Seeing Me in You
It was my first day on the floor at the hospice facility, as a volunteer massage student. This particular hospital was designed to be warm and homey, not like a hospital at all. I walked through the sunlit entryway to the nurses station and asked for my assignments for the day.
The nurse handed me a file and said, “You’ll like this patient, she’s your age.” I was twenty two years old.
I read through the contents of your file and made my way down the long corridor bathed in light from the many high windows. The cathedral ceilings gave a feeling of spaciousness, something I would remember later while ensconced with you.
I took a deep breath and opened the door and paused as my eyes adjusted to the dark room. Approaching your bed timidly, I stumbled over my words a little as I introduced myself and asked if you would like a massage. You didn’t respond verbally, but your eyes searched me out in the dim light and you nodded.
I stepped to the side of your bed and gently placed my hand over your hand laying on the blanket. Your sweet face turned to me, and although you didn’t say a word I could feel that you appreciated my presence.
The room began to feel very small, and my hands unsteady. I took several deep breaths, sunk my weight into my feet and looked around, orienting myself in the darkness. I thought of those high windows in the hallway, bright blue and swimming with sunlight. I imagined that golden light pouring through my hands into your body. I might not be able to ease your pain, but I certainly could offer this light to you, as if to tell you “You are not alone; I am here, holding the light.”
As your hand softened and relaxed in mine, your eyes closed and you took a deep breath. I matched the pace of my breathing to yours, and allowed the golden light to move through my body into yours.
Your family arrived after a few minutes and asked for privacy. I said goodbye to you and stepped back out into the bright hallway, taking big gulping breaths. I walked straight to the chapel, a place set aside for quiet contemplation and grieving.
As I sat in meditation, the image of your face looking up at me returned to my mind. Seeing myself reflected in your eyes, I felt our shared humanity.
An energy was coursing through my body. That same light we found at your bedside was still with me, soothing my grief and giving me the fortitude to walk back out into the sunlit corridor.
