Towards the end of her massage, I laid my hands on both of her cheeks, intending to release some of the tension in her jaw. I saw her face tighten, then relax as she started to cry. Her tears traveled down her cheeks and under my hands. I asked her if she wanted a tissue. In response, she covered my hands with her hands.
“No,” she said. “Just keep holding on to me.”
So I did. I held her head between my hands while tears fell down her face, under my hands and to the table. I took long, slow, deep breaths and watched as she slowly started to do the same. I felt the tension in her jaw release as she smiled a little bit.
“I could just feel my mother here,” she said. “She wants to tell you ‘Thank you for fixing my daughter.'”
What I wanted to say, but didn’t: How could I possibly fix something so complete, so whole and so grandly human?
After she left, I took a moment to appreciate the gift she gave me — that she would let me touch her tears with my bare hands. May we always be worthy of such trust.