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I pick at the threads on the couch, buying myself a minute before whispering, “Because he’s incredible.”
Without even looking at her, I can tell that she is smiling. “Why?”
“So many questions,” I mumble. I glance up at her and see her waiting. “Because he has shown me that he is. He has proven so many times that he will always be there for me. Even if I didn’t want him to be, even when I didn’t want him to be,” I say. “He has been nothing but kind, and warm, and compassionate. Patient. So patient. I didn’t think anything of him the first time I met him, but I feel like he knew something about me right away. He didn’t push or rush anything. He was just…there. There for me. All the time.”
Naomi nods.
I continue, “He has helped me talk about Hayden.” My voice cracks. “I was so worried that he would be this lingering presence that David would resent. My baggage. My ghost. But he’s helped me to be happy when I remember Hayden. It doesn’t always hurt so bad when I think about him now. When I talk about him.” I wipe under my eyes.
“Can you tell me more about that?” Naomi asks.
“It feels like David genuinely likes hearing about him. He enjoys it when I share that piece of myself with him, like he knows that there was a time when I couldn’t and didn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t just tolerate those conversations but he engages with them because he knows that I need to talk about it.”
We sit in silence for a moment. Not an uncomfortable and lingering silence, but a moment of understanding. A moment to let all of my words soak in completely.
“He really does sound incredible,” Naomi finally says. I look at her and find her smiling again.
“I’m not betraying Hayden,” I whisper, looking for affirmation.
Naomi shakes her head. “You’re not. You living your life to the fullest. Finding joy and peace and healing is the greatest way to honor his memory.”
I nod, feeling the truth in those words even though I also feel myself wanting to fight it. Even still. But the desire to live is starting to feel stronger than my desire to survive. “I used to want to stay in that darkness,” I admit. “Because that’s where I felt closest to him. But that closeness was always coated in so much pain. In grief.” I take a deep breath and sigh. “Even still, some days are harder than others.”
“And that will continue to happen,” she reassures me. “But we don’t let the hard days win. We don’t let them take the power. We remind ourselves that there will be good days, and the good days will eventually outweigh the bad.”
I nod in agreement, smiling slightly as I remember that day with David in the flowers. “I find myself focusing on the good more and more. Now, I can remember something about him and it makes me laugh—makes me miss him, of course—but it doesn’t make me feel like I want to die, like I’m not going to survive.”
“That’s amazing, Ana,” Naomi says, writing something in her book before looking up to me. “Have you become a little bit more comfortable talking about the night Hayden died? Sharing that with others?”
My heart freezes and I look up at her. “Why do I need to talk about that night?”
“We’ve talked about it here. But it might be good for others to help you shoulder that particular burden. It’s a great burden to bear alone,” she says, “You don’t have to, of course. But sometimes it’s good to talk about the hard stuff. The more we keep inside, the more power it has over us. There is something very freeing about speaking it aloud and letting the people in that you trust completely.”
I don’t answer for a minute. “I can’t talk about that night,” I whisper.
The night where he was there one second and gone the next.
“We’re coming up on two years. I’ve seen tremendous growth in you over the last several months. But there is still that weight that you’re holding on to. Have you gone to his?—”
I cut her off, “Not yet.”
She nods, “Can you listen to music yet?”
I look up at her, surprised. “How did you know about the music?”
She gives me a small smile, “I read people very well. I have noticed how you always change the subject when I suggest that you try listening to music,” she says. “You’ve told me how important music was to Hayden.”
I look at her with a straight face. “Yes.”
“Would he have wanted you to stop listening?”
I put my head in my hands, “This is too much for me right now. I just had a breakthrough Naomi. Give me a break.”
“Okay,” she assures me, “You’re right. That’s okay. Have you still been getting phone calls from his sister and mother?”
“Yes,” I admit. “A couple times a week.”
“You still don’t want to answer them?” she asks.
