Fuggeddaboudit Page 10
just hadn’t dared to ask.
Cleaning the Closet
Five years of bills. It might have been seven. Didn’t matter. Shoe boxes of them. Dad’s bills. Boxed. Rubber banded. Credit card receipts, bank statements, cancelled checks….the trappings of personal finance.
We keep them in boxes. Dad did. I did. A lot of folks did. Not sure why but it was clearly important. It proved we paid our dues. Did our due diligence. Amassed our stuff, paid for it…it made us fair and square. It made us real. We signed on dotted lines. Had to have been here. Here is the proof. Bundled for anyone to see. Dad had boxes of them. In the closet. Not anymore.
We needed the room. His stuff and our stuff under one roof meant something had to go. The closet was jammed packed with his stuff and his stuff had to make way for our stuff. Tom did his part. He took all Dad’s stuff out of the closet and put it in the spare bedroom. Everything out, only the right stuff back in. It was our system. Tom’s part was to take the stuff out. My job was to decide what went to trash, what went to charity, and what went back in. Tom’s job this time included keeping Dad busy. Dad involved in this process would have been a disaster. I was not in the mood for any more disasters.
The shoeboxes did not take up much space. Could have trashed them. Should have trashed them. Instead I shredded them. By hand. A piece at a time. Rip. Auto mechanic, paid in full. Rip. Mortgage. Often, early, and done. Rip. Electric bill. Rip. Check to this. Rip. Check to that. Rip. A month here. A month there. Rip. Old news. Old bills. Old life. Rip.
It blurred. Rip. Tear. It blurred to sobs and tears and tearing and gnashing of teeth. It flew across the room. Cursed. Done. Over. Too soon. None of it really mattered. None of it really mattered. The good credit score. The paid in full. The thank you for paying on time. I threw them across the room. Hands full of nothing. None of it mattered. It was garbage. It was trash. It was just taking up room. None of it mattered. That is why I cried. That is why I cried myself to silence. That is why I called Jason. That is why he saw me right away. The closet could wait. I needed a massage. I needed something to get away from all this trash. I headed to Jason’s.
Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner?
Jason was much more than a guy that gave massages for free. The family began to call him “The Guru”. They did not know what he did, how he did it, and even why he did it. What they knew was that they were vegetarians by default and that I was more and more like a character from “Meet The Fockers”. Jason changed my life. He changed theirs in the process.
He did it for free. In fact, he refused payment for the massages. Massage was his ministry. Instead he had me read books. “The Mad Cowboy”. “Fast Food Nation”. “The Path Less Traveled”. I learned about Peaceful Warriors, Shamanic Healing, Chakra balancing, Yoga, Ta- Chi, and much more. Jason assigned readings and research after each session. I read, researched, and reported back at the beginning of the next session. I learned things I would not have learned and made choices I would not have made. Jason was evil. My “free” massages cost me cheeseburgers, consumerism, and much more.
My favorite bodyworker was the Master of “Bread of Shame”. Jason guilted me into change. When studying Kabbalah, assigned, of course, by Jason himself, I learned about “Bread of Shame” and realized that was the coin of the realm for Jason. Bodywork was his ministry. That part was true. Mister Evil withheld the fact that change was what I put into his collection plate each week. My time with Jason was not free. It was freeing.
The family felt the change. They heard how the bodywork made me feel better and how my energy levels were higher. At the dinner table, they tasted the changes Jason stirred in me as I became vegetarian and they did as well. They were allowed meat and such. They just knew they would have to get it themselves and make it themselves. I realized what my dinner choices did to myself and the planet. They ate veggie burgers, salads, and potatoes in just about every form. I realized it was time to walk more and use my long forgotten bike. They were along for the ride.
My sessions with Jason stirred up a lot more than my lymphatic system. I opened to alternative healing, environmental impact, and everyday choices that were smarter, healthier, and easier overall. Fuggeddaboudit changed every aspect of my life. Thanks to Jason, many of those changes were good ones.
The family began calling Jason “The Guru” long before any of them met him. “What has the Guru got you doing now?” “Oh Oh, when are we going to start wearing beads and singing Kumbyah before dinner?” Jason became a force of nature that was not always warmly embraced.
Dad had his only special joke about my time with “The Guru”. He called it “my getaway”…..from him. He was right. He knew it and I knew it. That made it alright.
“Headed to my getaway, Dad.” It was freeing to be so honest. The truth does set you free. Dad understood and I liked the honesty of it.
Dad knew all of that yet still resisted going for a massage. Then one day, Dad said something that took things to a whole new level. My father said, “there must be something to that massage stuff, Mally. You are much happier now.”
Me. The very person that prayed for him to die. Much happier. I realized Jason kept me sane. Wanted that for Dad. Dad not only deserved that…he needed it. I moved into action. Convinced Dad to try one. He resisted yet said he might be willing. When “The Guru” heard, he jumped right in. Jason said that if Mohammed would not come to the mountain, he would bring the mountain to Mohamed. The guise was an invitation to dinner. Jason showed up early and did a massage on Dad before we ate. It turned out to be the first one of many. It also introduced us to the “Where’s Waldo?” game.
“Where’s Waldo?”
Dad de-briefed us on his first massage over, in his words, his favorite new-fangled meal thing. “Them fake chicken patties, mashed potatoes, and corn. The closest thing to real food Mally makes anymore,”
It was a wonderful dinner. The massage did something to Dad. He was much more engaged. Much more himself. We all noticed. Even Dad. He joked about it.
“Heck if I had known it felt this good, I would have gotten them a long time ago. Before I became Waldo.”
“Waldo?”
He and Jason laughed. I remember that laugh to this day. It was deepest, richest laugh I heard from my father for years. It was a wonderful and real laugh. It was hearty. A good hearty laugh over a vegetarian dinner after his first massage. I did not get the joke but I got the laugh. Dad was happy. Happy to be in on the joke. Happy to be so energized. Happy to be. That part I got. That part we all got. Dad let Jason explain the joke that he shared with “The Guru.”
Dad talked with Jason during the massage session. That was pretty common for first time sessions. We passed the plates and ate while Jason explained. It was common for the first few sessions to be talking ones. Later, the sessions settled in and talk became rarer. The therapist and the client knew each other and talk was less. Dad and Jason talked a lot that first session.
Jason said he knew Dad had good times and bad. He knew that sometimes he was present and other times very far away. He knew because he worked on other people with Alzheimer’s. Jason knew that where the person was varied. He thought of it as “Where’s Waldo?”
Just like the picture books, Waldo is in every picture. Sometimes it just takes a while to know where they are. Jason played “Where’s Waldo?’ and waited patiently in each session to find the sometimes well hidden hero.
Dad loved that. He thought it was a great way to laugh at the situation. Make it a game. He and Jason roared as they shared. “Where’s Waldo?” The kids joined in. It was so accurate. Michelle said it was true. Sometimes she did her homework right with Dad there and never did find Waldo that day. Turned out we all had Waldo moments. Dad was Waldo. Our own Waldo. We knew he was there somewhere. Sometimes we just had a ha
rd time finding him. Sometimes we had a hard time even knowing where to look.
Dad laughed and said, “Hey, don’t blame me. I do my part. I am in there…waving like crazy. You guys just can’t see where I am. Heck, you can’t even see when I am! When’s Waldo? The Alzheimer’s version of the game.” We all laughed. We laughed at the game that suddenly had some new images. Waldo was the hit of dinner and traveled with us to the porch for dessert. Dad summed it up….”Hey, as long as Waldo hasn’t left the building, keep looking for me. Alright?”
We agreed to keep looking for him. Jason came by once a week after that. He even came by more often if Dad needed touch. Dad looked forward to the sessions. He was more present after each massage. Sometimes the sessions lasted two hours…sometimes less. Jason stayed with it until he found Waldo. He worked to find Waldo each time…even when Waldo hid more and for longer periods. Jason never charged for the sessions. We couldn’t pay him enough anyway. The sessions were priceless. Jason stayed for dinner most nights. I insisted. We all insisted. Even Waldo.
Jason The Great
Jason was magical. We saw it first hand as he gifted us with more visits. He spent more and more time at our house. He was a blessing. An answer to