Every breath we take, is a privilege. Every. Single. One. Each one, a simple, understated salute to living.
I just took twelve breaths in the last minute, yes — I counted them.
*tips hat to the Universe*
Losing your breath
Almost twelve years ago, I stood at my mothers bedside in the hospital — alongside my siblings. It was a heart attack in the ambulance the night before, that brought us there. The doctors had managed to shock her heart back to beating again, but she remained unconscious. She never woke up.
That night, I watched her breaths slow right down — to the very last one.
I began drowning, I couldn’t breathe — not underwater.
Skin to skin
Ten years ago, I held my first born son in my arms for the first time. I found out he would be a boy when I was twelve weeks pregnant, I carried him inside me for thirty nine weeks.
The pain of delivery drove me to despair, it was searing Scotch Bonnet pepper hot. I held my breath, braced myself — and pushed.
He was Fridays child, my child — my son. He had been expected to arrive the following week, on Valentines day. I never knew quite what to expect whilst I was expecting, I don’t think I had anticipated falling in love like that.
I laid him on my chest, two hearts beating together — our energies synchronised.
They say, life flashes before our eyes as we meet with death.
Hmm, a flash they say — like a cameras flash or a blink of an eye. One blink takes about a third of a second.
At the very edge of life, maybe that blink slows down by a million percent. In that case a flash — a moment to blink — could feel like reliving a whole lifetime.
