Woke up this morning from a dream where Claire had died but was alive again and had a second chance. The only thing that might save her this time is if I took her place and died. So I got hooked up to the IV which would push the lethal drugs through my body but then she died anyway. For some reason everyone else still wanted me to go through with it. I started freaking out and screaming that I didn’t want to do it anymore because I still wanted to live and it was too late for me to save her anyway. But people were upset with me because of my decision. I didn’t care and I just threw myself on the ground and sobbed because my baby was dead.
Good morning. And so the day begins. Takes me a while to shake off the horrible sense of fear and helplessness caused by the dream but so what else is new? First task of the day to complete the paperwork for my jury summons. Great. They want me to serve the week we have a vacation planned. I ask to be excused but only after being traumatized once more when I have to fill in the blanks on the questionnaire answering: Ages of Children: (1) ______ (2) ______ (3) _______ (4) ______ (5) ______. FUCK! I fill in the appropriate ages for my three living children while screaming inside “I HAVE FOUR CHILDREN!” For a moment I consider filling in the fourth with “18 but deceased” and then realize how ridiculous that is. I think to myself that this should be an essay question, not one constrained to a couple of numbers. I wonder, “Why the hell do they need to know how old my children are?” I go on to the next section feeling as though I have betrayed my youngest child by leaving her off the list and not making her existence known to the government representatives; strangers who have reopened my wounds and intrusively made their way into my most personal story without even knowing or caring.
Next I make my way to get my hair done, ready for a change of style. In trying to explain what I might like I realize Claire’s hair was a lot like mine and hers always looked so cute (when she had hair). I pull out my phone to show my stylist Claire’s face (and hairstyle) which is the screen saver on my phone. This and other photos of her are my only means to be warmed by her smile or look into her bright eyes. A comforting yet painful reality I deal with on a daily basis. So what else is new?
I shove down my sadness and tears because I need to shift focus before I get to work so that I am able to be fully present with my clients as I bear witness to their own painful stories, traumatic events and small and large successes. In the middle of one session I make the split decision to share the fact that I have lost a daughter to cancer, believing in the moment it will be of therapeutic benefit to the client. But after the session is over I doubt myself and wonder if that was the right choice or not. I tell myself it is ultimately okay because if nothing else, they will know I am human and have experienced great loss, which hopefully will increase their trust in me as their therapist and not diminish it. It is, after all, my reality and makes me who I am.
Driving home, feeling the warm summer air lifts my spirits and causes a deep stabbing pain in the same breath as I anticipate the anniversary of Claire’s diagnosis in a couple weeks; the weather and position of the sun always remind me of that summer evening in 2010 even before my brain remembers the date.
I get home to be greeted by Claire’s cat Raja waiting for me in the window. I open the refrigerator whose door is covered with pictures of all my kids and Claire at various ages. I sit down in the living room and she stares back at me from her framed senior picture.
I walk down my hallway to be greeted by her large canvas painting self-portrait. I watch Raja jump up at things that don’t seem to be there and run from room to room as though she is chasing an invisible string. I choose to believe Claire is playing with her, which makes me want to laugh and cry in the same moment.
So time for bed. I wonder where my dreams will take me tonight.