Vows Box Set

Chapter 9: Road to Recovery, Part 1-2

“My name is Sam Miller-Greene. I’m here because my husband went missing more than a year and a half ago.”

Already he was stumbling, using the word “missing.” He still had trouble saying aloud that Henry had died, although he did accept it now.

“I’m sorry.” Sam cleared his throat. “He died. Henry died.”

Sam took a deep breath and looked at the other forlorn faces in the circle. He was the last to make his introduction speech and he’d been dazed by the variety of stories told by the others.

He continued his story. “At my family’s insistence I saw a personal grief counselor a couple months after it happened. I guess it helped. I was able to function again, but I think it was just too early, too fresh. I wasn’t ready to let go of things, so I still have a lot of issues dealing with this. I have trouble moving on. I think about Henry all the time.” Sam wiped at a tear, sniffed and took a deep breath before continuing.

“Losing him was terrible. No matter the circumstances it was going to crush me. But it’s those circumstances that are making it extra difficult for me to progress. There’s no closure, you see. Officially, he was declared dead about nine months later, but there’s just no direct proof, no body, and there never will be. Logically I know he’s dead. I do know it. I accept that as a fact. But still, a small piece of me can’t let go of that glimmer of hope, that tiny possibility that maybe, just maybe, he’s alive out there somewhere.

“Henry was on TransOceanic Airlines Flight 3012 that went down in the Pacific more than a year and a half ago. Even accepting that he died, I’ll never stop wondering how. What happened up there? Was it immediate with no forewarning, no fear, no pain? Did they know they were crashing and have a terrifying stretch of time falling to their doom? Was death painful and drawn out? Was he drowned, trapped, helpless, and terrified?

“I slept through it, oblivious to what he was going through.” Sam’s voice broke with a sob. “Did he think of me?”

He had nothing left to say, and couldn’t have done so anyway. He shook his head and looked to the facilitator to take over.

Artemis nodded solemnly. “Thank you, Sam, for sharing that with us.” She inclined her head toward each of the others. “And thank you again Khali, Charla, Jorge, Ramsey, Ionia, and Sidney for sharing your stories with the group.”

She paused for a moment while they regained their composure, then got down to business. “As I already mentioned, this program will last twelve weeks. I’ll be giving you reading assignments after our meeting each week as well. You’ll also have writing assignments, things for you to think and write about and share with the class at the following session.

“Tonight we’re going to talk about what a loss experience is. We’re going to talk about myths and the platitudes we often hear that are meant to help us feel better, but don’t.

“You’ve listened to each other’s stories, now. Your experiences are very different, but you’ve all experienced a loss that’s affected you deeply, and that’s why you’re here.”

Artemis moved her arms as if to encompass all of them in her statement. “Death of a spouse, death of a parent or sibling, divorce, lost sight, death of a child,” she recited, covering the losses experienced in the room. “These have shaken up your very existences, and in this room no loss will be trivialized.”

Not all losses, she explained, were associated with death. There were losses associated with being a victim of abuse, loss of trust, and so on. All of these, if not properly processed, could have enduring adverse power over their lives.

“Let’s talk about myths,” Artemis continued. “What are some of the things people have said or done for you, thinking it would help?”

She looked around the room, waiting for a volunteer. Several in the group fidgeted. Sam’s leg bounced as it tended to do when he was stressed.

“Time heals all wounds,” replied Jorge. “It’s been six years since my daughter died. Giving it time doesn’t make the pain go away.”

There were nods of agreement all around. Six years. Sam’s own life since he’d lost Henry had been cheerless. He’d functioned robotically. He didn’t want to go through another four years like that, let alone a lifetime.

“I’ve heard the same,” said Charla. “I know it’s been only eight months for me, but I know time alone isn’t going to do it. Sometimes it feels like it’s getting worse, not better.”

Ramsey added, “And telling me to just keep busy. That goes hand in hand with that, I think. Busy work might temporarily distract me, but it doesn’t keep the pain from returning and infecting everything.”

“Time does not heal,” declared Artemis. “Not by itself, it won’t. Nor will mindless busy work. The difference will be in what we do in that time. You will need to finalize the anguish that’s been caused by your loss. We’re going to spend the next twelve weeks doing that. Put your heart and soul into these assignments and you will find relief.”

She said that with such conviction. Maybe it was true. Perhaps it really was possible to heal the gaping wound in his heart. Sam nodded to himself. Yes, he would do what she said. He would pay close attention and not hold back on digging into and sharing his emotions. It was now or never.

He would do it for Henry as well as for himself. He’d finally live up to the promise he’d made. Henry would never have wanted him to live like this. Sam could never forget Henry; he wouldn’t want to. But he could learn to be happy again without him.