Thirty years ago, I met Mary Frances, one of San Antonio's original yoga teachers. I was in my thirties and Mary Frances was in her fifties at the time. She was one of the great teachers of my life. My doctor at the time--Dr. Marcus--had recommended I see her when I fell into a depression after a hysterectomy at 35.
Every week, I drove into San Antonio from my then-home of Helotes and sat with her in her studio in her Austin Highway apartment. She had saved her own life through yoga and she helped me save mine at a time when it needed saving.
Mary Frances became a close friend and inspiration to me, and I attended hers and Dub's fiftieth anniversary and met her children and grandchildren. Shortly afterwards, Dub died and she was bereft. Her health began to decline and she had some falls. Her sharp memory dimmed, then practically vanished, and she was moved to Colorado to live in a nursing home near her daughter. Whenever I asked a mutual friend about her, I was told that she knew no one but seemed content and happy.
Three weeks ago, she died in her sleep in that nursing home.
I haven't seen her for many years. I thought of her several times in New Mexico because she and Dub had once moved there for a while. Maybe in such close proximity to a place she loved so much, I was in touch with her in some way, sensing that she might be leaving. The world seems thinner without her in it.
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