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movies with him, nestling my head on his shoulder as he played with my hair. I talked about how we should plan trips together after he was healed. I smiled hopefully when he talked about getting back to working with his buddies on the trading floor. At night, I buried my head into my comforter and silently cried myself to sleep, dreading the morning, and the repeat of a mindless, numbing routine that was killing us.

In between the surgeries, the therapy treatments, and the tears-I ran. The very day my dad came out of surgery, my brothers urged me to take a break. I decided to lace up my sneakers, tie my hair back, and find the nearest stretch of turf. During my warm-up I set my eyes on a boardwalk by the ocean in Staten Island. I looked down at my feet slamming onto the wooden boards and imagined that they could take me away from all of the pain I was feeling. I remember it being a sunny, windy day. The combination of the ocean by my side and the sky in front of me lifted me. Although I cried throughout each mile of my run, I also felt hopeful, filled with faith that no matter what loss I experienced God would always comfort me.

Although I've lost the physical presence of my father, I feel his presence daily. It has been four years since my father passed, and I have gravitated toward yoga, where I find great solace. Through the flow of sun salutations, downward facing dogs, and warrior poses I move on with life. In my yoga practice I am in touch with my strength, balance, and gentleness-the very same gifts my father graced me with throughout his life. No matter what stressful life circumstances come my way, I will always flow through them and find freedom in the rhythm of movement.

Learn more about this author, Danielle Demarco.
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