End of Life and Parkinson's Disease: A Bodyworker's Perspective
My Dad's body, mental health, and mortality have become a central focus of mine over the last year.
Terrell Wayne
Terrell Wayne Jackson–TW, for short–is my Dad's name. He was born on February 1st, 1949 in Japan. A boomer. My Dad is not Japanese; however, he is the son and only child of a WWII combat veteran. WWII was a cause my grandfather whole-heartedly believed in, and a cause my Aquarian-Sun Pisces-Moon father questioned throughout his life, spoke up against in anti-Nam and Civil Rights protests in the late 60s, and decried in historic dinner table arguments between my him and my granddad.
War & Ancestral Trauma
Through inference, introspection, and intuition, I've come to acknowledge the unspoken truth that my grandfather suffered from acute, war-related PTSD (and quite likely complex PTSD, as well). Being that there was no precise language for this during his upbringing doesn't change the fact PTSD significantly impacted my father's life and mental health. The PTSD was also likely compounded into c-PTSD and passed down to my father subconsciously through what we can best call ancestral trauma.
Later in life, my father developed Parkinson's Disease. He was officially diagnosed in 2016 when I was 26 years old; he was 67. Parkinson's is a neuromotor disease affecting the body's central nervous system. Although it may not be scientifically linked at this point, I no doubt see psychosomatic ley lines connecting the post-traumatic stress and a physical manifestation through the nervous system in the form of Parkinson's.
What Is It Like Living with Someone with Parkinson's?
People living with Parkinson's Disease slowly develop an uncontrollable shake and gradually lose control of their motor skills. Auxiliary conditions develop concurrently, as well. Currently, my father shakes in his left arm, which heightens when he's overwhelmed; has rough skin from Parkinson's-related melanoma; and is starting to show signs of early Parkinson's-related dementia. His shaking is manageable due to the treatment he receives for Parkinson's, and his dementia is manageable due to a positive, goofy attitude–and an accepting attitude toward death.
Death Cafe
I've learned that my Dad accepts death by simply having conversations with him about it. It wasn't easy to open up to him about this at first–or maybe it was. The biggest hurdles I had to overcome were my own fears of losing Dad so early in life and the avoidance I hid in for years after learning of his diagnosis. Eventually, a deep sense of relief came to me in the form of an epiphany when I realized he’s not gone yet. I realized I still had time to connect with my Dad, that it wasn't too late to cultivate a deeper relationship, get to know him more, to forgive him. Even in his current form.
Approaching this reconnection, I realized that I was revisiting his existence as a person beyond his role as a Dad and my role as a Daughter. And that through bodywork, I finally discovered how to communicate with him about what was happening with his body, his ever-present mental health concerns, and his mortality in ways that felt seemingly impossible or non-existent before. I started practicing bodywork with my Dad last summer of '22, and I am very blessed to discover how my Dad has been artfully open-minded about all of this.
Massage, Bodywork & the Art of Non-Verbal Communication
The art of non-verbal communication is powerful when practicing bodywork with my Dad. There's a clairvoyance. I'm sure this is blood-related to some extent–I am my father's daughter, after all. However, I would also like to acknowledge a supernatural truth that I experience when practicing with not only my Dad but nearly all bodywork sessions I facilitate.
It's this kind of pithy message that comes to me, often in the form of sensation while I'm in session, hands-on. It usually settles about 20-40 minutes into the practice when I'm either massaging my client's back or having them in some form of gentle, therapeutic embrace. It's that,
you are held for now on
all is here with you
you have exactly what you need to go and let go
Such words fluctuate in and out like thaumaturgic sea water, with varying degrees of sensory articulation in each given instance.
A unique variant of this sensation forms when I work with death in mind. It starts to feel more pixelated and cosmic, as curiosities about the afterlife and the Unknown dapple the non-verbal communication plane. This death-related variation comes up while practicing with my Dad. I start to wonder–are there things that Dad needs, needs to do, say, experience before he is gone? The sensation often guides my thoughts toward the right questions to ask.
Easing Traumas with Palliative Massage & Bodywork Therapy
I know my father grapples with unresolved tensions and experiences in his dream life (troubled sleep is another symptom of Parkinson's) and his internal thoughts. Yet, I believe it is difficult for him to express these in his waking life–the life he shares with me and the rest of this existence. Some of these thoughts may interfere with his ability to let go and ease into accepting where he's at in his process toward End of Life.
Through conversations using actual spoken language, I've found that the bodywork eases some of this. Dad sleeps better. The bodywork also does for my Dad the same thing it can do for everyone willing to experience it: it opens up a meditative state that allows us to more expressively and accurately sense and communicate profound things.
This approach is suitable for working with trauma, End of Life, or illness. Regardless of whether or not a client is seeking trauma-informed bodywork, trauma-informed massage therapy, or end of life care, this is the approach I take. With my Dad, it is a way of offering him palliative care through conversation and nurturing connection, a way of offering him palliative care through palliative massage and contactful, intentional touch.
Talking Dad, Death, Transformation & Bodywork
Dad arrives at words to describe some of his needs. One thing my father has shared with me is that he wanted to head back out West at least once before he dies. And he wants to keep painting, but his condition gets in the way. He cares for his all family members, but sometimes we distract him from his processing. There may be communications with family members and friends that he needs and wants to have. The closer attention I pay, the more I can help him actualize these things. We went to West Texas together earlier in March 2023. It inspired a series of paintings and photographs, and now my Dad and I are dreaming of one last art exhibition.
Facilitating bodywork and general quality time with my Dad over the last year has been transformative for me. I'm blessed and honored and excited and just plain happy to be practicing massage and bodywork with someone I care about and have known my entire life, as someone who raised me. As someone who once cared for me, I feel gifted and honored to now be caring for him.
Yet also because being closer to my Dad in this stage of his life brings me closer to a conversation about death in general. I find a lot of wisdom in opening myself up to this often grief-ridden and obfuscated element of human existence. Witnessing my Dad in this process comes with its own form of grief, yes. I nonetheless feel blessed to be working with someone with such a unique and fragile nervous system, and such a whimsical and freeform mind.
Central Nervous Systems
My Dad's Parkinson's Disease teaches me about the central nervous system, trauma, trauma-informed bodywork, PTSD, geriatric massage, palliative care and how to look out for myself and for others more than I will ever know how to fully put into words. However, I am able to say it through careful, gentle non-verbal touch.
Death work and working with people living with Parkinson's Disease is something I'm interested in exploring more through my bodywork practice.