days, she continued to be my teacher. I always brought gifts when Id visit, trying to help even if I couldn’t heal.

Last week I brought her a small mirror Id found among my daughters make-up. It had been two months since my friend had looked into her own eyes. At first, I worried, What would she see in her face after weeks of such sickness? I helped her unclasp the mirror, her swollen and bruised fingers trying to hold tight. Her wide smile filled the moment. She saw the beauty of herself. Her own reflection brought her such peace. She held her gaze tight, nodding and thanking me for my gift. I hope she knew she had given me even more: the reminder that self-acceptance is the greatest joy.

Today is the day that her children had decided that they were sure. They didn’t want her to struggle any longer, never giving up, but with dignity she could finally give in. As we gathered around her bed, we tearfully embraced her as she found her final savasana.

I had always wanted to take my friend to a yoga class, but shed always say, Im just not flexible enough. I wouldnt be good at it! I know she would be proud to know that she actually became a wonderful yoga teacher, bringing the peace of unity and self-acceptance to a small dim room in the ICU.

– By Priscilla Dann-Courtney

Dann-Courtney, of Boulder, recently released her first nonfiction book, Room to Grow: Stories of Life and Family, published by Norlights Press, www. roomtogrow.info.  

Get up and go: Dann-Courtney will be doing a reading 7:30 p.m. Feb. 4 at the Boulder Bookstore, 1107 Pearl St., Boulder. Free and open to the public.

Got a story to share? Submit open forum entries to speakup@womensmag.com.

It’s the month between two seasons that bridges the gap from hot summer days to the cold crisp days of winter. For me, it marks the end of summer. With fall schedules in full swing, I find myself bidding a final farewell to the long and lazy days of summer.

A particular evening in July comes to mind. I had just finished working out at the gym and as I walked out the sliding glass doors at 8:30, I saw a crescent moon hanging in the sky and billowing white clouds illuminated with light reflected from the setting sun. The air was warm but not hot, and I could smell the familiar scent of freshly mowed grass while crickets singing in the distance serenaded me as I walked across the asphalt parking lot to my car.

I felt a sudden surge of gratitude for long summer days that linger into the twilight hours, like a lover who can’t seem to say goodbye. It was as if time had expanded itself with the extended hours of sunlight, giving me an illusion of more space in my day.

It’s curious to notice how my habits shift with the changing patterns of daylight. I’ve heard a horse loses its winter coat when the days lengthen and not when the temperature changes. I suppose light affects me much the same way.

In the summer, I shed the schedules of colder and shorter days that are limited by dark mornings and early nightfall. How refreshing to take a hike at 7 in the evening, or 5:30 in the morning for that matter (not that I ever chose the early option). Sitting down to dinner on the back patio at 8 p.m. was a common occurrence, and I noticed I needed less sleep as my body attuned itself with the rhythms of the sun. Life took on an expanded quality in the summer, one that felt less rushed.

I have read that natural daylight increases a person’s productivity, concentration and short-term memory. People are so connected with sunlight that they will naturally gravitate to interior spaces that have windows on two sides. From ancient times, communities[sei: which communties?:  ] have been linked to the natural cycles of daylight with work, sleep and play revolving around the rise and fall of the sun.

What I observed in myself was an inclination to allow more time for play as the days got longer. Even my husband took advantage of summertime’s evening light, heading out to the Boulder reservoir after work for a late afternoon sail. He’d slip onto the deck of his C-scull sailboat and push off into the water as shallow waves lapped against the hull of his boat and a breeze gently caressed his face, sweet gifts of long summer days.

After tying his boat off to an anchor, he’d call from his cell phone to let me know he was on his way home. I’d glance at my watch. It was close to 9 o’clock and the sky was just beginning to show signs of shifting into darkness.

Recently, I’ve noticed the days have begun to get shorter, reminding me that winter is just around the corner. So I’ll savor the last vestiges of light that greet me in the morning hours and hang around late into the evening.

Though I hate to say good-bye to the extended light of summer, the fall ushers in its arrival with deep shades of gold, okra, umber and red that capture my heart. The vibrant colors contrast against a classic Colorado blue sky as if a painter has taken a brush to canvas and I expectantly await the turning of the aspen trees like a child waiting to open presents on Christmas morning. It is a feast for my eyes and though it is fleeting, I savor the colors until the last leaf has fallen from the trees.

— By Anne Knorr
Knorr will be teaching an evening class, Sanctuary in the Home, through the Boulder Valley School District’s Lifelong Learning program. Class runs 6:30-8:30 p.m. Nov. 3 and 10. Register at http://bouldervalley.augusoft.net.