Page 29 of The River Is Waiting

I nod. When my tears start falling in earnest, she apologizes for having run out of tissues during her previous appointment. I tell her no problem and wipe away the wetness with my sleeve.

“Okay then. Medication is one way to quiet these demons.” She scans her notes. “Now, you have had a problem with benzodiazepines, so we would want to steer clear of those. But there are SSRIs that I could ask one of the psychiatrists I consult with to prescribe for you. Maybe Paxil or Zoloft. They’re antidepressants as opposed to the kind of antianxiety medication you ran afoul of.”

I shake my head. Tell her I don’t want to mess with drugs of any kind.

“Very well then. Good. There are deep breathing exercises you can do when you feel the onset of an attack. And grounding techniques. I have instructions for both if you’ll give me a minute.” She pulls a tattered, overstuffed manila folder from her desk drawer and riffles through it, loose pages spilling to the floor. “If I am reincarnated as another human in my next life, instead of a baboon or a garden slug, I should like to be anorganizedhomo sapien, ha ha. Ah, here we go.”

She hands me what she was looking for. I glance at the sheet about breathing exercises. Tell her we learned a version of these when we were taking Lamaze classes. And that they had helped Emily when she went into labor.

She nods. “As one concentrates on the air passing in and out of the body, you are simultaneously distracted from the pain and your body relaxes. And in your case, if you can put yourself into a state of relaxation, you may then be able to get to sleep.

“Now as for the other paper you have there—the one about grounding techniques—these will also refocus you away from the disorientation of a panic attack. Instead of flashing back to the tragedy or losing yourself in fears about the unknowable future, you bring yourself back to the here and now. For example, you might hold an object that’s within your reach. Look at it, feel its texture, perhaps even touch your tongue to it and taste it.” I shoot her a skeptical look. “As it says on the sheet, there’s a formula you can follow.”

“A formula?”

“Based on the five senses. You concentrate on five things you can see. A calendar, for example. A photograph. Then four things you can touch or feel: your shoe, a book, anything within reach. Then three things you hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste. What you are doing is giving your mind something to do other than surrender to the terror.”

I ask her whether I can keep the printouts. “Oh yes, they’re yours,” she says. Stoops to pick up the papers that have fallen to the floor. Smiles at one of them. “Aha, here’s a lovely bit of synchronicity,” she says. “Read this quote for me, please.” She hands it to me—it’s from some woman I’ve never heard of. I’m reading it silently when she says, “No, no. Aloud, please.”

“?‘Worrying is carrying tomorrow’s load with today’s strength—carrying two days at once. It is moving into tomorrow ahead of time. Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow; it empties today of its strength.’—Corrie ten Boom.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Do you see the wisdom in what she is saying?”

“I guess. But…”

“Yes?”

“No disrespect, but I assume this is the ‘wisdom’ of someone who’s never had to be facing the probability of being warehoused in prison, then coming out to find that he’s lost—”

“Warehoused?” she says, frowning. “Corby, you are not an inanimate object. You’re a living, evolving person, and if prison is to be in your future, one way to face it is to embrace the possibility that you can learn from the experience.”

“Right. Okay. Good point.” Better to agree with her than to argue against the educational value of life in the slammer. “I just wish we could go back to the way it used to be so that…”

“So that what?”

I shake my head and shrug. What’s the point of even saying it?

She reaches across the table. Takes my hands in hers and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Well, nothingcango back to the way it once was, if by that you mean before the accident. The death of your son is a terrible reality that cannot be denied. But you can certainly have a life worth living, whether or not your marriage survives. For your daughter’s sake as well as your own. Do you see Emily as a vindictive person?”

I shake my head. “She’s kind, good-hearted. She’s a wonderful teacher. A great mom, too, although she’d probably give me an argument about that. She always used to say that I was the better parent. But I dealt her such a terrible blow, you know? And it’s changed her. Made her bitter, which I understand. But I still love her so much. Having her and Maisie back is all I want.”

“Well, I have no crystal ball, so I cannot promise you your marriage will remain intact. And to be blunt, in situations like yours and Emily’s, the odds may be against it. The death of a child often results in a couple divorcing, especially—”

“If one of them backed over him. Crushed the life out of him.”

She shakes her head and smiles sadly. “I was going to say, especially since mourning a lost child is such a complicated and personal thing. As I’ve mentioned before, two parents will often grieve quite differently from one another and grow apart. But you just told me that Emily is not a vengeful person, which is good news, I think. I doubt she would want to mount some custody battle to deprive you of your daughter because it would also deprive your daughter of her father.”

She glances at her watch. “I’m afraid it’s time for us to end our session, Corby, but I hope we can speak again before your sentencing hearing. I used to be one of the psychologists in rotation at Yates. If you do have to go to prison, I know you’ll be in good hands with Dr. Clegg or Dr. Kandrow. And whoever the new hire is, I’m sure that person will be able to help you, too. And in the meantime, I wish you the best of luck in ridding yourself of your panic episodes.” She smiles and crosses her fingers.

I get up. Thank her and start to leave. Then I stop and turn back.

“You know the woman who wrote that quote you gave me?” I ask.

“Corrie ten Boom. Yes?”

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