Right after I completed my Reiki Master training, I volunteered at a holistic hospice. My first assignment entailed giving a Reiki session to a woman in a long-term care facility. She was in the final stages of Alzheimer’s and had been classified by the medical staff as “failure to thrive.” As I parked my car in the parking lot, I starred at the building and nervousness fluttered around in my stomach. Using my mind, I called out to my maternal grandmother, Nanny. I asked her to be with me and to help out if needed.
I approached the peach-colored counter at the nurses station. Then I introduced myself and asked the three nurses behind the counter to direct me to the patent’s room, so I could give her Reiki. The nurse on the end, smirked and rolled her eyes as she pushed a powdered doughnut into her mouth. The brown-haired nurse to the right smiled pleasantly, came around the counter, and greeted me. She told me her name was Denise and then escorted me to room 205. She informed me that the patient could not speak or move and had been in that state for more than four months.
I stepped through the door and noticed the pale, frail woman with white hair reclining in the bed. Her door displayed her name, Frances. The beige-colored room was clean and filled with lots of family pictures. It held a pleasant energy and a lite smell of flowery shampoo.
Though she could not speak to me, I introduced myself and explained a bit about Reiki. I felt the need to tell her everything I was doing because I believed she could hear and understand me. As soon as I placed my hands on top of her head, I heard her say telepathically that she felt trapped. Since I had little to no experience with her condition, I didn’t really understand her. I continued with the session and at one point, Frances turned her head, looked directly into my eyes, and smiled happily. This puzzled me because Denise, the nurse, had said that Frances could not move. I finished up the session and told Frances that I would see her the following week.
About an hour after I left the hospital, I was in my kitchen getting something to eat. The flowery shampoo smell from Frances’ room enveloped my kitchen. I immediately made the connection between the smell and the patient, but I wasn’t sure why it was in my home.
The following week, I went back to the hospital for another session with Frances but there was a different patient in room 205. I walked to the nurse’s station and asked nurse Denise about the whereabouts of Frances. She informed me that Frances had passed on. I asked when it happened because the hospice had not informed me of a change in assignment.
“It was about a half-hour after you left last week,” she said. I realized at that point that I had been there to help Frances leave her body behind. I also understood that my grandmother had been there to help, as well. The flowery shampoo smell in my house was Frances’ way of thanking me, as she moved on.
As I drove away from the hospital that night I thanked Frances for allowing me to help and I also thanked Nanny for aiding me in the process. Our loved ones that experience dementia or dementia-related illnesses on Earth are free of these ailments when they pass on. Sometimes they need a little help getting across, but once there they enter the spirit world without any limitations.
Love and Light,