A Thank You To My Grief Counsellor A Few Years Down The Road

  It’s been awhile since I’ve purged my home office. Shuffled through a sheaf of paper deciding what to file…what to shred… 

It’s not an easy task for me - I’m a bit of a hoarder by nature. Sometimes parting with documents for good - shredding or recycling and just letting go - is difficult and gives me a bit of anxiety because once something is gone, it’s gone for good. 

One of the treasures I found recently was the card of my grief counsellor. I haven’t thought about him or my sessions with him in a thoughtful, deliberate manner in awhile. Holding his card in my hand, however, brought back our sessions but with a remembrance that holds a sharper, clearer vision.

I leaned back in my worn office chair and as I ran my hand over the card thought about the first time I met him. COVID protocols, a mask hiding the lower half of my face but my red, swollen eyes that constantly seemed to leak with tears could not be hidden. After an introduction, a walk into his office where we “socially distanced” and, masks removed, I broke down in a jumbled mess of tears and incoherent conversation. That first session was remarkable by the sheer number of tissues I used and by the way I pleaded with him for answers he did not have. 

But I chose this as one of the ways to work with my grief. Although I have a circle of support that will listen and love there are secrets that I wanted to share only with a stranger. Guilt, anger, remorse for frustration and sharp words that are part of a marriage but that I feel shame for now. Doubts - did I love enough? Do enough? Why did this happen? 

He was patient and kind. He did not provide false hope for my pleading but remained calm and let me talk. I’m sure I made no sense. I’m not sure I was supposed to make sense. I’m really not sure exactly what I was supposed to do and that, I thought, was the entire point of being there… I was looking for him to tell me what to do next. If I didn’t know - and I didn’t- someone must know and I decided it was him. But he was smarter than that - he knew that whatever answers I was seeking would come from within and his role was as someone who supported only.

I reflected on my five months of sessions- twice monthly. When he told me our sessions were concluding (and that he was moving to a different province) I hated it. Every moment of it. But, he gently explained, these sessions were never meant to be long term, simply a bridge as I slowly transitioned into my new life. 

I appreciated what we discussed at the time. Some of our conversations had an immediate impact. Others, though, were put to the side as I thought they were “useless”. It took time, life lessons and experiences, to fully appreciate them. Nuggets of wisdom that would surface at random times with me thinking “I get it now”. 

I smiled as I thought about my counsellor. And then, because I’m me, I took his card into my living room and googled him. It took mere moments to confirm I “found him” (his picture confirmed my search) and I decided to reach out and let him know how I was doing and to thank him for his guidance through my initial raw grief. 

I let my words tumble onto a page as I tried to capture accurately and succinctly how my life is and the impact our sessions had in shaping it. I stopped, edited, rewrote several times. You see, I was pretty sure there would be no response. Why would there be? Our sessions were meant to say goodbye with a finality and not a promise to keep in touch. With that in mind- the fact I need to get this right as I only have one chance- I concentrated hard on saying what I felt without an excessive amount of words. 

After I was satisfied with my letter I hit “send” before I could rewrite again…before I could change my mind. 

One of the things I know to be true - have known for many, many years- is that life holds no guarantees of tomorrow. So I say “I love you” to people I love. I tell people how much they mean to me. I let them know their impact on my life and how much I value them. I may not get that chance tomorrow. One of us might not be here tomorrow. 

Sending this email -three and a half years after our initial meeting- was validation for me and for him that I was “ok”. He never said I would be- he was careful to make no promises- but he used gestures and other words to convey that I would have a positive path forward if I chose to. And I did make that choice as hard as it has been at times. 

To quote something I recently saw on a social media feed:

“I manifested but I also did the fucking work”.

It was only a day later that I received a beautiful response from him. He thanked me for my email. He was delighted to hear about my life and that I am set on “living it on my terms”. And he was humbled for the role he played and grateful that I took the time to let him know how thankful I was for our sessions, then and now. 

I smiled at his words. He didn’t share anything personal but that he was “doing well”. I’m glad he is. 

I expect that will conclude our interaction and I’m at peace with that. Some interactions are long term and some are interactions for the moments that you need to give or receive with another human being. Life is beautiful that way. 

I couldn’t bear to part with his card though I may not look at it for many years. Instead, I tucked it in a safe but obscure place in my office, one where I might stumble on it in a time when the universe decides I need to. 

Sometimes, in a world that seems to make no sense at times, the universe gives a gentle nudge as a reminder that there are people who can bring balance to it and make it alright.