27. Drew Jensen

27. Drew Jensen. I only knew Drew a very short time – from the time I first met him at the Seattle VA, at the beginning of the summer of 2007, until the end of that same summer, shortly before his death on September 18 – and yet he, and his wife Stacia, made a profound impact on me and absolutely shaped my life, my values and my understanding of life and death.Drew was a 27 year old Iraq war veteran, an Army Captain who was shot in the neck by a sniper on his second tour in one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in Iraq, trying to help one of his soldiers who was pinned behind a vehicle. He was paralyzed from the neck down and required a ventilator to breathe. After being airlifted out of further danger, and being stabilized in Germany, Drew was brought to the Seattle VA to be near his family.I was asked to meet Drew and share the idea of Integrated Movement Therapy with him through the recommendation of one of my Samarya students. She believed I could somehow help him, and he agreed to the meeting.I will never forget the first time that I walked into his room and saw him lying there – a beautiful young man, his body already beginning to atrophy and covered only by a washcloth, with medical staff and equipment all around him. I remember feeling completely overwhelmed and out of my league and had a moment where I wanted to just leave, saying there had clearly been some mistake – I had no idea what I could offer. But I didn’t leave. I settled my mind and stayed. I told myself that if there were any way at all that I could help this person through IMT, I would do it. I would just have to figure out what that help would look like and how I would deliver it.Drew was gracious and encouraging from the beginning. He would chuckle at me as I pulled up on my bike in my shorts and tee-shirts– he could see me outside from his window – and welcome me into his room in the spinal cord unit. He was open to anything I had to offer him. One time, I had my hands on his head doing Reiki, when an air bubble got caught in his ventilator and alarms began to go off. As the medical staff rushed in, I asked Drew what I should do, if I should move away or stay where I was. He asked me to stay where I was. We did a variety of practices together, and I found myself thinking about him all the time – what more could I offer? How else could I alleviate some of his suffering? Drew is the only client I have ever worked with in my almost thirty years now of working with people in the most challenging of situations, that made me truly question God. I remember coming home to Sasha one afternoon after spending time with Drew and just crying and crying and saying that if God wanted me to be with folks like Drew, why the hell couldn’t that same God give me some insight, some revelation, some magic potion to feel like I was the right person to be there, something that could help Drew. But I kept going, and Drew and Stacia kept inviting me back.I only saw Drew maybe eight times total. We did rotations of consciousness, we talked, I told him irreverent jokes, I advocated for him the best I could – especially when his staff and family offered him quadriplegic superheroes like Christopher Reeves, or this other guy who came to the spinal cord unit to talk about how great life could still be and all he had accomplished both in spite of and because of his total paralysis. Drew didn’t seem to be interested, and I could be at least one person who could hold that side for him – that if he didn’t want to be a superhero he didn’t have to be. Or, much more accurately, Drew already was a superhero – to his wife, to his family, to his fellow soldiers, to his platoon, to me.When Drew told me he had decided to come off of his ventilator, we talked about how a life is measured – is it in how long it lasts, or in the quality of the life, in a person’s accomplishments and their own sense of completion? I could be one person for him who wasn’t attached to him choosing life, but instead someone who could support his decision and sense of deep and abiding agency. I wasn’t always so sure though – I also remember the day he told me he had chosen to die. While I was with him, I was steady, but I cried on my ride home and as soon as I could, I called me dad. I was saying to him, “Maybe I should be telling him to live, maybe I shouldn’t be telling him I thought his choice was ok.” My dad, who can show up in powerful ways with this sort of thing said to me, “Molly, don’t think you are more important than you are. He has his family, his processes, his own circle to help him make such a big decision. You just keep doing your job, and let him do his.” That was such an extraordinary learning moment for me in my work. I’m not that important, and I lose focus of my purpose when I conflate my good work with my own personal agenda. Drew was not one to lose focus, and I needed keep my own in order to honor this exceptional human being, and this exceptional experience.The last time I saw Drew, we talked, I hugged him, and as I left his room, he gave me the peace sign and said, “See you around, but not too soon.”Later, Drew’s wife Stacia told me that many synchronous things occurred at the time of Drew’s death but this one she wanted to share with me:Drew and I practiced dying through a methodical visualization of deconstructing the body through its various layers – physical, energetic, emotional – until nothing existed except for what we called “the firefly” or “infinite freedom.” We would imagine that firefly, free and light, flying out of the body and into space. Then we would invite the firefly back and reconstruct the body by reversing our visualization. Every time we did this, we would listen to this particular trance type music called “El Hadra.” Stacia told me that on the day of Drew’s death, she had loaded his ipod and played music as friends came to visit and say good-bye. At some point, the nurses came in and said that they were going to begin the process of turning down the ventilator and setting Drew free – he would become the firefly. According to Stacia, just as that process began, the ipod music changed. El Hadra played as Drew transitioned into infinite freedom through death.Drew Jensen changed my life. If not for Drew, there are so many things I would not know now, including my own great power and even greater insignificance. I don’t think I would be as connected to what these soldiers actually go through and the real cost of these bullshit wars. I wouldn’t trust myself or God as much, and I might not question – with a perfect balance confidence and humility - my own capacity and role in these extraordinary situations. I wouldn’t be as absolutely convinced of the deeply transformative power of IMT, and I wouldn’t have met Stacia, Drew’s wife, an astonishing model of presence, generosity and resilience.Drew clearly impacted so many people in his short life. I am forever grateful that I get to be one of those people he touched through his life and death. For someone I knew so fleetingly, my life was forever changed by our chance interaction and I will always honor Drew for the extraordinary gift of his presence.