I attended a writing workshop last summer.  We were given a 3 x 3 Post-it, and told to write one word on it.  I wrote the word “Breath.”  Then our time ran out, and we did not complete the exercise.

At the time, I couldn’t seem to catch mine.  I would hold my heart…and wonder.

Apparently I come from a family of shallow breathers!  I didn’t know that until the past few days!  And then my aunt told the story of our grandmother breathing shallowly.  Grandma would get up every morning, walk to the end of her apartment building hallway (after getting dressed, thank goodness), and opening the window, she would take six breaths, close the window, and return to her own apartment.  I certainly hope she continued breathing after the crucial six.  Surely she did.  She lived to the age of 93.

Our mother is having difficulty with her breath.  She is in the hospital for the third time this fall.  She currently has pnemonia.  After a lifetime of smoking and now COPD, she is struggling for breath.  She said she’d been told so many different ways to breathe correctly, that she didn’t know how to take a breath now.  I certainly hope she continues breathing, right or wrong, for a little more time.

Breath is a good thing.  It’s all we’ve got, and it can be taken from us at any minute.  I want to hold my heart, now, and wonder.  I think I’ll throw open the window and take six breaths.  It helped Grandma.




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