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By Rosalee Simon
(Page 2 of 2)

Emma would coax me to eat several small meals throughout the day, even if those meals only consisted of a couple of crackers and a cup of green tea. “Green tea is the best,” she’d say. “It has healing properties.” Little by little, I began to eat.

Emma would help me perform range of motion exercises so I’d remain flexible and, slowly, I got some of my strength back. She was very patient. She gave me terrific massages with special “healing” oil that came from who knows where. Of course, I’d smell like peanuts for the rest of the day but that was a small price to pay for such luxury. My circulation improved. She saw that I got plenty of rest and fresh air. We would go “walking” through the neighborhood at least twice a day. She taught me the proper way to breathe, increasing my oxygen intake and when done right, I felt heady and dizzy all at the same time.

Emma had her own philosophy regarding diet, including never eating starch with protein, cutting out all bread products and never, never eating anything that contained vinegar. Sandwiches were definitely out! I’m sure that her choices weren’t based on any medically approved dietary study because she’d change her mind from time to time, keeping things interesting. She’d state her latest dietary ideas with such conviction that it was apparent she was trying desperately to help. She was trying to find something that would make a difference, something that would make me better. I don’t know if she ever knew it or not but she was that something.

Meditation was an important part of Emma’s therapy. She’d have me relax, breathe deeply and evenly, and try to rid myself of all stress and tension. Then Emma would help me visualize my illness, concentrating on each part of my body. I would imagine that a bright, white, “healing” light was shining on me, making me feel better, giving me strength and inner peace. After awhile, I began to feel better.

Everything seems exaggerated at night. Worries are more pronounced, problems become unsolvable, and pain gets worse. In the early morning hours, I’d cry quietly to myself. At first I was afraid I was going to die, and then I was afraid I was going to live. That’s when Emma would come silently into my room to comfort me. And even though she was partially hard of hearing, she’d always know when I needed her. She’d massage my back and shoulders and tell me to have “faith in myself, that healing comes from within”. She’d hold me in her arms so I could fight the fear that I would never again be well. She’d stay with me so I wouldn’t feel alone and isolated. She convinced me, beyond all doubt, that I had the power to heal myself, and so, I did.

After three months I was fully recovered. I began to take part in my life again and went back to doing all the things I loved. Emma returned to her family in Lithuania. I love and miss her more than she will ever know. I will always be grateful for her care, her love and my life.

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