06/01/2026
Hello Sweet Friends ~
Last month, my dad started home hospice. Always wanting to share with you how the practice manifests for us off the mat, I thought I'd start a series of reflections called Dad's Diary. Following is an excerpt from my writings this morning, followed by deeper insights as they relate to the Six Bardos of Tibetan Buddhism.
*The house is quiet.
Dad is asleep, and for the first time in several hours, no one needs anything from me.
Hospice has turned our days into something that feels strangely familiar - sort of like having a newborn. The needs come around the clock. Every few hours there is medication to give, a blanket to adjust, a question to answer, a concern to soothe.
I am tired in a way that lives beneath sleep.
This morning, coffee in hand, I found myself thinking about the Buddhist teachings on the Bardos—the transitional states between what was and what will be.
The Bardo of Dying is obviously about the person who is leaving, and it also about the people who remain...*
In his book, In Love with the World, Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche describes the Six Bardos (bardo literally means "in-between") not simply as states we encounter after death, but as transitional spaces we move through constantly. Every ending, every uncertainty, every moment when the familiar dissolves and something new has not yet arrived is a kind of bardo.
I'm not just witnessing my father's Bardo of Dying.
I'm living through one myself.
The daughter I have been for decades is changing.
The father I've known for decades is changing.
The relationship itself is changing.
We are both standing at a threshold.
Some themes from the Bardo of Dying that are resonating for me right now:
*Impermanence
It's easy to discuss impermanence in a yoga class within ideal conditions. It's something else entirely to witness it directly in my father's living room. The teachings don't change, but the intimacy does. I always tell my students I'm not just up here (at the front of the yoga room) offering nice sentiments - I actually expect us to put these teachings to use in the Life Practice. What do we do when the rubber hits the road? When these teachings are no longer abstractions and instead become hard reality staring us in the face at 2am?
*The Dissolving of Identity
In traditional descriptions of the dying process, there is a gradual dissolution—not only of the body, but of the identities we cling to. I am witnessing my father release pieces of who he once was. He, quite graciously, is letting go of his independence, physical strength, and mental clarity. At the same time, I am letting go of my own identities, no longer a daughter who seeks guidance, and instead the one providing it.
*Presence Is the Practice
One of the most moving themes in Mingyur Rinpoche's writing is that we don't need to control these transitions. We need to meet them. The invitation becomes: Can I be here for this moment? Not anticipating any outcome or the grief that hasn't fully arrived yet. Just this breath. This cup of coffee. Stolen moments in a quiet house.
*Love Without Clinging
Maybe the most difficult lesson of all. Much of caregiving is doing: medications, appointments, equipment, logistics. Yet underneath all of that is a deeper practice: loving my dad while simultaneously learning to let him go. Tending to his every need, seeing every moment as a seva (an act of selfless service) knowing that someday this privilege of accompanying him on his death journey will be past.
I have full acceptance around my dad's transition - however long it takes, and whatever may come up along the way. I'm not saying the process is without challenge. But it is manageable, absolutely a part of the cycle of life. I see my role, and I am doing my best to rise to the occasion. All along the way, I will share my journey with you, and most of all, share how this ancient, wise practice always rises to meet us when we need it the most.
May we remain ever vigilant to our practice. 🙏🏼
