Phone calls that arrive early in the morning rarely bring good news. The sudden passing of my father was announced by a morning call. Likewise, the sudden passing of my mother. This morning, writing at my laptop and sipping my coffee, a call came in. A place of business. First thing on a Saturday? Odd. But it was only a request to reschedule an upcoming appointment.
Happily for me, I recently found a facility that offers therapeutic massage. Although it isn’t covered by insurance, even a half hour of hands-on deep tissue work alleviates significant pain. Moreover, relief can last for several days. And after nearly a year without any PT for my back, 30 minutes of massage from someone who knows what they’re doing is a godsend.
Three days ago I met a young woman with a bright smile and amazing hands. She was responsive and skilled. She followed my lead on where to concentrate, and likewise the areas to avoid.
It. Was. Heaven.
At the end of the session — and with a bounce in my step — she walked me out to the front desk where I set up another appointment. This was the appointment the receptionist was calling to cancel.
“Well if Wednesday won’t work,” I said, “is there another time that she’s available?”
The receptionist hesitated.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “She died last night.”
Silence.
“What?”
“She passed away.”
Silence again.
“I can schedule you with someone else,” he said quietly.
The rest of the conversation is a bit of a blur. I know I asked if she had been sick, he said he couldn’t talk about it, and I said “Of course, I’m so sorry, you must all be feeling terrible, and yes, reschedule me another time with someone else. It’s fine.”
And then I hung up.
The young woman who lessened my pain was tall and blonde, girl-next-door pretty with a sturdy build and an easygoing manner. I only know her first name, I put her at 20-something, and I know nothing more, really. I am only another stranger on her table who said “yes, right there” and “a little more to the left” and “that’s too hard” and “yes, that’s perfect.” I am only another stranger who got off her table filled with gratitude, and I hope she took it in when I said “thank you so much, you really helped.”
Life is a roller coaster, a rough ride, a series of bad breaks. Life is also a gift, a journey of joyful moments we string together to compensate for the tough times. Yet I find myself wondering how this sweet young woman’s family will cope. Yesterday she was here, today she is gone. She had everything in front of her.
How will the people who knew her and loved her put the pieces of their world back together? And why was she robbed of so many years?
You will tell me that families are grieving loved ones all across the world, and grieving losses to gun violence across this country just this week. And of course, that’s true.
How fragile we all are. How precious time is. How tragic when the young are taken.
I appreciate you saying this, D.A. Sometimes it seems life is cheap, people don’t matter, they pass through without making a difference. Knowing how you relate to people virtually, I can’t imagine her not knowing she was appreciated in person. This is a lovely tribute. It certainly makes you ponder life’s fragility.
The inexplicable brevity of some lives makes one’s head spin.
Thank you for telling us about her.
I hope the other professionals in this practice can bring you relief, and possibly you, them. They must be reeling.
We do make a connection with those who help us, particularly those who help relieve pain, like massage therapists, and physios, nurses. I would have been shocked and sad too. How hard it must have been for the employee who had to call with the news and then reschedule all her clients. To have to say that so many times and answer so many questions.
I wonder if you can find out how to send condolences to her family, on-line or otherwise, just saying how she was appreciated by those who didn’t even really know her.
I’ve been thinking about that too, Sue — how to let her parents/family know that she touched (and helped) other lives, quite literally.
Your listening skills might be offered to those colleagues that may be grieving on your next visit. Sue is correct. We do become connected through the touch of our hands in massage therapy which is why it is so healing.
During two separate times in my life and different therapist at different locations, while I was laying on the table shared with me their own experience of grieving.
Sometimes our therapist are in need of us as much as we are in need of them to process our pain. Listening is a gift.