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I have said it before and I'll say it again. Some people walk into our lives with blatant purpose; we know why they are there, how they got there, their purpose and place. They are fixtures of which we are aware and accustomed to having around.

Other people, though, whether phaseful friends (as I like to call them), acquaintances, teachers, peers, therapists, or...well, I am going to stop there. Therapists. Sometimes therapists can grace our lives like the gentlest breezes as spring just approaches in the weeks after the last winter storm. Other times, they fall down hard and crush the edges of our soft lives, smashing them into little shards of glasses and pieces of rough crumbly dust. Wipe it up or you'll slip. Other therapists fall somewhere between a breeze and a layer of sodered dust...and others nowhere even close to those places or resembling those perhaps inane-to-you metaphors.

Just a few months ago (as an insert, it is nearly impossible to believe the recent lapse of time in my life was a sheerly long three months, for it seems a lifetime and also a moment at the same time, you'll note my intended and obvious oxymoronical phrasings here), a therapist graced my presence who forever changed the trajectory of the rest of however many my days shall be. I came to know her by sheer coincidence, luck if you will, grace if you may, whatever beautiful words feel right, just use those. Whatever the words, the outcome was the same. I met her, had the firm and oftentimes outright emotionally volatile, and other times, soft and nurturing pleasure of working with her. When I try to describe Alanna as a therapist to others, the words never seem right, never enough, never amply illustrative of her nature. "Well, she is bright, intuitive, understands without asking too many questions...". I would aggravate myself by not doing justice to her what-seemed-to-be-innate ability as a therapist to heal and put back together those patients who so desperately need put-back-together-ness. "She gets it." But the words are just simply never enough.

We are all born with "stuff." Genes are scientifically incredible and they are a real goddamn bitch, too. For me, they're a huge moody bitch. Goddamn you, genes. But they're mine. I have genes for which I have a love-hate relationship, and because of this, I have been cursed, lucky, blessed, and all of that, to come in contact with many a therapist in my seemingly long proverbial day. Alanna took any therapist I ever met and placed them over there. Just right over there. In a different bucket. This bucket is not bad but it is not "the" bucket. Alanna saw right through my pale green complexion and into my soul the first time we met. "Let us not fast forward but let us sit here now and feel our discomfort right here, right now together." I believe this is one of the first things we did together...feel my discomfort together, rather than me alone. I let Alanna hold some of it for me then, and for the next few months, as well. Yes, I worked harder than I ever thought possible, but I would not be sitting here not had I not shared some of it with her. Alanna lectured me, and offered me tissue to dry my raining lids, she praised me and slapped my proverbial hand and back and forth and around again. At the end of the day and at the end of the stay, what I gained (please, no puns here) was invaluable, indescribable and I am certain unparalleled to anything I will find again.

Tonight, I feel profoundly sad at the gaping hole in my heart left by Alanna's absence. My heart hurts. It aches. I am grateful for the connection, the blessing of a presence that did come into my life like a breeze and left like a quick warm sun shower, and yet, I am deeply sad.

Thank you for your wisdom, your firmness, values, anecdotes, tissues, lessons and sessions, Alanna, Thank you for everything, and like you said, it is not and was not goodbye but so long for now.

Serenity then, there, now and here.

With light,
Rach