Our Parents Are Important

In yoga and meditation, we are often invited to reflect on impermanence, presence, and compassion. My father’s final years became one of my greatest teachers in all three.

My father lived to be 92 years old. For most of his life, he cared for his body and spirit with intention—eating well, staying active, resting deeply, and cultivating a spiritual life. His name was Angel, and while he wasn’t perfect (who is?), he carried a gentle strength that stayed with him until the end.

As he aged, what he treasured most was his independence. He wanted to live in his own home and not feel like a burden to his children. Even in his eighties, he continued working, staying engaged with life and people. Movement, purpose, and connection were part of his practice—long before I understood them that way.

Eventually, like all of us, his body began to change. He didn’t lose his essence, only some of his abilities. And this is where the deeper practice began—not on the mat, but in daily life.

My sister Cress became his caregiver. She didn’t just care for his physical needs; she honored his dignity. She maintained his routines, supported his discipline, and offered him presence. He was bathed, groomed, well fed, and well dressed every day—not out of vanity, but out of respect for who he had always been.

In yoga, we learn that care is not control—it is listening. It is meeting someone where they are, breath by breath. That is what caregiving looked like in my father’s final years.

Through this experience, I witnessed how much older adults benefit from the same principles we cultivate in our practice:

• Mobility, even in small, mindful ways

• Nourishment, offered with consistency and care

• Emotional regulation, through calm presence

• Mental engagement, curiosity, and routine

• Connection, to family, friends, and community

• And most importantly, someone who shows up, no matter what

Aging is not separate from our practice—it is the practice. It asks us to soften our expectations, release attachment to outcomes, and respond with compassion instead of impatience.

“Aging is not an option—not for anyone. It is how gracefully we handle the process, and how lucky we are as the process handles us.”
— Cindy McDonald

I offer this reflection in honor of my father, whose 93rd birthday would have been today, and in deep gratitude to my sister Cress, whose devotion allowed him to live his final years with grace, dignity, and love.

If you are a caregiver—or may one day become one—bring your practice with you. Let mindfulness guide your responses. Let compassion soften your frustration. Let patience become part of your daily ritual.

If your parents are still alive, pause today. Check in. Sit with them. Listen without rushing. Presence is often the greatest gift we can offer.

And if you are an older adult yourself, know this: your practice matters. Your breath matters. Your body, exactly as it is today, deserves care and kindness.

Let us extend the principles we practice on the mat—awareness, compassion, and connection—into the way we care for those who came before us.

That, too, is yoga.