Page 26 of Must Love Flowers
“I remember Gennie. How is she doing?”
“Good, I guess. I mean, I haven’t talked to her in a while.” Like years, but Joan didn’t mention that.
“Can you tell me why she thought I might be of help to you?”
“My…My husband died.”
“Was this recent, Joan?” Her eyes were sympathetic.
Joan looked down at her hands, reluctant to admit how long it had been. “Jared died four years ago.”
“I see. Tell me about Jared.”
For the next several minutes Joan spoke of her loving relationship with her husband. After she relayed the basic information, how they met, married, and raised their two sons, she hesitated and then spoke of the aneurysm that took his life.
When she finished, she added, “Many couples who spend as much time together as Jared and I did eventually have marriage difficulties. It took effort for us to separate our business life from the one at home. Somehow, we managed to do that and keep both relationships strong.
“We were good together, complementing each other. We raised our sons with love, and when it came time for them to make their own lives, we adjusted easily to an empty nest.”
“You never argued?”
“Rarely.” And that was true. In all the years of their marriage and their work, there were seldom any conflicts that couldn’t be resolved with patience and love.
“I can understand why Jared’s death was such a tremendous loss.”
That goose egg was back, and once again Joan was forced to swallow it down. As she had earlier, she blinked away tears. “It feels like a part of me died along with my husband.” Her vision was blurred by the moisture in her eyes.
Dr. O’Brien reached for a tissue box and handed it to Joan.
“Thank you,” she whispered brokenly.
“It’s been four years,” Dr. O’Brien said. “I can imagine Jared’s loss has been a major adjustment for you and your children.”
Joan nodded.
“Tell me how you’ve made that adjustment.”
That was the point of her visit. Joan really hadn’t adjusted. She had an excuse and was more than ready to use it. “It wasn’tlong after Jared’s passing that the pandemic hit,” she said, as a way of explaining how isolated her life had become.
“And you holed up inside your home like the rest of the world.”
“Yes.” Another nod—a confession, really—an admission of guilt. “The problem is, I continued to falter, unsure of the direction my life needed to go after the pandemic. My home became my shelter as well as my prison. I need to know what to do next. I have no idea where to go from here. I don’t need to work but feel like maybe I should.” She made an empty gesture with her hands. “I’m lost, Dr. O’Brien, and I’m hoping you can help me find my way.”
“And that’s the reason you made this appointment?”
“Yes. That and other reasons.”
“You should know that I don’t give directions, Joan. That’s not the way a counselor functions. My role is to help you find your own way. It will be painful at times and joyous at others. It isn’t easy to break patterns that we fall into when our natural instinct is to steer toward what is familiar. Are you ready to make those changes?”
“I’m here.” That should be answer enough.
Dr. O’Brien smiled. “That’s a wonderful first step in the right direction, and I applaud you. Would you consider attending a grief therapy group?”
Joan automatically shook her head, vehemently rejecting the idea out of hand. “No.”
Showing no outward sign of disapproval, Dr. O’Brien asked, “Can you tell me why you’re so adamantly against the idea?”
Inhaling a calming breath, Joan lowered her gaze to the floor. “The people in this group have all lost loved ones, right?”
