I like your waiting room.

Thank you John.

How do you know my name?

We pay close attention to all  referrals.

Oh, I see.

Why don’t you have a seat and a counselor will be right with you.

A counselor?

Yes. Just protocol to assess your need to be seen today.

Yeah, but I traveled far to get here.

We understand and we’re sure you understand too. Weighty matters are to be taken seriously and no rush to judgment.

Okay.

(John thought it strange that the few paintings in the room were ones he was familiar with and very much liked in fact one was hanging in their living room.)

Hi John my name is Betty.

Excuse me.

Betty, my…

I heard you. Is this some kind of attempt at humor because if it is you guys need to hire a new writer; it is not funny you come out here and tell me your name and I know you know it is my wife’s name.

Sorry John but it is necessary in order to determine your commitment. We find the name recognition important in letting your guard down. It is all done in spirit of ‘right outcome’.

I don’t like it; devious business it is.

Do you mind if we start now?

No, go ahead.

We understand you have been dealing with grief for seven months now.

Hellacious grief.

We’re sure it’s been difficult.

You have no idea.

We understand you are impatient in letting time do what it does so well.

You mean like prolong the inevitable.

Well no, that’s not what I meant.

I didn’t think so.

I see you’ve done a fair amount of withdrawing.

To be honest I don’t have a ‘fair amount’ to withdraw from.

How does that make you feel?

Oh, I was waiting for that and just out of the gate. I refuse to answer that question. No I take it back. I will answer the question. I feel sad. And I will always feel sad. That is why I am here Betty.

I didn’t mean to upset you.

A tear, oh that’s rich. Remember I’m the sad one.

(Betty got up and walked over to the painting; the same one hanging in John’s living room.)

She loved Monet didn’t she?

Yes she did. We both did. We loved that bridge. Speaking of; I have a tale to tell. Nothing like a good Chorus wouldn’t you say. In fact I told Bette I want Wagner’s “Parsifal” Act 3 Chorus to be my death music. I’m not sure what I’ll do now. I always heard a life affirming chorus in my head ever since I was an infant. I’m sure it was with me through the canal. I don’t know about others. I can only speak for myself and say when times were good the chorus would be fortissimo and when times were not so good the chorus would be pianissimo. Lately I don’t hear the chorus. I don’t know why well I do have an idea and it came to me in a dream. I’ve always liked Simon and Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Water” and in the dream my chorus lined up along the bridge singing the song and while they were singing I went up to each one, smiled, nodded approval while my friend, of late, the bridge troll tied a weight to each singer’s ankle and threw the members of the Chorus into the water. I guess trolls can be pretty strong in spite of their size.

I’d call that more a nightmare John.

I can see how you would. Please don’t ask what I think it means.

I wasn’t going to. I’m a quick study. You miss her very much and…

Now listen you know how much I miss her; you have read the damn Journal for God’s sake haven’t you?

Yes of course.

Then I think we should be close to being done here. What do you think, Betty?

I’m afraid I have to discuss a few more things with you.

Fine. Let’s get on with it. Remember it took a bit to get here and I thought I’d be let in pretty quickly.

We apologize.

A lot of apologizing and understanding going on here. Not sure what the fuss is all about.

Your happiness, John

Which does not exist and if it did I would not be here.

We were hoping for a little more cooperation.

I don’t know why. I thought the Journal covered that; like if there were prerequisites I met them, I fulfilled them.

We do consider change of heart.

Oh I see. That I can understand. Well, this ticker knows what it wants. You know how they say ‘treasure the memories’; I’m having trouble with that and not because of a dearth but a lack of courage. I’m fearful of losing touch with some of reality. Let’s say the memories are in a room and I open the door and some are visible-I know entering that room will compromise my sense of reality when I leave. I’m okay with some duality and by that I mean the intellectual kind but duality of the ‘core’ is asking for a meltdown. Look at me Betty!

I am John.

Seven months, Seven god-awful months and I can’t remember anything not a thing without tears! And of course our home; she is everywhere!

We are careful when we talk about medication. Have you…

No. I don’t want anything to touch the Grief.

It wouldn’t; just ease up on your focus.

No that’s okay, thanks.

It’s good you haven’t completely shut yourself off from others.

That would be inconsiderate.

John, I’d like to go to the heart of the matter.

I wouldn’t mind.

I respect your thought process and truly understand why you asked for this referral. The only prescription we can give you is ‘time’ and though you feel it is not on your side there is nothing else to be done.

You are denying me my ‘Romeo’ moment.

I’m afraid so.

I am not sure I can abide by that.

To do otherwise complicates things for a latter time.

It may not matter if things go the way I fear they might.

I am real sorry John.

I am too Betty.

(An older guy came into the waiting room, walked up to the receptionist: “Hello Ma’am” “Hello Sir, Death will see you now”)

 

 

I have had my skin pricked by a thorn bush and it hurts. I have watched movies where a scene involves getting caught in barbed wire and I imagine that hurts quite a bit. I never thought of getting ensnared in emotional barbed wire but at times my grief for Bette is doing just that and I’d rather it be the physical barbed wire.

Upon waking I’m ensnared, sitting at the kitchen table I’m ensnared, when I’m in the shower and the bar of soap drops and there is no “are you okay in there” I’m ensnared, when I’m looking in the closet looking for something to wear for a ‘function’ and there is no “can I suggest something” I’m ensnared, when all food choices are mine alone to choose I’m ensnared, every time I get in that damn car and look over at the passenger seat I’m ensnared, all the ‘breaking news’ conversations-all the local,state,national,international and metaphysics “Oh my God, did Hawking really say ‘philosophy is dead'” gossip conversations-the numerous e-mails about upcoming museum exhibitions, theater productions,operas and concerts etc-ALL THAT WON’T BE TALKED ABOUT I’m ensnared, the day is done,I’m sitting in the living room on the love seat alone I’m ensnared and in bed pulling the covers over me without “Hey leave me some!” I’m ensnared.

I twist from a memory and collide with another. I dart forward and am thrown backward. The tearing brings me to a fetal position and I wait in stillness for my mind to go blank. It doesn’t happen and an especially treasured memory causes a sudden jump with arms wide open and the blood drips from every pore. There is no where to turn and avoid the shredded barbs of skin. All the piercing memories of Bette bleed me and I’m left with no alternative but to wait for coagulation and the flaking of the barbed wire rusted from eons of grief.

I walk away wounded and scarred. I tread lightly the landscape of memory.

But no matter what I do I will be ensnared again and though it breaks Bette’s heart it can’t be helped and I beg her forgiveness.

Love to you all