I had a client pass away this past week.

I had been with him for 14 years.

I met him while he was still in the rehab hospital shortly after his accident.

I then continued to see him weekly while he lived in a group home and then eventually when he got his own place where he lived with support workers and his mother.

His injuries were significant. He had limited use of his legs and arms, and his speech was slow, slurred and very difficult to understand.

When I met him, he was tube fed. We (well, he) worked long and hard on his swallowing. He desperately wanted to eat – he loved to eat. I was skeptical, he was determined. He won.

I remember the joy when he finally had the tube removed. Then the joy of eating. He loved his sweets. Loved Tim Horton’s apple fritters. In later years, on beautiful sunny days, he’d want to go to Tim Horton’s to get one. I’d fight him on leaving because we had work to do; he’d insist on practicing his speech while he powered on (he was in a power wheelchair) and I ran to keep up. I’d yell at him for pretending to try to run me over; he’d laugh. I’d make him order the apple fritter, even though they had a hard time understanding him and it was easier for me to do. It was his therapy work for the day.

He was kind, considerate, and wildly inappropriate. Part of his head injury, part of his personality. He’d tease, say rude things, and share his sadness and frustration with me. He also shared his past – regrets and memories, and then share his dreams. Skydiving, travel, kids. Walking. Talking.

He said he’d marry me when I got divorced and later always asked about my “25” kids. He teased me about everything: my age, my prudeness for not letting him smoke a joint during our sessions, and my poor hearing.

He worked ever single session. It was boring, monotonous, and tiring, but he did it. Every time. No complaints. And progress was slow. Super slow. He learned strategies to use to improve, but they required so much effort and energy. Energy that he was already short of given the effort he had to put into every other function too. He often asked me to explain to people how hard it was for him to speak, how much it took out of him so they could be more patient with him.

The past couple of years really took a toll on him. Hip replacements, kidney problems, heart problems. He persevered, but depression crept in and some sessions we quietly talked. I listened and sometimes I’d shed silent tears for the life he had lost – handed over in a split second to a careless driver texting while driving.

Back in 2014, I had had a conversation with him about my belief in the afterlife and how one day he would be whole again. I said we would meet and he’d be running and talk my ear off without any effort. I often used him as my “motivation” to really give my all to my clients, as one day we would meet again and I would stand accountable for the work – and relationship – I had with them. I would hope that I had served them well.

A few months ago his mother decided to put our therapy on hold. His energy was low, and she felt his progress stagnant. In our final session, he expressed how he didn’t want to stop therapy, but it was his mom’s decision. I understood both their perspectives. We parted with a hug and his standard “drive safe” as well as another “inappropriate” saying that he said to me every time.

Then last Sunday, I got an email from his Physiotherapist that he had passed away early in the morning. I was shocked. Felt heartsick.

Apparently he had been in hospital the past couple of weeks and not doing well. He had been having heart issues, and then kidney issues and they knew he would not recover.

I went to the Shiva following his funeral. I cried with his mother. Then I was heartbroken to find out from his main support worker that he had asked for me; they think he knew the end was close by. “Where’s Leah?” He asked. “I thought she’d come!”

Everyone assumed I had been told that he was really not doing well. Never make that assumption. Never make assumptions for something so important.

His mother said she was completely overwhelmed and forgot to call me.

I cried and cried, heartbroken that he died thinking I did not care enough to come. I expressed my heartache to his mom, saying of course I would have been there. To make it worse, she said “I know you would have come. I’m sorry I forgot. And he really needed you the last few months!”

Such a sad end to 14 years of therapy, and friendship. People talk about the need to be “professional” especially in careers like mine. And while I strive to maintain professional relationships always, I can’t help but care and share and love those whom I am privileged to work with.

He will forever be impressed upon my heart. I look forward to meeting again and walking and talking freely. Hopefully there will be apple fritters in Heaven.