A few years ago I used to gaze out my office window and wonder if I could find a job I loved, something I felt helped people and, as a bonus, could actually provide income.
As I was receiving my own monthly massage, thinking how much benefit I received from it, the light came on. Within weeks of that first thought I was a panty hose wearing office employee by day, massage school student by night. A year later, I was employed as a full time therapist.
In my work as a therapist I am sometimes surprised by the number of clients who have or had cancer. I feel honored they allow me to work on them and share their stories with me. The physical benefits are, of course, good for the client but I feel there’s more to the experience. My clients get time away from doctors, medications, needles, treatments, well meaning friends and family members who don’t know what to say, and wigs. They show me their scars, show me their bald heads, sometimes laugh, and sometimes cry.
I was very young when my mother died of cancer. I don’t remember how she felt, if it were terrible she wouldn’t have said so anyway. She would have smiled and saved sadness for times alone with my dad. I’ve spent more years on the planet without her than with her, yet her mark on me is deeper than anyone else I ever known. She lives in the next world, and she walks through this world with me. I often feel her in my massage room, and I know she is proud.
