Yoga and Mothers

I took myself to a yoga class this morning.

The class was taught by a dear friend of mine. Her technique, demonstration and explanation of the various pranayama, asanas and vinyasanas was impeccable. What was missing for me was any resting and going within to integrate what we were doing as we were doing it. I also did not hear any reminder of what benefits might be available. Fortunately, she didn't ask me for feedback! The whole session felt mechanical and demanding on my body. Of course it is my responsibility to fill in the gaps and take care of my personal needs. And it's always a good lesson to me as a teacher to see what others are doing, not in a negative, judgmental way - as I am prone to do - but in a way to benefit from what they do that "works".

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Woke up thinking about Thelma Axelrod who left the planet 14 years ago. She was 82 years old. Thelma was my "mom". I put that in quotes because she didn't birth me. The woman who birthed me, Helen Rappaport, died at age 27. I was 7. I hardly lived with her even during the first 7 years of my life. She was not able to take care of me (cancer). I lived with various relatives and others until age 6 1/2 when I was sent to live with my father's sister, Thelma, her husband and 18 month old child, Harriet. It was decided - my mother's wishes I was told - that I remain with that family. My father, Thelma's brother, was hospitalized with TB and couldn't take care of me.

At age 9 I asked Thelma if I could call her "mommy." She said I could. Uncle Moe became Daddy Axelrod. Harriet became my sister and the new baby, Richie, became my brother. I thought of Helen in heaven as my real mother.

Today I was thinking about that. Thelma Axelrod, you were my real mother. You did everything and then some that a real mother should do. You clothed me beautifully, you fed me healthy foods, you taught me right from wrong, you took me to doctors to help me overcome a severe sinus condition - when I came to you, I was a skinny, sickly, scared child. You gave me art lessons, piano lessons, dance lessons, sent me to the best summer camps - on and on and on. Yes, you were demanding, sometimes insensitive, didn't hug me or tell me you loved me (unless you did and I don't remember).

I didn't do a lot of the things you advised me to do. I especially didn’t follow the advice that it's just as easy to fall in love with a rich man as a poor man. I'm glad I didn't follow that advice. However, I did and do follow a lot of the advice you gave me. One of the things you said, and this is what I woke up thinking about, is: "It's important to grow old gracefully."

Yes, my dear REAL mother (I wish you could hear me finally say this), I believe I have and continue to "grow old gracefully." This is beyond avoiding wearing puffed sleeves and overly bright lipstick. Growing old gracefully to me now means acknowledging the wisdom of aging as well as the few limitations - like puffed sleeves. I allow myself to FEEL graceful, to walk and talk with grace, to breathe grace.

I miss you Thelma Axelrod. You were one classy lady. I'm so sorry for all the times I complained about you and for not acknowledging you as my real mother. Helen birthed me. She was a beautiful and talented woman. She was also my mother. Hey, I got to have TWO mommies - the perfect one in heaven and the perfect one on earth.