My bereavement shrink reminds me of Bette Davis. I half expect her to crazy dance and sing "I've Written a Letter to Daddy."
She hasn't signed my a clean bill of health yet, but when that day happens will it really count? Gene's judgement is as credible as John Edwards. I'll feel like I cheated on a mid-term, slept with the teacher or donated a wing to the school.
I've been seeing her since December of '06 so she has helped me through some tough times, although she's gotten tougher herself each visit. She's like a Mom I continue to disappoint.
With each shake of her head I feel she's saying I ought to go out into the world and embrace widowhood. "There's no shame in telling people your husband died. You didn't kill him."
Yet, I am self conscious. And, I still belittle him in my mind. How could a big, boisterous, intelligent man, a man I counted on for all the major decisions, allow a few little cancer cells to do him in?
I may not know how to analyze a company and until recently I thought a balance sheet had a thread count, but I feel superior. I've stayed alive longer. That's twisted, I know. I expected Gene to help me with that.
She boasts that she's seen "thousands" of clients and this is quite common. I am quite common.
We wait while I re-vavel what has unraveled. I can wait alone. Who needs her?
She tells me that I still think like a married woman. She tells me I'm naive. She says, "Do you really think your daughter doesn't lie to you?" Um...That hadn't occurred to me...not at 31 years old...
When I ask Gene a question she says, "How should I know?" This reminds me of how when Jimmy and I would watch TV and I would comment, "Why is that woman running away from that man?"
Jimmy would say, "How should I know? I started watching when you did." I wasn't
really expecting an answer.
Sometimes, I do expect an answer. Gene answers, "I can't tell you what to do."
I haven't officially fired Gene. I told her I'd call her for a next appointment. I considering not calling.