"Lynne saved my life," I said.
"Lynne saved many lives," somebody said to me.
I was Lynne's client for about 10 years. I started to see Lynne in 1991 as a young angry and unhappy woman in her 4th Ave. office. She moved her office to Chelsea and I followed. My last session with Lynne was on June 17, 2002 at her Healing Works office.
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This is the cancelled check for my last session, Lynne deposited it on June 24, 2002. |
In her last year, I saw her on a "check-up" basis. It was our arrangement that Lynne would call me when she had a cancellation or a slot to fill. I would take the slot to do some tune up work.
My session with Lynne was unconventional. She became the only family I ever had. She was my favorite aunt, my big sister, a mentor, and above all Lynne was just Lynne. She had never been my therapist. She got angry along with me about the women's issue in my old country (20 years behind U.S.); she was opinionated about some religions (We both were Buddhist); she proofread my writing when I was preparing a feminist article for publication; she didn't like my then-husband and was clearly disappointed when I let him come back; she was happy when I finally said NO to him. I introduced her to my then-new boyfriend, and she was happy that I'd chosen a nurturer this time. My then-boyfriend, who did not understand a concept of therapy, liked Lynne and we sometimes went to see her as a couple.
In early 2001, my mammogram showed a suspicious calcification and I went through biopsy. Lynne told me that she didn't feel I had breast cancer. It turned out benign.
Several months after, she had her hair cut short. I noticed something was different with her being. "It is my hair," she said. I didn't buy it and after a short pose, she shared that she was diagnosed with breast cancer. After all, it wasn't me; it was her.
"Finally, you got the right haircut. You look like a nun," we laughed together. After a series of chemo, her hair started to grow back. She told me that it was successful. I believed her.
Sometime between my last session with her and her passing, I called Lynne and asked her to call me when she had a cancellation. Lynne said, "You have to call me when you need to see me."
I felt little taken aback. "O.K." I said, and didn't call her. Months had passed. I was living a relatively happy, calm life. I thought of Lynne, but I didn't need to see her.
In March 2003, I finally picked up a phone and called her. I was thinking about becoming an ordained Buddhist nun and wanted to ask her how. Her voice greeted me. "I can't answer the phone right now. Please leave your message and I will call you back as soon as possible." I left a message on the machine.
She didn't call me back.
She always returned my call in a couple of days, and she didn't call me back this time. I was a little upset at first and then felt concerned about her health. I didn't have guts to make another call to find out how sick she was.
I let it go.
A couple of weeks later, I got a brochure of a training program which Lynne mentioned to me just once long time ago. I wasn't interested in and I immediately tossed it in a small wastebasket next to my bed.
That night I was lying on the bed, and the word "ordained" caught my eye. I picked the brochure up out of the waste basket and started to read. I froze when I read about the founders of the program. It read, Lynne Aston (1941-2002).
I didn't know she was the founder of the program she once recommended to me. I didn't know she passed. I didn't know anything about Lynne outside of the therapy room.
And I just heard her voice greeting a couple weeks ago!
I thought she crossed over late in 2002 and the voicemail line was maintained by her folks to inform her stray clients like me in case they called for appointments.
So I expected somebody to contact me. Nothing happened. I froze harder and deeper.
I told myself that Lynne was my therapist, not a friend and a therapist is a function, and since I had internalized Lynne's function, I didn't need Lynne anymore. I shut myself down and away from mourning.
As an adult, I sent an e-mail message of condolence to the program's contact person. The person invited me to attend a presentation of the training program just to know what it was about.
I went to the presentation with no intent of joining it, and ended up applying for the program.
The interview of the prospective students were held on July 14, 2003 in one of the founders home. I saw Lynne's photo on an alter and asked when she had passed.
"Today is the day she passed, one year ago."
I didn't believe it. I couldn't believe that after almost a year of her passing, her service phone line was still alive... just waiting for me to make the call. My frozen heart melted and I cried.
It is still a mystery why the line was alive. The payment for the service had been stopped long time ago.
Lynne said to me,
"You have to call me when you need to see me."
And I made the call, didn't I.
The rest is history.
Now that I am about the age Lynne was when we met for the first time, something I call "Lynne-ness" is an integral part of me. Lynne-ness will be passed on through me-mess.
by J.U.
