The cancer recurred during the summer of 2009, when she was 77 years old, and we honestly didn't think anything of it; she'd beaten it before. It would be tough, but I felt certain that with her experience, strong support base, and excellent medical team, she'd win again.
But then, when I least expected it, life took a disastrous detour. My mother and father were over for dinner, visiting their grandkids, and my mother was having difficulty breathing. She blamed it on her asthma, but my husband, Marc, an orthopedic surgeon, wasn't buying it. He checked her vital signs and found that she was in atrial fibrillation. By the time my husband and father got her into the ER, she was in full cardiac arrest. She remained in the hospital for the next 3 weeks.
Time suddenly froze. I gave up my teaching to spend every possible moment with my mother. Over the next 2 months, she was in and out of the hospital, and we eventually moved her into hospice care. I tried to stay strong for her, but each night when I'd get home from visiting her, I would do five or six yoga poses I found calming, such as Downward-Facing Dog and Cat/Cow Pose, and then take a hot shower. It was all I could do not to fall apart. She passed away in early September of that year.
Community Healing
Two weeks after my mother passed, I went back to the hospital to visit with the chemotherapy patients whom my mother and I had befriended. I remember walking through the doors, holding tightly to a batch of cookies, trying not to cry. I don't know what compelled me to go back so quickly; I think I just wasn't ready to face my feelings alone.
As painful as it initially felt, I kept going back, week after week, and slowly I was able to open up and truly begin to heal. There's no way to face grief except head-on. Cancer is horrible, and death is horrible, but being honest about my feelings allowed me to connect with people going through similar experiences, opening my eyes to the humbling fact that I'm not the only one who's lost a loved one. I could easily have been stuck in a numbing state of self-pity, but spending time with the patients and their families helped keep me grounded.
Calming Yoga
I learned to stay present despite the pain by drawing on my yoga practice in a new way. Yoga had always been a special part of my relationship with my mom. She introduced me to it when I was a fifth grader—I'd come home from school frazzled, and she'd take me through a Sun Salutation and tell me to meditate. I thought she was a crazy hippie, but I did it, and it always made me feel better (try our calming yoga routine).
While working through my grief, I reflected on those early experiences and gained new insight into what my mother was really trying to teach me: Slow down, stop working to exhaustion, take the time to connect with others, send good vibes out into the world, and make each moment meaningful.
I didn't go back to teaching yoga classes at gyms; now I teach community yoga classes for free. Yoga is no longer just a workout for me; it's my source of spiritual calm and mental fortitude. It's where I heal, where I find support, and how I remember the special moments I shared with my mother. It brings me joy to share it with others.
My life has changed so much through this painful journey. I didn't expect my mother to die. But grief, just like other life challenges, causes you to refocus your priorities. After a lot of soul-searching, I've come to understand that my time should be spent giving back. In turn, it's made me a better wife, a better mom, a better yoga teacher, and a better human. And I have my mom to thank for the beautiful lesson.
Cancer Confidantes
While spending time with her mother in chemotherapy, Alyssa Dinowitz noticed how laughter, jokes, and hugs turned the gloomy chemo lounge into a place of warmth and joy. After her mother passed, Dinowitz created Chemo Companions, a nonprofit organization that provides support, friendship, and nourishment to those undergoing cancer treatment. Learn how you can donate your time or money at chemocompanions.org.
