Member-only story
I don’t care about your modalities
I am an educated professional. I worked hard to get my license, and I seek out quality continuing education every year. In fact, I teach other professionals how to do what I do, and I am in the process of writing a book about it. I know what I’m doing.
None of that matters.
A few weeks ago, I went to the home of a dying woman. I loved her. This woman never let me leave her presence without embracing me and telling me I was a “sweet angel.” I spent hours listening to her and laughing at her stories — sometimes the same story multiple times. I gently teased her dog and made sure she got to hold my cat shortly after I adopted her. (She loved animals.)
The point is, I didn’t go there in my professional capacity. I just went there as a human being who loved her.
She was curled under the blankets on her bed, facing the wall, knees pulled up and her hands curled on the pillow next to her head. I sat down next to her, gently. “Hey Miss Lady,” I said, “how you doin’?”
She reached one arm up and pulled me down to hug her. I could barely hear what she whispered, and I could tell from her face that she was in pain. “Do you hurt?” I asked. She nodded. “Is it your head?” She nodded again.
I scooted up close to her and laid my hand on her forehead. I stroked her head and…