LOREN
Barkley nudged me, and I blinked. The woman in front of me was crying, and I couldn’t find the words to comfort her. My mind was scattered, thinking of a million other things, and I struggled to focus on the present. Maybe I shouldn’t have come back to work today. Work had always been a distraction from my life in the past, giving me a reprieve. However, now, it didn’t seem to matter and I couldn’t escape the chaos going on as easily.
“What do you think I should do?” she asked, looking up. She twisted a Kleenex in her hand, but every now and then, I caught her scratching Fort’s head. It had been a last-minute decision to bring both of them in today, but so far, they’d done great. The clients seemed to be responding well, too.
Focusing on Sara, I nodded, trying to remember the last thing she said. Fuck. I was failing her. That thought had me sitting up, leaning toward her. She didn’t deserve a half-ass therapist. “I think knowing what to do and what you want to do are often in conflict. Especially when grief is part of the equation. You feel like you should be at a certain point by now, yes?”
She nodded, wiping her eyes.
“In my experience, that’s the lie our doubt whispers. The truth, no one has it together, and no one knows how to handle death. We’re all stumbling about, trying to keep our heads on and make sense of a world with a person we loved no longer in it. There’s not a wrong way to grieve. Though, I’ll add this caveat, assuming you’re not violating laws or hurting others or yourself. But if you want to cry or scream out some angry rock music, go right ahead. You want to take up pottery, run a marathon, adopt five puppies, or even change your hair… It’s all valid.”
“I guess, when you say it that way, rewatching our favorite show every night isn’t too out there.”
“No, it’s not. Some people need to push the sad feelings away until they can return to them. Others dive right in, wrapping themselves in the grief, barreling their way through. And yet, some clients find they can only take sips of the memories and emotions, only letting themselves grieve for a small part of their day as they try to rebuild. Neither process is right or wrong. Grief is as personal as your fingerprint. So, don’t measure yourself against someone else. They just might be better at covering it. In the end, we all have to face the feelings. And when you’re ready, I’ll be here to help you.”
“Thanks, Loren. Some days I feel like I’ll never stop crying, but it helps to know that won’t last forever.”
“It won’t.” I smiled, glad I’d been able to finally focus. Barkley licked my hand, and it seemed she was happy with me, too. She was too bright sometimes. “Let’s get you scheduled for next week.”
The rest of the morning passed by quickly, and I stayed present with my clients, not thinking about my life or the guys. When lunch rolled around, I was grateful for the reprieve, though. Emoting today had been more demanding, and I was tired, drained of my energy. I debated closing my door and taking a nap. The dogs were both in their respective spots, having claimed their own corners and snoring. Deciding a quick one would be worth it, I stood and walked to my door to tell Topher. When I didn’t spot him, I peeked out further, confused.
“Doris? Where’s Topher?”
“Hmm?” she asked, glancing up. “Oh, he stepped out to the restroom.”
“Oh, okay. Tell him to knock on my door when he gets back.”
“Will do, honey.”
I smiled, feeling weird, despite not having a reason to. I shut the door, the dogs picking their heads up to see if I needed anything. When I didn’t, almost in sync, they laid them back down, closing their eyes. It was too cute.
I got myself comfortable on the couch and picked up my phone while I waited so I could answer some texts.
Monroe: Have a good day, Lo. Love you
ME: You too, Roe. Love you. Kiss Levi for me.
Nicco: Miss you already, Beautiful. Maybe you should be the family’s therapist? I’m sure I could get you clients and then you wouldn’t have to leave. I’ll be your first. *Winky face*
ME: I think that’s a different type of client you’re speaking of there, sir
Nicco responded back almost immediately, making me laugh.
Nicco: Oh, I like when you call me sir. Say it in front of Atticus next time. I want to watch his head explode.
ME: You’re incorrigible.
Nicco: I’ll be whatever you want, Beautiful. How’s your day?
ME: Weird. But getting better. It’s strange not being there, and I was only there a week.
Nicco: We Mascros have a way of seeping into your skin.
ME: You do something.
Nicco: I’m going to pretend that’s a compliment
ME: Do what you must. Lol. How’s your day?