Page 26 of Feels Like Coming Home

It had been six months since I’d seen Haley and after talking to Harvey about it, I decided he was probably right. Plus, I couldn’t get her words out of my head.

“Please, just let me go.”

If she wanted me to let her go, I would. Because I would do anything for her. So I decided to keep my distance and respect her need for space and time to grieve. I sent flowers the week after the services though, just to be a friend. ‘Thinking of you – Cam’was all I put on the card, and that could be interpreted in a multitude of ways. It could mean,I'm thinking about you during your time of grief.orI'm thinking about you naked and on top of me while you suck me off.

I decided to let Haley choose how she wanted to perceive it.

There were so many times I wanted to reach out to her, call her, and reconnect with her. Several times I stared at the cursor on my laptop, watching it blink over the ‘Add Friend’ button on Facebook. But I never did. I only found her address through the obituary listing that I dug out of my search history. With how busy the season kept me, I never had the chance to reach out any further. But that didn’t mean I stopped thinking about her.

Or dreaming about her.

“Nah, I don’t have many plans right now. I’m just going to go where the wind takes me,” I tried to be coy. Almost as if Mother Nature could hear me being so full of shit, a strong gust of wind whipped through the parking lot and flung my bag right off my shoulder and onto the ground where it landed in a giant puddle.

Okay, maybe I’m not going where the wind takes me,I thought to myself as I picked up my bag and threw it in my trunk.Maybe I'm going after the girl who can’t seem to escape my dreams.

13

HALEY | NOW

“Ithink it would be good if you started to go out every now and then, leave the house, be part of society again. Even if it’s just once a week for a few hours.” Crossing her legs and holding a notepad on her knee, Deborah looked at me, trying to gauge how I felt about her suggestion.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek and considered what she’d said. It had been six months since Connor passed away and about five and a half since I started seeing her for grief counseling. I liked Deborah a lot. She reminded me of what a quintessential Southern grandmother would be like. Sweet and kind, but will also drop an F-bomb out of nowhere and tell you when you’re being over dramatic. Two things that she’d done in our sessions before.

I knew why she was suggesting I get out more often. Ever since getting back from Charlotte for Connor’s funeral, I had become a sort of recluse. I rarely left my house, even though I felt like it was suffocating me at times with its reminders of Connor, and even after I started working again, I always asked Piper to come to my house for our meetings. Not only was it hard for me to leave my house, but it was also impossible for me to go to places that reminded me of Connor. I hadn’t been back to the coffee shop I was at when I got the call about his accident and ordering Thai food was out of the question.

But my time of being a hermit was running out. The She Who Thrives Live! conference is in another four months and there was no way I was going to be able to shove 400 women into my living room to attend.Thankfully, we are hosting it at the convention center downtown so I won’t need to leave Wilmington,I thought to myself. I wasn’t going to tell Deborah I felt this way though to further avoid proving her point.

“Haley,” she continued, shifting in her big, plush leather chair again. “I know that the world seems scary right now, and it’s been hard losing someone so suddenly. But you can’t live the rest of your life like this.” Her head tilted to the side as she spoke with genuine concern. “Have you slept in your bedroom yet?”

I looked down at my hands, embarrassed by the fact that I hadn’t. I couldn’t even open the door to our bedroom for six weeks after the funeral because the thought of opening the door and Connor not being on the other side broke my heart all over again. As a result, I wore the same three outfits repeatedly for weeks. It wasn’t until one day that my mom came over and wouldn’t let me escape her until I opened the door and walked inside. Once I stepped inside, I was crushed with memories of Connor that felt so heavy, that I collapsed to the floor sobbing. My mom dropped down on the floor next to me and apologized for pushing me too soon. While it stung at first, I was grateful she had pushed me to go inside because I was able to move throughout the room without the weight of my grief completely crushing me.

But I still couldn’t bring myself to sleep in our bed alone.

Realizing I still hadn’t answered Deborah, I took a deep breath and answered her question.

“No, I’m still not sleeping in our bedroom. My bedroom,” I corrected myself quickly and shifted where I sat, uncomfortable and embarrassed. Why couldn’t I just get over this?

Deborah looked at me, not saying anything but giving me a look that encouraged me to continue. This is one of the reasons I like Deborah so much; she never pushed where she didn’t think she had the right. She would take the information you gave her and run with it, but she never forced anything out of you or made you talk about things you weren’t ready to talk about.

I took a deep breath and continued, “I’m still sleeping in the guest room, but can at least go into our—my—bedroom now. I spend time in there daily, to get ready, change, and shower, but I’m not sleeping in there yet. It’s just too much.” My voice came out small and I stared at my hands, keeping my eyes low.

“What’s too much?” Deborah probed.

“The memories! The emptiness! How quiet it isall the time.Connor worked from home and while he wasn’t loud, I could still hear him in his office typing away on his laptop. I knew he was there. I could feel he was there and now…now there’s nothing there. It feels like my house is trying to suffocate me all the time.” My voice trailed off at the end, getting hitched by the lump that was forming in my throat.

Deborah reached over and put her hand on my knee, looking at me directly. “Haley, what you’re feeling isn't your home, it’s grief. Remember how we have been talking about that? How it’s not certain people or things trying to bring you pain or hurt you, it’s grief?” I nodded silently. “Good. And you’ve worked really hard the last several months to learn strategies and skills that help you when your grief gets too heavy. Are you using them?”

“Yeah. Sometimes it’s all just too much. It feels like I just lost him yesterday. It feels so fresh…like the wound is still wide open and throbbing.” Tears started to form in my eyes as I admitted this to Deborah and she handed me a tissue.

“I know, sweetie. I know how real it all feels and how heavy it can be. And while I didn’t know Connor personally, based on what you’ve shared with me about him, I don’t think he would’ve wanted you to live this way. Do you?” I’m sure therapists aren’t supposed to call their patients ‘sweetie,’ but the name made me smile and feel cared for.

I sniffed back some tears and wiped my nose with the tissue again. “No, I don’t think he would have.”

“Then let’s keep working so you don’t have to, okay?”

I smiled at Deborah and loved her even more for caring so much about me.

While I appreciated what she was hoping for, I wasn’t so sure how much I believed it was possible.

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