by Angela Grasso
Betty is an octogenarian. She is the mother of one of my oldest friends, Susan. And she is suffering from the later stages of dementia. Susan asked me to give her mom a massage and I agreed. When I placed my hands on Betty, I sensed the history held in her body; the joys and disappointments from which no life escapes.
Betty was around my age when I first met her almost 30 years ago. I was a young woman, recently out of massage school. She was a woman in her mid-life; gracious, sharp, kind and upright. Massaging her shoulders, now significantly rounded over, raised compassion of how time waits for no one. As my hands moved fluidly across that area, she stated over and over, “That feels so good. That feels so good.”
From years of experience, my hands massaged effortlessly as I let my mind wander back in time – 84 years ago. Has there been another generation who has seen the amount of change in the way we live life? A youth going back to an era of shared televisions and telephone party lines, if there were any at all. I understood how life could be confusing to Betty.
When I moved the sheet away from her legs, exposing the purplish lines of spider veins tat-tooing her skin, I wondered what world I might face if I live another 30 years.
By this time, Betty had stopped repeating how good the massage felt. Instead, I watched the rise and fall of her chest, indicating she was in a peaceful slumber. As I massaged toes that are now permanently curled and twisted, I admired the beauty of her red painted toenails.
It was interesting to note how massaging a body of so many years, heightened my interest and awareness of the details; some of which I had no longer paid attention to in working with bodies less worn by life. I felt my heart open to both the fragility and resiliency of the human body and mind. 84 years. Not many other humans, or mechanical objects, can boast that.
As I closed the massage, I was grateful for being trained in a job where so often I receive as much as I give.