LAST POST UNTIL 9/23
(Program note: This will be my last post until Sept. 23.)
Yesterday, I said goodbye to my grief counselor.
It was my decision.
My previous session had been something like seven or eight or nine months ago. I honestly can't remember exactly how many months it had been; I'd scheduled yesterday's appointment that far in the future.
I'd known it was time to cut myself loose, but I made that far-off appointment as a kind of "lifeline." Not coincidentally, I scheduled it for around the time of the second anniversary of losing Kathy. Funny thing is, I didn't even call to verify if his office still had me on the schedule. I just nonchalantly materialized, as if I had been in the week before. "Your 1 o'clock is here, doctor," I heard the receptionist say.
To be sure, I'd had some rough times in that wide gulf between appointments. But as I told close friends with whom I might discuss my counseling, "He gave me the tools." I knew I could make it.
I naively thought that in this final session, he and I wouldn't have any "work" to do -- that I'd simply thank him for everything he's done for me (I will always be so, so grateful), catch him up a little on my situation and fade into the sunset.
But it was a fairly active session. I bawled, almost from the moment I walked in. He opened a huge book to fine-tune a definition. To the end, I was prescribed some exercises. So we were really going at it.
And then fade into the sunset, I did.
This week, I will visit Kathy. I'll bring my (rarely used) cell phone and try calling my mother-in-law and sisters-in-law from there. I'll bring a guitar -- my acoustic/electric Takamine, the same one I serenaded Kathy with at the Manasquan Inlet on our wedding day in 1986. (I sang Led Zeppelin's "Thank You.")
And then I'll try my best to get on with the rest of my life.
Yesterday, I said goodbye to my grief counselor.
It was my decision.
My previous session had been something like seven or eight or nine months ago. I honestly can't remember exactly how many months it had been; I'd scheduled yesterday's appointment that far in the future.
I'd known it was time to cut myself loose, but I made that far-off appointment as a kind of "lifeline." Not coincidentally, I scheduled it for around the time of the second anniversary of losing Kathy. Funny thing is, I didn't even call to verify if his office still had me on the schedule. I just nonchalantly materialized, as if I had been in the week before. "Your 1 o'clock is here, doctor," I heard the receptionist say.
To be sure, I'd had some rough times in that wide gulf between appointments. But as I told close friends with whom I might discuss my counseling, "He gave me the tools." I knew I could make it.
I naively thought that in this final session, he and I wouldn't have any "work" to do -- that I'd simply thank him for everything he's done for me (I will always be so, so grateful), catch him up a little on my situation and fade into the sunset.
But it was a fairly active session. I bawled, almost from the moment I walked in. He opened a huge book to fine-tune a definition. To the end, I was prescribed some exercises. So we were really going at it.
And then fade into the sunset, I did.
This week, I will visit Kathy. I'll bring my (rarely used) cell phone and try calling my mother-in-law and sisters-in-law from there. I'll bring a guitar -- my acoustic/electric Takamine, the same one I serenaded Kathy with at the Manasquan Inlet on our wedding day in 1986. (I sang Led Zeppelin's "Thank You.")
And then I'll try my best to get on with the rest of my life.
posted by Mark Voger at 1:16 AM
4 Comments:
I cried like crazy too. on that day. Tuesday. It was rough. Really rough. this will suck forever, I'm afraid.
However, we all have each other, and I'm so glad to be there for you and so greatful when you are there for me and all of the rest of us going through this pain.
She will never be forgotten. Ever. But forever we are left with these heart shaped wholes in our hearts..........
Thanks, Ms. McGillicuddy.
Progress is incremental.
But there IS progress.
you're always my brother, my friend, my bro.
Always!
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