There were tears

My shift ended with grandma crying and me leaving for a better time promised in the city.

As a family we had decided to help her clean her house once a month, from top to bottom. We washed windows, curtains, walls. Dusted knick knacks, photos and shelves. Some of us were there at 8 am ready to tackle at least 2 years of dust in the living room and most likely a decades worth up stairs.

I was nervous about this day because there are a lot of us, and we're known for stubborness and possibily being a little surly at times. Promises were made to 'not fight' for grandmas sake. But as promises to not fight usually go between siblings, they are well intentioned and almost impossible to keep.

I have to admit I was having good time for most of the morning. I got stuck with cleaning blinds and dusting knick knacks, but it was a lot better than what my aunt was doing... steam cleaning the bathroom wall. My mother was in her element. That bit of craziness that had come over her when we first heard the news about my grandma's health had passed.

It started to go a bit down hill after I recieved a phone call from my hospice job that one of our clients had died. The nurse just automatically called my cell phone, even though it was saturday. It normally would not have been a problem, but it brought into focus why I was cleaning my grandma's house for her... because she couldn't do it herself... because she's dying.

Around lunch time, other family members arrived, and we early birds were proud of our progress and revved up on a cleaning roll. It all seemed so lighthearted and easy, until my newly arrived aunt stormed out of the room with barely a word, and my other aunt giving her the finger behind her back. Looking out the window my aunt was crying in my grandmother's lap. Sobbing. Distraught.

Sigh. How easy it had seemed at 8:30 that morning. I didn't get to give my leave to my grandmother because when I went to find her, she was in the middle of storming off to her room crying and asked to be left alone. Every door to the house was blocked by two or three people crying or consoling or trying to figure out what exactly was going on. I consulted my father briefly about some directions, took a circuitous route out tof the house and left them to their tears as I sped away through the river valley and over the hills looking for the way out.

Drama and Rejection

Thursday I was summarily rejected without second thought. I called B. to schedule her massage and her daughter answered the phone. She had just gotten in the Saturday before from Colorado to stay with her mother, so I explained who I was and I barely had time to finish before she just said, "No. Oh No, we're beyond that at this point," quite matter-of-factly. "Thanks for calling though!" she added. I spoke with her a little more but the whole time was fighting the feeling of utmost rejection.

She hadn't even considered what I offered for her mother. She did say she was sorry, but today wasn't a good day. She just blew me off like kitchen help. "No carrots today!" I was taking this way to personally.

****

Lately I've been feeling superflous. The clients I have currently have been hanging on quite a bit longer than their families expected and they are getting tired. They are tired of all the people in their homes every day of the week. They are tired of rearranging thier lives to take care of a dying family memeber. I see doubt in their eyes when i arrive as to what the point of my being there is. Just another person traipsing through their home.

With B. I felt a purpose with each vist. She enjoyed my company. She saw the value in my sometimes undervalued career. She seemed to know why I gave up a career in design for massage thearpy. Her daughter saw me as something extra and unneeded.

***

I knew there was some stigma attached to being a massage therapist. The most commonly asked questions are not: How can massage help me? or What is a massage like?

They are: "What if they have a hairy back or are disgustingly fat?" or "So, are you like that girl on seinfeld (or like phoebe on Friends)"?

Not only do I have to educate the community, the health industry, and my clients on the value of massage. I have to convince my friends and family I'm not a flake or a sitcom charecter. That I didn't sell myself short and waste my intelligence on something so servile.

I'm a lousy designer, but when it comes to massage I have a gift and passion that has allowed me to tackle challenges that I ran away from my entire life. How can I be selling myself short when it has given me strength face towards my fears... I may still sheild my eyes from fear, but I'm willing face it and hope it passes over me.