Years ago, I would go to the home of a client someone in the Body-Mind Centering community had referred to me. The client was a lovely thoughtful woman, slender , bright , light haired. She was living in her extended kitchen, her hospital bed and other necessities having replaced kitchen table, and sitting area.
The whole south wall held double door of panes of glass, and large expansive windows. Looking down over her tree-enclosed garden and yard, quite close to the middle of Northhampton. A small but surprising oasis.
I would come by, lugging my bodywork table, set up there, and then palpate her organs and systems, evaluate, and address.
There are ways in which Integrative Acupressure, as well as many other modalities, can perform in a manner similar to dialysis.
So that while someone's systems are slowly shutting down, you come by and nourish and prime and move and support eliminative waste removal as well as some degree of regeneration.
This markedly slows what at times is an inevitable and powerful degeneration, and often reduces or removes significant pain for several hours, often a welcome respite.
When I met her, she could sit up and speak , and use her computer. I got to know her for several weeks, and her body. What her organs and systems needed, and how.
The aide that she had during weekdays was a wonderful, no nonsense, solid and compassionate woman.
Over the weeks, it became more and more our strength that lifted her up, and somehow got her face down on the table, and then turned on her back later on, so that I could align her spine, tend to cranial and sacral bones , and work on organs and systems.
Soon enough, late winter ventured into tentative spring, and the deep snow of her yard vanished , as she began to lose her ability to speak. To write on her computer.
And so she began saying goodbyes. She began thinking about expressing what she needed to have said, before she was no longer able to do so. And she went about doing just that.
Her son, an older teen, would come through each day , on his way from here to there, stopping to talk with her, to give her a hug and kiss. And her daughter, a young adult, would come for a few days, for them to spend time together.
All of her friends came by, over and over, their flowers and gifts and the feel of their history with her , and their closeness littering about the bright kitchen , side by side with the supplement , medication, and device-laden counters.
While she still could , between her and the aide, they would share the moments she had had that week, with dear ones coming from afar or close by, all bundling her up with love.and while I worked, the three of us would sit and smile with the pleasure borne of such precious things.
In time, she was unable to speak. Or type. Or move.
I would come by on bright spring mornings, and the woman who was her
gifted constant companion ,and I , would speak altogether, as we lifted her to now simply sit upon the table, how you work on people as they grow older or more ill.
It's an interesting art that we learn, to connect deeply with someone that we have known, at least some, and participate in conversations the way you would follow a beautiful stream, when they can no longer speak .
Watching further responses in their eyes, and anything else you can detect, as you ask how they are, never speaking about them to the other person, but always interacting altogether.
I knew she was missing her walks in the woods, and then also I had two dogs who needed to be walked daily, down Mill-river, from the high school, following the deep green wooded path and stream, to the pond at Smith College, and back.
In addition to my three kids, i had an 18 year old girlfriend of my son's living with us, as well as a nephew, 14, my daughter's age, who did not participate in sports, and so needed walks. And time together. Laughing and talking and then focusing on his life and goals.
So when I went to visit her, I would describe the seasonal changes in the woods. In the waters. And the growth of things, the floodings. The flock of Hooded Mergansers, who would do synchronized swimming beneath chilled spring waters.
The woman with the red leather gloves, who , in passing, my rescue mini husky jumped up upon, who then screamed and yelled at me. Until I admonished her about how we need to behave in such a way that we create the world we want to live in.
Causing her break to out in sobs, telling me "Yes! Yes! I'm so sorry. That's what I want." Me taken aback, so surprised ; then soothing her, sending her on her way. Given pause, once again, at the intensity of the big sister in me.
Later, I went by this client's home for a session, walked up the steps of the porch, looking out upon the front yard, sheltered by the thick canopy of her trees , from the busy street so close by, and noticed the slow awakening of all of her beloved perennials and , bushes gradually coming to life, as her own ebbed.
I knocked and was bid come inside with my table, and after getting her up upon it, did regale her with this story of my admonishment , and the the red leather gloves.
Which almost made her choke with laughter, her eyes bright, grinning at me.
You see, eyes are capable of all sorts of things we never dream of, until there comes a time when one must learn.
Then I described to her the flock of ducks, their funny puffy feathers atop their heads, suddenly altogether diving into the water, and doing their magnificent dance. Something I had never seen before, and never have again.
And then we all smiled. The three of us. As I worked, and the woman who cared for her lay back in a reclining chair - feet up , eyes closed, all of us for a moment, in some deep peace , together.
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