Is this the end?

I had a strange experience today.  I actually had to say to one of my clients that we’ve gone about as far as we can go.  I didn’t want to have to say that to him, but it’s true.  We’ve worked together for about 19 years, and there really isn’t much else I can offer him other than my presence.  

It’s not as if he doesn’t have issues (I mean, who doesn’t have issues?).  It’s mostly that he seems to be letting me know that we aren’t going to be doing any more music therapy.  I can’t say I blame the man.  How much therapy can a person stand in his lifetime (well, some of us can stand a lot, I guess)?

I’m not sure whether he’s ready to actually stop coming to sessions.   I’m fairly certain he values our relationship a great deal.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen him rush up to other people and take their elbows and pull them to the door.  And I know I’m not the only person who takes him out of the cottage.  

I’m not sure how I feel about this.    

As it happens I just said “goodbye” to another long-term client (admittedly, since it’s an institution, the majority of my work with people is long-term...VERY long-term) who has been gradually moving toward ending in the past three or four years.  I still run into him regularly, because I work with other people in his cottage (which has to be weird for him- I know it’s weird for me).  In the last month or so, as we’ve gone from sessions to checking in to just saying “hi,” he’s needed to avoid me.  It hurts to be rejected, but I understand that he needs to do that.  

We had an amazing last session.  We didn’t exactly plan for it to be The Last Music Therapy Session, but I think we both knew it was.  It was joyful, it was celebratory, and it was moving.  Considering this particular person has not been feeling physically well for a rather long time, it seemed clear to me that he and I were absolutely in sync on this closing.  He was more animated during this ending session than I’ve seen him be in almost a year.   It felt to me as if he had the kind of goodbye he might have liked to have had when his family sent him off to live at our facility (back when he was a youngster- he’s in his 40s now).  

I so value both of these men.  They have allowed me into their lives, they’ve used the music, they’ve grown, and they are loving, sensitive guys who care about other people.  Both men also enjoy laughter and playfulness.  What wonderful gifts they bring with them (and they have shared with me) as they move on from our time together!  And what a collection of feelings- joy, sadness, pride, excitement, and a bit of nervousness- I feel as I begin to let them go.  

The funeral

It’s not as if funerals are supposed to be great occasions.  But I went to R’s funeral this morning (which, I swear, lasted all of fifteen minutes) and I stood out in the extreme cold with his family and the staff who knew him, and it was...gosh, how to describe it?  Well, it felt completely heartless.  The minister didn’t know him, and he sounded downright triumphant while he talked about R being with God and how we weren’t there to honor R but to honor God. 

Now, I consider myself to be a pretty spiritual person (it’s kind of hard to do this work and not have some kind of spiritual belief, I think), but after about ten seconds of listening to this man, I wanted to loudly yell, “Hey, man!  WHO ARE YOU?  You just sit there quietly, and let us tell you who R was!  You just stop your blather about your fairy tale version of God and how happy we are to send R to him, and you let those of us who spent time with R in his life, who loved him, who cared about him, who walked with him, who got kicked by him and hit by him and still loved him, who are mad as hell that he’s dead...let US do the talking, Mr. Minister!”

When the hearse pulled up, I almost burst into tears.  R was in a gray coffin.  One of my co-workers helped carry him out.  I went to stand nearby, and I noticed his plot overlooked a little stream and a lot of trees.  I know how much he liked being outside, so I was happy to know his body would be lying in a pretty place (even though the highway noise was nearby- but he liked watching the cars on the highway when we sat outside and played music too, so maybe that was okay).  

Even though his family was there we didn’t get to talk to them.  It was good to see so many of his staff people there.  I don’t know how they felt about the service.  I was glad we’ll be doing our own memorial service soon.  To me, our services have a lot more meaning.  We play music, we share our memories, and we gather together at the end, and we chat with each other over snacks.  Some of the guys he lived with will also be there.  Hopefully his family will come to that service too.  Maybe then I can tell his mother that I had such a soft spot in my heart for him. 

I can tell her about the time that he smacked me repeatedly and I cried and told him that he had hurt me.  I wanted him to get that his actions had a consequence.  I told him we’d try again, but that it was going to take some doing for me to trust him or feel safe with him.  The next time I was in his cottage (I had a session with someone else the next day), I walked through his group area, and he got up and followed me to the other area.  He took my wrist and he guided my hand to smack at his face (I resisted, because I didn’t want to hurt him), and he stopped and waited, watching my face expectantly.  My immediate thought was that he was trying to ask for my forgiveness.  He understood he hurt me, felt badly about it, offered me the opportunity to “get him back” and wanted to know “are we okay now, Roia?”

I was so touched.  I smiled and said, “Thanks, R.  Yes, we’re okay, and I’ll be there on Friday for your session.”  Sigh.  Tomorrow is Friday...the day of R’s sessions.  I still have to go over to his cottage, because I get someone else from his group as well.  What a big hole he has left.

When I walked through his group area yesterday afternoon I noticed they’d taken his old leather lounge chair out and put it one of the state issue wood and hard plastic ones instead.  Obviously, the staff couldn’t stand to see it empty either.  

Tonight when I got out of my car at my mailbox I noticed the night was very clear, and the stars and constellations were shining away.  I thought about him by himself in a gray box in a cemetery in New Jersey.  I hoped his soul had moved along so he wouldn’t feel scared lying there by himself. 

"Leaving on a jet plane"

Last week R came up to me when I walked through his group on my way to sign someone else out for his session.  I knew before I walked through that I risked his approaching me and wanting to go out for a walk when I didn’t have time to take him out.  Sure enough, he saw me, got himself up out of his lounge chair and came over, caught my arm and loudly proclaimed “BEE!”  (yes, as in the ones that buzz, fly. sting, and are disappearing from the earth).  He leaned his ear in toward my mouth so I could respond with my own rousing “BEE!”  

I guess it wasn’t rousing enough, because he repeated himself, this time adding a gesture, pointing toward the high ceiling, in order (I presume) to make sure I understood what we were talking about.  

“BEE!” he repeated, looking rather triumphant I’d say, and I smiled, because, even though sometimes I have feared for my life when I’ve worked with this man (he hits hard and kicks very unexpectedly), I am very fond of him.  

Some of the old staff (most of whom have retired in the past five to ten years) told me that, when he was younger, bees used to come and sit on his fingertip.  Apparently, this yelling, kicking, biting, and slapping guy managed to be very gentle with these little buzzing creatures.  By the time I’d met him he’d apparently developed a fear of them.  I’m not sure why.  But “BEE” remained one of his favorite words.  “BAH” (which I’m pretty sure was meant as “BYE”) and “GO BACK”(an exclamation he usually made when he was done with me for the day) also figured prominently in his small verbal repertoire. 

Another of his favorite words was “AIRPLANE!” (R would never be described as a quiet man).  He often loudly pronounced this word, while, again, gesturing toward the sky, pulling my arm to look with him out the window.

As it turned out, last Wednesday, he did want to go for a walk, but I had to get to my other session.  I explained that I’d see him on Friday, and his staff person convinced him to wait until then.

It turned out that it was icy and snowy on Friday, so I didn’t even go in to work.  I checked in with him on Saturday to see if he’d like to walk then.  His staff said he wasn’t feeling well.  

I went over to him and he looked up at me from his curled up position on his lounge chair.  He looked rather glum.  I wished him well, and I told him I’d see him the following Friday.  “Hopefully, the weather will be good, and we can take our walk.”

On Monday I heard R had died that Saturday evening.

Last night I woke up after a somewhat disturbing dream, and I thought a lot about R and how he had spent much of his life with physical discomfort of one sort or another.  I was sad thinking that he probably died in pain.

As I was lying there, not sleeping, the following song floated through my tired head.  It felt like something R might have said to me about his death:

All my bags are packed

I’m ready to go

I’m standing here outside your door

I hate to wake you up to say “goodbye”

But the dawn is breaking

It’s early morn

The taxi’s waiting

He’s blowing his horn

Already I’m so lonesome

I could die

So kiss me and smile for me

Tell me that you’ll wait for me

Hold me like you’ll never let me go

‘Cause I’m leaving on a jet plane

I don’t know when I’ll be back again

Oh, babe, I hate to go.

There’s so many times I’ve let you down

So many times I’ve played around

I tell you now

They don’t mean a thing...

So kiss me and smile for me

Tell me that you’ll wait for me

Hold me like you’ll never let me go

‘Cause I’m leaving on a jet plane

I don’t know when I’ll be back again

Oh, babe, I hate to go.

Now the time has come to leave you

One more time, let me kiss you

Then close your eyes

I’ll be on my way

Dream about the days to come

When I won’t have to leave alone

About the time I won’t have to say

Kiss me and smile for me

Tell me that you’ll wait for me

Hold me like you’ll never let me go

‘Cause I’m leaving on a jet plane

I don’t know when I’ll be back again

Oh, babe, I hate to go.

©1967 John Denver

The song made me cry...which I kind of needed to do.