Returning

Grief is a slow journey; slowly, I re-enter life and the world again after my mother's death. I went to African dance for the first time in weeks today and felt better than I have in awhile. This week was my first week back teaching and I felt happy to be in the classroom, happy later to have some time in my office, looking out at the trees, even though the branches are so bare right now and it seems warmer days will never come. When I danced tonight, I felt an ocean of sadness that my mother had never found a way to know her strengths, that she never just trusted enough. For so long in African dance, I refused to dance in the front row (our class divides into rows of four as we follow the teacher's moves across the floor)--the front row is the most visible, and I always wanted to hide, buried in the middle of the dancers so I wouldn't be seen. Tonight I was right in front, dancing right behind the teacher, WITHOUT feeling like a total dork. This was a big breakthrough for me.