I see him standing there at the back of my first class. Expectant and calm, waiting to support me. I can’t know what it took for him to come here this evening. I don’t yet know what it will take from him to be here.
It’s not my turn yet, but I glance at him in the mirror. He seems to be doing okay, perhaps a little stiff, not limber from years of practice like many others in the room. I return to my practice, rehearsing in my mind what I will say when I stand up.
When I next glance back the scene as changed. Now he is struggling. His injuries from war and life hold his body captive. Yet in his eyes there is a determination and love to keep going.
To be here. For me.
It’s almost my turn now, and I see him again in the reflection. Soldiering on through the sequence. Modifying each pose so his body can find a way to meet it.
Then I stand and share my part.
For a moment there are others, a room in which he becomes one of many. I am giving and sharing, then too soon it is over. My words have completed and I have a few poses to touch with love. I see him again.
Here is my warrior. Broken but not defeated. Hurting but not discouraged. I offer him a modification, and he whispers, ‘I am in a lot of pain’. But he doesn’t leave.
He stays here. For me.
To many this would be just a yoga class. A little awkward and uneasy. For him this was a battle against a body battered in combat. One fought to it’s closing Namaste.
Tonight I found out why I came to yoga teacher training. It wasn’t to learn yoga, or to learn how to teach yoga. I came to learn how much my husband loves me. To discover that he will bear through any pain, broken yet not defeated.
To be there. For me.