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“It was my fault. Like I said, I’m just so grateful I didn’t hurt anyone.”
“What was your reunion with your grandfather like?”
I check the clock hoping that suddenly time is up. Turns out all that time I spent not talking only amounted to about five minutes of our session, though.
“His doctors said it’s common for patients with Alzheimer’s or dementia to confuse the people in their lives. There’s this woman at Pop’s facility who thinks I’m her dead husband. I guess we look alike. Or in her mind, she’s my age again and sees me and her mind fills in the rest of the blanks.”
“Sounds like stage six,” she says. “Severe cognitive decline.”
“The first time I went back to see him after the accident, Pop called me Joey. My dad’s name was Joey. Joseph. I haven’t been Jesse since then.”
The room is quiet again except for me, blowing my nose.
“That must have been devastating,” she says.
“It was my fault,” I say. “I was gone for so long and when I came back, he didn’t know me anymore. The man who raised me couldn’t recognize me.”
“If it was someone else who had driven their car tired and they’d hit your car, would you blame that person for the natural effects of your grandfather’s disease?”
I don’t answer. Maybe? Maybe I’d be angry enough that their mistake made me miss out on time with him.
Dr. Ali leans forward, her elbows on her knees, one hand cupped in the palm of the other. “Alzheimer’s is a degenerative disease. There is no cure, Jesse,” she says gently.
“I know.”
“This would have happened. Whether or not you were in that accident.”
I want to sayI knowagain but I can’t. My face is sore from crying. My cheeks ache.
“How many times had you driven home from a shift tired? How many times have we all done that? It was an accident, a mistake. One that took your profession, your livelihood, and your identity. And you blame yourself for it. That’s a heavy load for anyone to carry.”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice gravel. “I guess.”
“No wonder you don’t want to talk in group.”
We both laugh.
“If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say that Lulu doesn’t know about your feelings for her.”
“She does,” I say quickly. Except...did I ever actually say to her:Iandloveandyouall strung together as a complete sentence? “Or well...maybe not.”
“What do you think she would say? If you told her? Is that the reason why you haven’t? Are you afraid she won’t reciprocate?”
I wince. “Not exactly.” I don’t want to reveal too much about the relationship and get Lulu in trouble.
“I think Lulu would want to be more than friends and I’m not sure that I’m right for her,” I admit. “I’m not enough for her.” It’s embarrassing, revealing to someone, even someone trained to deal with revelations like this, how very little I think of myself.
She sighs. “It makes me sad to hear you say that about yourself, Jesse, but I’m not surprised.”
“Oh. Thanks?”
“Hear me out,” Dr. Ali says. “You knew who you were and after a tragic accident, a mistake, everything changed. You lost yourself, your identity. Literally. The most important person in your life forgot who you were. It’s not just that you don’t know yourself. You don’ttrustyourself, not to speak in group, not to be enough for someone you love. All because of one mistake.”
This time I don’t know what to say. I feel knocked on my ass.
“And so, you stay silent. You don’t speak up. You do nothing.”
I see it like a map of my life.
