Sunday, September 23, 2007

The End of Men: Rose essential Oil

Just before my first client arrives, after I have cleansed the energy in the room with my bells, lit the oil diffuser, filling my airy space with atomized particles of rose essential oil, after I have listened to an hour-long meditation CD (twice--once, while I scrubbed the floors and counters with orange cleanser, again, with my eyes closed, falling deep into meditation); the phone rings and I, foolishly, pick it up.

It's the hospital. Sue, the Social Work Supervisor, is calling to tell me that my father's "health insurance has denied his claim and that we are goign to have to do something fast to get him into a nursing home or... " she trails off.
"Or what?" I ask.
"That's what I am going to have to ask you?" she says. "Camille (dad's jr. social worker) says that you said that if need be, your father could stay with you."
"I did say that," I tell her. "But you should know what that would be like. There is no room for him. My husband and I sleep in a closet outside of his home office. My children occupy two tiny bedrooms at the top of a steep stair. It's an old house with one bathroom, off the kitchen."
"So where would your father sleep?"
"On the sofa," I say. "Or we could bring in a hospital bed, I guess."
We talk about Medicaid forms and I promise to visit that afternoon (I was going to anyway).

And then my client presses the buzzer and there is no way I am going to be able to reclaim my "sacred space" before opening the door. I let her in and she bursts into the office, close to tears, saying, "I'm sorry Im a little early but my father has been in the hospital for two weeks and Im a little overwhelmed."

"I see," I say, amazed how my clients' lives so often parallel my own. "I'm sorry. Do you need a few minutes to collect your thoughts? May I make you some tea?"

We face each other across the white painted table Max and I found in a thrift store and set up together one year ago and she gives me her precious story to hold and examine. For the next two hours, I place myself in service to the spirit that flows between us, through us, and within us. For two hours, I am cleansed by my work, by her stories.

I feel blessed and held and truly supported as I hug her goodbye. I have fully served her and in the process, I have been healed as well.

I love this work I do.

No comments: