Page 63 of Almost Home
For a man who didn’t talk a lot, therapy had been a challenge. I wasn’t someone who felt the need to fill the silence, so the first session had been rife with them. But I wasn’t resisting it—I just had to work on verbalizing some of what happened inside me. And I’d made progress on that.
“She was my world, and then things fell apart. I’m not sure I let myself grieve very well. I coped by leaving, too. And being back, it feels like I should be more—” I ran my hands through my hair, then leaned forward to rest my elbows on my knees. “Like I should be sadder. Unhappy. That being with her would hurt or I’d feel resentful or angry or wary or stupid orsomethingother than happy and so turned on I can hardly see straight.”
A smile flashed but she packed it away. “Are you resentful?”
Exhaling through the surge of adrenaline from my last explanation, I searched myself. I’d done that a lot lately, especially where it came to Sarah. “No. After her apology, I wondered if I’d accepted it to get past the awkwardness and keep her from being upset. I could never stand when she was torn up, and I guess that’s still true. But I don’t. Because we were kids, and her parents were moving, and she’d just lost our baby. She was a mess, and so was I. Ideally, she wouldn’t have left, but I’m not foolish enough to think I would’ve been some expert at helping her deal with all the aftermath of what happened.”
And that was true. Simply true. I wouldn’t have known how, and who knew how much harder it would’ve been for her if she’d stayed.
“Are you angry? Bitter? Sad?”
I huffed, seeing her point. “The only thing I’m sad about is realizing the distance I put between myself and my family. And even that is better than I could’ve hoped for. With Sarah, thinking about the time we’ve lost makes me sad. Always has. We haven’t talked about that much but even though I know we need to, I also want to just not.”
She jotted notes in a paper notebook while I gathered my next thought. She was trying to make me see that the absence of those feelings meant maybe itwasthat easy. I got it. I could see where her questions were taking me, obviously. That maybe my life had been on pause, and when I pressed play again, it all fell into place, just like that. But there was more at the heart of this I couldn’t ignore.
“I—” I cleared my throat. “I’m not sure I deserve it.”
“It…”
“Happiness? Ease? Sarah. My family’s forgiveness.”
“What makes you say that?”
I pushed back and settled against the couch again. “I walked away. I kept them at arm’s length—my family at least. And the work I did mattered, but it didn’t have to consume me. I let it—wanted it to. I wanted to live a life separate from things that made me feel too much.”
“What’s too much?”
I scrubbed a hand down my face. “Doc, you’re killing me.”
She chuckled gamely. “I’m not trying to. What I’m hearing is that heightened emotions are something you prefer to avoid. I wonder though, did you ever experience anything that you’d qualify asfeeling too muchduring your career in the Army?”
“Yes. Not all the time, but yes.” I’d witnessed death firsthand. More than one brutal, limb-taking injury. I’d lost friends. I’d grappled with survivor’s guilt, with the inability to save them, with the waste of losing them, with the terror of it being me and then another round of guilt for all of that. And then, I’d shut it out and get back to work.
“So you didn’t escape that when you left.”
“No.”
“It sounds like you feel the need to atone for having stayed away, but all the while, you were facing hardships you never would’ve had if you stayed. Or, if you’d taken up a more traditional military career, perhaps.”
My head tipped side to side. “Most of the worst losses were prior to my special ops time.”
She nodded, granting me that. “I wonder if you feel Sarah doesn’t deserve happiness for having left?”
“Definitely not.”
“Do you feel Warrick should have to atone for the time he spent away in the NFL?”
We’d talked enough about Warrick. Plus, the town was small; she knew his history.
“No.”
“And what about—”
I waved a hand. “I get it. I do.”
We sat in silence as my mind worked through undefinable thoughts. After a while, her timer buzzed with a five-minute warning.
“I’d suggest thinking about ways you can accept what is good.”
