Page 24 of The River Is Waiting

Dr. Patel looks at Emily, who looks away from her. “Well, that is not the case here, Corby. My job is to help, not judge.” Emily rolls her eyes.

Trying to break through my wife’s resistance, I say, “I mean, don’t get me wrong. Ideserveto be judged. I putbothour kids at risk when I started drinking while I was taking care of them.”

“And drugging yourself, too,” Emily mumbles. “Don’t forgetthatlittle detail.”

Dr. Patel looks back and forth between us.

“Right,” I say. “And Niko died because of it. Emily, the shame and guilt I feel—the pain this is putting you through—is going to be a life sentence for me. And it should.” I turn from my wife to Dr. Patel. “But there’s a bigger picture.”

“Meaning?” Dr. Patel asks.

“That I’ve been a loving father, too. A prettygoodfather up until—”

“Until you weren’t!” Emily snaps. “Don’t make yourself sound like Father of the Year. Or like you’re a victim because of what people are saying on Facebook. Because you’renotthe victim, Corby. Niko was.”

Close to tears, I snap back at her. “You think I don’t know that? You think that’s slipped my mind?”

Dr. Patel waits for one of us to speak, but when we don’t, she says, “Let’s take a breath. I think our tea must be finished steeping. I’ll be right back.”

While we wait, Emily checks her phone and I scan the degrees on Dr. Patel’s wall. Oxford University, the University of Chicago. There’s a plaque from the National Alliance on Mental Illness, a teaching award from Yale.

When she’s back, I nod toward the wall. “That’s a pretty impressive collection you’ve got up there,” I say.

“Well, I’m afraid my accomplishments in the kitchen are much less so,” she says, placing a plate of cookies on the table in front of us. “These arenankhatai—Indian butter cookies.”

I take one; Emily doesn’t. Dr. Patel says she’d like to turn to Emily now. “Corby has told us that his feelings of shame and guilt will be ‘a life sentence,’ but—”

“That’s typical. Our son is dead, but he’s focused on himself.”

I flinch but don’t respond. “Tell us whatyou’refeeling, Emily,” Dr. Patel says.

“WhatI’mfeeling? I’m feeling so overwhelmed with grief that I have to remind myself to breathe. That I have to force myself to get out of bed in the morning.”

“That’s understandable, and good for you that you’re making that effort,” Patel says. “What other feelings are you experiencing?”

“Anger. Confusion. Guilt. And that’s just for starters.”

“It’s understandable that, this close to so profound a tragedy, your emotions would be all over the place,” Patel says.

“Please don’t call him ‘a tragedy.’ He has a name: Niko.” She looks over at me. “Hada name,” she says.

“So noted,” Patel says. “Now I’d like us to examine your anger a little more closely. Would that be all right?”

Emily sighs impatiently but finally nods.

“Good. Thank you, Emily. Let me first tell you that I have done grief work with other mothers who have lost a child. If the death was unexpected, rather than anticipated because of the child’s terminal illness, thesemothers, understandably, feel angry about a situation that has been thrust upon them out of the blue. Some of these grieving mothers direct their outrage at fate or, if they are women of faith, at God because they feel He has betrayed their devotion to Him. Depending on the circumstances surrounding the death, others feel angry with themselves or with their child’s father. Can you tell us what or whom—”

“Corby!”

“Because?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Dr. Patel suggests it might be useful if Emily says what she needs to say directly to me. When she turns to me, I brace myself, determined to face her.

She keeps me waiting, but I can tell from her rapid breathing that her anger is rising. “You betrayed my trust,” she finally says. “I assumed our kids would be safe in their father’s care, but Niko’s not here anymore because of your stupid self-pity. ‘Oh, poor me. I lost my job and can’t find another one. And now I have to take care of our kids because we can’t afford daycare. Boo-hoo. I might as well just get wasted.’?”

My hands clench up and my stomach tightens, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to lose it. When I ask Patel whether I can respond, she nods. “I started drinking because I was depressed, Emily, not because I resented taking care of the kids. Was it easy being the stay-at-home parent? Not always. But there were parts about it that I really loved. It was amazing to watch their development from day to day. I bonded with Niko and Maisie in a way I never would have otherwise.”

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