It’s snowing. Again.

I sit here, typing, one soft small light on next to me, watching the flakes. It mesmerizes me. I try to pick one and follow it all the way to the ground. Somehow, they all seem to blend in together.

I can tell that this snowfall will be heavy. Just like my heart. How fitting.

We dropped off Maman this afternoon. Why are these departures so hard on me? I thought they would get easier. Afterall, it’s not as though we don’t see each other.

In fact, now that I’m thinking about it, we see each other every other month, if not more. September through December has been a damn good streak.

I’m sure the coming New Year will be, too. We just can’t go that long without seeing one another.

Funny that when I was younger I thought I would get over this … this need of Maman. Having to have her around, talk to her all the time.

For some crazy reason I thought adults, real adults — whatever that even means — didn’t need their Mama’s {or Papa’s}, that was something one simply outgrew.

How clueless I was. Because, People, it seems every year the Maman intensity switch gets kicked up a notch or nine.

Obvs I make it on a daily basis without her, and we both are living our lives, doing our thang, but it’s just plain hard being separated from those you are so deeply connected to. Plain and simple, People, this is what I call Soul Missing.

Had it not been that TC was with me at l’aéroport today, I know I would have broken down. I watched her walk away and I had to immediately start blinking back the tears, at a rapid pace. Doubtless I looked extra weird with all that successive blinking. People, why is it that our tears are hot anyway?

I’m sure had I paid attention in science I would remember. Same goes for why our tears are salty. Oh, the grand mysteries of life.

Wait. Forget I said that. There’s a scientific explanation. Scratch that mystery. Right … not my strong point.

The only thing that makes sense to me with such a letdown as departures and missing mama’s is sleep. So I promptly went to bed — at 5p.m. Not the brightest idea, but I thought, F it. I’m feeling too sorry for myself to do anything else.

Plus TC insisted on running seven errands on the way home that seemed to take foreeeeevver. Okay, so it was only two. But it felt like seven so that has to account for something. Or should.

When I woke up an hour later, in that post hazy nap state, I forced myself to do yoga. Granted, it took an actual hour before I did it, but I made it. That, People, is inner resistance at work.

Inner resistance. So clever. Gets me every time but in the end, I win out. As always, I was completely surprised by how incredible I felt after just 20 minutes of yogaing. An hour later, I thought I could have levitated right on out of corpse pose.

Centered. Balanced. Calm. Hopeful.

There it was. That hope coming back to me. That, People, is what yoga does for me. It takes me from any crazed, angry, depressed state and sets shit straight stat.

Yoga highs are the best. Free, no hangover of any kind to deal with afterwards and doing something good for this body. And guess what.

I have Maman to thank for that.