Standing at home.
Breath was the first sign of life.
It knew instinctively what to do long before I did.
Soft and consistent respiration,
In and out,
In and out.
Neither deliberate nor forgotten.
In sleep it was the type of breath you had to search for.
The teeniest rise of a tiny chest was met with my mother's quiet sigh of relief.
Breath was there for all the firsts.
As I grew,
So did breath,
Forever seeking out the new spaces in my belly,
My chest,
My lungs.
Breath was fun.
It blew bubbles and put out candles and helped us to make wishes on dandelions and eyelashes.
Breath joined us at story time,
Huffing and puffing,
And when tickled to death through fits of laughter,
Breath would gasp out for some relief.
Breath came to my aid at school.
It was with me when reading aloud,
Or performing,
And ever present when floundering in tests and exams.
In front of boys that I fancied,
Breath would willingly suck itself in and hold on as I walked past,
Desperate to be noticed,
Desperate to be skinny,
Desperate to be beautiful.
And always,
Without asking,
Breath would step in and soothe my tears whenever cruel words pierced my heart.
Despite all this,
I took breath for granted.
Without a thought and without thanks,
Breath soldiered on,
Assisting me where it could,
Offering calm in moments of disquiet,
Building confidence in times of doubt.
Breath breathed with me into womanhood,
And like a fashion savvy friend,
She wore the perfect kind of respiration for every occasion.
Breath left my father's body.
It lingered in the room,
Waiting until I arrived,
Knowing my aloneness and distress.
His expired breath joined mine,
Hugging my body and holding me strong.
When I forgot to take in air,
Breath persuaded me to keep going.
I remember breath saying,
Just breathe,
Softly,
Just breathe,
Calmly,
Just breathe.
With gentle,
Loving assurance,
Just breathe,
It will be okay.
It will be okay.
It will be okay.
When the ambulance came,
I breathed in and I breathed out.
When the police came,
I breathed in and I breathed out.
When I left his body behind,
I breathed in and I breathed out.
When I stood in front of the crowded church,
I breathed in and I breathed out.
When I said goodbye,
I breathed in and I breathed out.
In the first weeks and months of grief,
I noticed breath.
She changed from moment to moment,
Adapting to how I felt.
I began to trust her implicitly and learn that the more I listened to her and worked with her,
The easier the massive ocean of loss was to navigate.
When in despair,
She would raise the sails and take a slow and steady path,
She would whisper,
Just breathe.
Inhale.
Exhale.
When drowning in fear,
She would batten the hatches and bark commands,
Long deep inhalations right down to the navel,
Long slow exhalation back through to the nostrils.
Nostril to navel,
Navel to nostril.
Together we work this way,
Making sense of the pain,
Making sense of life,
Making sense of death.
Inhale to navel,
Navel to nostril.
She would lead me back to safety.
When I began to smile,
Breath stayed with me and basked in the sunshine,
Taking deep sighs of content,
Taking short moments of respite.
Breath is a constant I will never forget.
Breath is with us when no one else is.
Breath is with us when everyone else is.
Breath is with us when stressed,
When angry,
When joyful,
When sad.
Breath is here and always will be.
Breath is now and always should be.
I carry her gently like an old and dear friend,
Softly and smoothly,
Deeply and calmly.
Breath was with me for my first and breath will be with me for my last.
Together we will inspire.
Together we will expire.
And for all that comes in between,
I will continue to whisper,
Breathe,
Find strength in breath.
I will forever promise,
Breathe,
Find peace within.
Nostril to navel,
Navel to nostril.
Inhale and exhale,
Respire to inspire.
No matter what the day brings,
I breathe.
